Vanning

By Lucus Anthony Ren

The caravan of man and animal flowed forward, their minds adrift in softness, unaware of the consequences events long ago caused, and the changes made in their own appearance from it. They were no longer the same that departed two weeks ago with provisions for the camp, still four days out. So in feeling rain it wasn’t, rather that of their skin pealing open. They rode further over the plain hooves splintering on smooth sand managing another seven winding kilometers before the first horse fell into its own dust pile. Tethered the caravan simple stood there for several days till the last finally dissolved. The men however hadn’t to wait long. They blew away in that afternoons wind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucus Anthony Ren
• Release date: May 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370219964

Book preview

Vanning

Vanning

Short by

Lucus Anthony Ren

Copyright

Vanning

© 2015, Lucus Anthony Ren

Self-publishing

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Limit of Liability and Disclaimer of Warranty: The author / publisher has used its best efforts in preparing this book, and the information provided herein is provided as is, and makes no representation or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaims any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose and shall in no event be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

For my wife, her passion, support.

Preface

1809

The wind brought with it the smell off the mountains. A grey odour. A shifting. It drifted from deep within the source of mountains birth. Its presence was of a meaning not yet known, where age shut light and heat-less flame forever away.

1934

‘That wretched. Land will never be the same.’

1965

Where is that civilized bus stop? She was wet thinking of the shifting colours in his eyes, their splitting orgasms. A wanted change in his odour from induced erotic pain. Madness. Addiction.

Grey

The shift came holding the mountains grace till travelers passed, flinging outwards drifting upon the caravan, a swirling-twisted thought, gently kissing, embracing, then secreted inwards. Men turned in their saddles looking skyward, fading minds thinking how odd it rained without clouds, opened sagging mouths wider, eyes rolled to showing their full whiteness. Animals slowed their once hurried advance, now mindless, drifted off the trail. Tethered they formed a drunken snake with no bearing in mind, only that of momentum.

The Kunuklar Mountains surrounded an expansively open plain the caravans travel. Always snow caped when sun shined they lit as beacons, eighteen peaks of white light seen afar. Somewhere within this range lay the grave of Princess Surimaklar whose reign ended only after six years when she was kidnapped, held for a never-paid ransom, then tortured and killed. The only proof of this laid in the form of a golden horse tattoo skinned from her hip and returned to her kingdom along with a brief explanation of her death.

The devastated kingdom thought her as ‘The Lighted’; clairvoyant in nature, knowing present and pending nature of many events. It's widely believed she expected this, therefore the ransom was not paid. Nor were trackers sent after her, for certainly if the Princess was in any danger she would have informed the kingdom before her abduction.

An immediate council was held upon return of the tattoo. Panic grew in the kingdom with news of murderous armies advancing; the prosperous region would certainly fall. Correct and profound action establishing a new leader must without delay be taken. Once achieved, the order would be given for scouts sent forth with one command in returning with those reasonable.

That same night those foreign armies slew all within the kingdom. Eighteen noble scouts were sent forth before this, and it is they whom stand upon the pecks shining their lights searching for the murders of Princess Surimaklar. To protect the scouts from harm the shaman blessed them with the ability of bending the environment. Due to the elevation very little grew from this white-grey soil, when danger neared the scouts altered colour into the world around them. It was widely known and believed in certain regions and groups of people, that the scouts would smell the colour grey when peril was near. Closing their mantels they would shift. Simply not be visible. Only that which remained behind this shifting was a fragrance having no definition. If asked, a person would state they smelled wet earth, or dust. Wild raspberries. Sweating horses. The scent of sex. No two could agree on the same, thus deemed uncertain. Grey.

Disorientation. Unsure footing, heavy in speech. Slow in thought. Man or beast it didn’t matter, they were all affected, thoroughly displaced through the shift, removed from their norm. It was the scouts only defense, as they wore no protective armor nor carried weaponry. There wasn’t a need, for their mission was that of finding and returning