Fate Cries Foul by Renier Larouche (reading list TXT) 📕

A story does not sleep. You have heard a thousand, maybe more. Novels, rumors, legends and anecdotes, you may think you have forgotten them, but they merely hide in the abandoned corridors of your mnemonic palace. A story lingers there, it's sensors spread across the perimeter of your awareness, listening, watching, sensing every nuance you experience. It waits for the spark, the trigger to recollection. Like a pollen particle in the desert, on a stubborn race toward the improbable rain. Patient enough, and the spark will come.

I am a story, and you will read, and probably think you forget. But I will linger, and listen. And one day I will bloom in your mind, explode in a swirl of connotations and connectors, reasons and references. Then, and only then, will you truly know why you read me.

I am the story of Lapis, who conquered lions, and Monia who conquered Lapis, and Tesla, who taught them both new truths. I am old, older than the tales of kings and prophets that have shaped the world of men, older than most tales of gods and monsters, although I am a tale of gods and monsters too, in a way. Most old tales are, one way or the other. I am so old, that words of wanton, the magic of lust and the power of flesh had not yet been stained with shame. So bear with me, although concepts might seem alien, I can assure you that they are more familiar than you have been lead to believe.

I begin on the plains, in the thigh high dry grass. Sun crazy mosquitoes hovered in columns over grazing small game in the distance. Sun weary seedling pods vibrated with life like they only do once every year, threatened to burst into a riot of color at the most gentle touch. There was not a sound, but the faint rustle of termites on the ground. The air was perfectly still, and so was Lapis. The only thing moving was his heart, beating on a stealth pulse. His shoulders gleamed with faint drops of sweat, and strands of hair clung to his neck. His back was straight, his head scouting, but his legs were strained, kneeling in the hunter's stance with one closed fist in the dirt and one closed around the spear. His eyes were fixed on a huddling shape fifty steps ahead, and his lips were fixed in a daunting smile. The lion was his. It just didn't know it yet.

Lapis was the finest hunter in his tribe for five generations, and the finest alive in any tribe that shared the plains. By the age of thirteen, he was lighter in his steps than any woman scout. By the age of seventeen, he was faster and stronger than any grown man. And as a grown man, he towered above all other. Not in stature, although he was a tall man, but in the minds of his peers. He knew the trail of beasts like no other and the mind of the lions better than the lions themselves.

Not only was he the most skilled and revered of hunters, he was also the most beautiful of men. There is no other word that would do him justice. His cobalt blue eyes, seldom seen among the black ones of most tribesmen, could capture anybody in the middle of a thought and not let go. His strong body always in perfect balance, his smile and wit always winning. Countless were the women who had dreamed of his skin on their lips, his strong hands on their breasts, his hips against their thighs and his cock inside of them, who wished they had not been so hasty to settle for other men. Countless were the older ones who wished they had been born one or two generations later. Countless were the hopeful maidens, the brash and beautiful unbetrothed, who tried to lure him into their arms, bodies and lives.

But Lapis was not to be trapped like that. He only gave in to a woman when he was sure her motive was pleasure for the night, and not a father for her children. And therefore, it was only a select few that he shared his body with. They were hunting women, fast and agile scouts of neighboring tribes, who had no time yet for mating and motherhood. They were brave, proud and strong, they knew where to draw the line, and had sense enough to spill his seed outside of their wombs.

No, Lapis' true lover was the plains, the hunt he had honed to perfection. Only a hunter could truly understand that, so it was only with hunters, in accidental encounters on the plains, that he gave in to the animal inside and let lust take over. The stories of writhing shapes under the stars, of his touch and taste, the sensation of his cock between thighs and tongue between lips became bushfire rumors spread by giggle and bragging from proud scouts to envious friends all over the plains.

Lapis was no fool, and he knew of his reputation. It would come in handy when his feet were one day too tired to hunt. When he wanted to find a strong and sensible mate to mother his children, there would be plenty of options. He was thankful to the gods for this grace, but right there and right then, it didn't matter much. The lions did not care about the strength of a man's seed, only the sharpness of his spear.

He glanced up from where he sat in the grass, at the polished flint tip tied to the fresh sapling rod that was his weapon. It was his own design, lighter and less deadly than most hunters' spears, but with a better range. And not only good for throwing at a fleeing prey, but for swinging, slashing and hitting, in close combat with an attacking one. This tells us that Lapis had an agile mind, well suited for thoughts and solutions that didn't follow tradition and the habit of the elders. Just the fact that he hunted without a scout, that he was his own eyes and ears, was unheard of. But as it turned out, there were still many barriers to knock down, and Monia was good at both finding and destroying them. 

I'm getting ahead of myself. Forgive me, it's been a while since I was told. We are still in the sea of grass, with a hunter and a lion. A lion that had finally settled, stretched out and gone to sleep. Lapis saw the back of the beast heave rhythmically, and knew it was time. Lions were, and are still, fierce creatures, but also vulnerable. They sleep long hours in the basking midday sun. Always cautiously, and always with one eye open. One eye was all that Lapis needed though. It was enough to sneak close for the strike. He had done this hundreds of times, always with the same result. A silent approach, a swift stab in the neck, and the mighty animal would shudder and die within three heartbeats.

But not this time. As Lapis stood up and began treading lightly towards the lion, he noticed that it was not alone. He had not seen the other shape on the ground from his crouched down position in the grass, but beside the beast lied a woman. At least it resembled a woman, it had the shape and size of one, and Lapis had never heard of animals using weaves and string. The woman had a piece of cloth tied around her waist, and her hair was tied up behind her neck. The hue of her skin was very strange though, much paler than Lapis had ever seen, more like sun burnt grass than his own dark bark tone. And her hair was brighter too, and also straight, where the plain-people's hair was curly. 

But no, she was definitely a woman. The smooth, round form of her hips and waist, the mounds of her breasts and large nipples and the graceful curve of her neck spoke to Lapis in the same way that woman has spoken to man since the dawn of time, since long before the age of words. Lapis stopped in his tracks, unsure what to do next. Should he kill the lion, and hope that he didn't wake up the woman before the animal? If he did, her stirring would unsettle the lion, and cause it to run away. And what was she doing there anyway? Was she hurt? Caught by the beast to eat her later? Was she already dead? No, she breathed, just like the lion, and seemed to be in no pain.

He didn't have to waver long though. Before he could contemplate further, and take another step, the woman spoke. Her eyes were still closed, and her voice was soft and gentle, but in the absence of wind, he could hear her clearly.

"Hunter," she said. "Please lower your spear. She is mine."

Her speech was familiar, and Lapis understood every word, but there were differences in how they were spoken. Closer to the teeth, lisping, more like a snake. Not much, but enough to be noticed. The woman opened her eyes and looked straight at Lapis. Her eyes were blue, just like his. He had only met a few blue eyed men before. It was a trait that would sometimes be inherited from father or grandfather, but only among men. He'd never seen blue eyes on a woman before, and the unwavering gaze they gave him made him lower his spear and relax his striking stance.

"Don't worry about her," the woman said, as Lapis' eyes darted from her to the lion and back, "She will not attack, unless I ask her."

"I'm not afraid of her," Lapis said.

"Of course you're not. You're a hunter. And a good one it seems, by your walk and your body. A smart one too, by the look of your spear. But you will not have this lion, or any of her pack. They are mine."

Lapis was confused. The hunt was clearly over. The lion was awake, and eyeing him cautiously. Not hostile, not crouched to attack. Just wary, prepared. No hunter, not even Lapis, could attack a lion that looked him straight in the eye. And this woman sat there peacefully beside the beast, seemingly unafraid. "She is mine", she had said. Did she claim the kill? But how would she kill it? She was a woman, and the lion was wide-awake.

"Who are you?" Lapis asked.

"I am Monia," she said. "And you, you are Lapis."

Yet a surprise. "How come you know my name?"

"My people trade with the hunting tribes closest to our land. Some of the women told me stories of Lapis, the master hunter with the blue eyes. Very interesting stories."

She said the last words with a telling smile, and her eyes wandered down his body and up again. Lapis shifted uneasily where he stood. He did not mind being appreciated by a woman, especially not one as striking as this one, but this was not the time or place for indulging in mating games. There were too many questions, too much that didn't make sense. Who was she, what was she? A human? Something else? A god? She might be. After all, there she sat, exposed to a lion, and stroke it's ears, gently, fondly. The lion did nothing, lowered its head to its paws and rested. 

"Your people," he asked. "Do they look like you?"

Monia smiled and spread her arms. "Do you mean if we are all this color? Yes. We have lived in the shade of the woods and the mountains for many generations. It's the sun that gives you color."

"I have never heard of a people in the mountains"

"And yet, here