Traveller Manifesto

Turkey – Today.

Osborne turned in his saddle and watched as Captain Nuray Kartal rode in her classic, greenhorn style. Finally, he had a few days where he could escape and blow off some steam. The return of the Travellers had been expected, though the delay of Professor Taylor and McFee had not. Two of the trainers, Baki and Hami, had joined Osborne to meet the Travellers at the Area of Convergence and, considering the events that had transpired, the men looked well. The mental health of McAlister and Erol was of concern but the men were hardened professionals. Despite their horrific actions, they had managed their situation well.

There had, naturally, been brisk discussion regarding any action they were to take for the release of Professor Taylor and McFee, but the final decision rested with senior politicians and the Turkish high command. No doubt Colonel Babacan would contact him when their proposed response was approved. He sighed and, sensing his pensive mood, the brown stallion beneath him gave its head a shake. The forest was still and peaceful, with golden fingers of sunlight that punctuated the green. A gentle morning mist highlighted the glory of the moment and, despite his worries, Osborne soaked up the charm. He had seldom seen a sight more beautiful.

Nuray held onto her reins nervously, plainly delighted. Every second around horses gave her boundless joy. Her chestnut mare, a mount usually reserved for children, gazed about placidly before it paused to dip its head and chew on a few blades of grass. Given an inexpert kick in her ribs, her head came up and she gently wandered forward. Later, they would find a secluded spot to enjoy a picnic prepared by the resort’s kitchen staff. Naturally, on Nuray’s insistence, there were more than a few carrots for the horses.

Within the hour, they passed from the deep forest to an olive plantation that spread as far as the eye could see. The silver-green foliage swept from the hills upon which they travelled, into the valley and to the next ridge in a carpet that, judging from the tortured visages of the trees around them, was at least a couple of hundred years old. He thought of the olive plantation near to the Area of Convergence for the Byzantine Traveller mission, a plantation that had long ago surrendered to the growing city and the eventual establishment of the international airport. What would their current location look like in a thousand years? He hoped it would be an improvement on today’s efforts.

Another twinge in his gut. Damn it! There was a fullness that might require a toilet stop. They had enjoyed the traditional Turkish breakfast, the kahvalti, which could be easily overindulged. Nuray had emerged from her room, sparkling with excitement for a ride. It had been quite some time since they had been able to go horse-riding and she, for the first time, seemed at ease with the prospect of being alone with him.

So they feasted on the cheeses, meats, salads, dried fruits, olives and most of all, the mounds of white bread that made up the traditional breakfast. All chased down with fresh pomegranate juice. She had been chatty and excited, so they made all haste to get to the horses and be on their way. Their trail led from the farmland and usual tracks for tourists into the forest where trails didn’t exist.

A large breakfast and hurrying past the usual morning constitution, it seemed, had its inevitable consequences. Nuray approached nervously. “Umm, Tony. I think I will need to have a bathroom stop.” She blushed slightly. He had tried to resist the charms of the lovely Princess Prudence, but now he was relaxed he found her journey into humanity most alluring. One of the toughest women he had ever met, now she seemed almost normal.

He smiled and nodded. “Sure. Good idea. Let’s dismount, tie up the horses and we can sort it.”

With the horses tethered, they nervously looked at each other for a moment. “I’ll go this way,” murmured Nuray and she pointed over her shoulder.

Osborne nodded, “Just look out for snakes,” he added with a smile.

At the comment, Nuray gave a snort of good humour and sauntered off. Osborne watched her appraisingly. In her snug jeans she had a shapely physique that drew a man’s eye.

He shook his head and looked for a log where he could do his business. He was struck by the incongruity of the bonding process, if that’s what it was, where each of them was to have a poo in the bush. For him, things never took long. Well used to toileting in the wilds of any environment, Osborne was pulling up his pants when there was a scream. It was a blood-curdling scream of pure horror. He thought of Nuray, pants down, with a snake firmly attached to her pale buttocks. Or perhaps they had been followed or discovered by terrorists, or even Kurdish troops?

He had to find her, fast!

There was another scream, this time of heartbreaking anguish.

Crouching low, Osborne ran silently through the olive trees and in the direction of the scream. His seax was in his hand, the weapon a more tangible souvenir from Saxon Traveller. The large, razor-sharp blade felt comforting. He had no illusions on his ability to effectively combat a foe, so his weakened left arm and the fact that he was so poorly armed had him approach with caution. There was a flicker of movement and he peered from behind one of the olive trees he had used for cover.

Nuray lay on her side, hand raised to ward off an enemy.

Behind her stood a young calf.

Seeing there was no other reason for her fear, he called out softly, “Nuray!”

Nuray looked across in distress and immediately struggled to her feet, pants around her ankles. There was an impression of pale, shapely legs, a firm bottom, and a patch of pubic hair as she wailed. He sped to her and she clung to him, shivering.

“What’s going on?” he asked incredulously.

The calf bent and found something fascinating about where Nuray had crouched and licked with its tongue and ate greedily. It looked up with a pleased, brown-eyed bovine placidity.

Oh… dear.

“That, that cow,” stuttered Nuray with a sob of anguish. “Its tongue!”

Osborne knew he couldn’t laugh. “What?” he asked, his voice hushed in superhuman effort.

“He licked my …” she gasped, “and ate my …” she cried, wide-eyed in horror.

The calf looked back to the spot of interest and carefully licked the area.

Osborne’s chest gave a couple of convulsions. Nuray realised she was in his arms with her pants down and looked up in shocked realisation to see tears running down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” wheezed Osborne. “The calves, sometimes they …”

Nuray then buried her face into his chest and he realised he enjoyed feeling his arms around her. Her shoulders shook, as if sobbing, which shocked him into sobriety. He didn’t want her to be traumatised by the action of a calf licking her bum and … such. Well, sure, it wasn’t something he’d experienced, but it would be funny once he told the guys. Nuray’s anguished noises had him nervously stroke her hair. Poor girl. She had obviously not lived or worked on the land as he had. He had spent his childhood and youth around cattle and nothing those stupid buggers did surprised him.

At his touch she looked up, red eyed, and burst out into gales of laughter.

Finally, Osborne could join in, only to see a couple of curious Turkish farmers look across and shake their heads in confusion. He imagined the tableau; him standing with an attractive young woman in his arms, her pants around her ankles.

He immediately bent to pull up her pants and realised he ran his hands down her bottom and bare legs. There were glimpses of crotch and by the time he had helped Nuray become decent, the farmers had mercifully fled.

She, however had stopped laughing and looked at the confused and flushed Osborne as if appalled. Her ears were scarlet and her hands flew to her face in embarrassment. But after she had swiftly secured her pants they walked, hand-in-hand, back to the horses as Nuray’s shoulders shook as she continued to giggle uncontrollably.