11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 9

 

Worren Youkup had realized that it was now too late for him to extricate himself from this terrible fix (pickle). The breach of trust could never be mended; besides which, how could he, albeit subtly, inquisition Sejon to arrive at the whole truth? And what would he do with the truth? Worst still, what if she professed her innocence and started to cry? 

 

01- WORREN YOUKUP (6)JP

The circumstances, whatever the prospects, all ended up stymieing Worren Youkup. While reflecting on the worse scenario, the old tutor's concerns gradually shifted to his loyal retinue of servants who would be summoned by Egil Viggoaries for questioning and inevitably be tortured until under duress they, confessed to all the real and imagined gaffes (errors) their Master might have committed. Steward Chutek, he knew, being his favorite, would fare the worst. “Should I report directly to? No.” He shook his head to rid himself of the grim images of the horror he would endure at the hands of Egil Viggoaries.    

“No, it is best I fabricate an errand and send Chutek out of harm’s way to my friend Tonzeye Yevgun in Chukset Province before the truth breaks.” A sealed, confidential letter with brief explanative of the situation, along with Chutek’s emancipation papers and a generous settlement to provide him with fresh start in new life, could all be forwarded to his friend Tonzeye, well in advance of Chutek’s arrival. Having settled on this course, Worren nodded decisively, “Yes, I shall address that matter immediately after my visit with Lady Sejon.” As it were, he still needed to ascertain, few things first. His prior urgent engagements, meanwhile, now having become less pressing would have to be postponed. After some more time spent in contemplation, Worren in desperate need of forty winks (sleep), even for just an hour or two to regenerate, eventually made his way back to his bed and crawled under the silk brocade comforter. Lying on his back, with the fragrant, plush (luxurious) bedcover pulled up to his chin, eyes shut tight, he still could not fall asleep (doze off, catnap), nor could he shake the feeling of foreboding (doom and gloom) that hovered over his head, particularly with the vivid images of that cursed dream incessantly parading in his mind’s eye. With decisive effort he finally pushed aside all those dreadful, fearful thoughts and concentrated instead on the serene scene of his childhood, to regulate his breathing and relax his mind; however, hours passed still with still no sleep.     

As he desperately needed to get at the truth and to save face, his thoughts had once more turned back on the manner of approach he would take with Lady Sejon when tomorrow he visited her. Sejon did not normally receive visitors until after noon, but Worren Youkup was determined to pay a surprise visit to the Lady's apartments shortly after dawn. He would wake her up, if necessary, and extricate a satisfactory explanation from her. He had settled on the stern approach, and he was determined not be intimidated by any tears; however, he would exercise patience and curtail his temper, affording her the opportunity to air her defense, if only for civility’s sake. There was no gratification in berating a frailer being. If on the other hand, he was to let go of this and overlook her part in it, left unchecked, she might continue injuring others in this way. At least she should be made to see the error of her ways; and that was why it was imperative he had a candid talk with her.   

Worren Youkup felt more at ease, almost comforted, to be back in his role as tutor until, his rage; unexpectedly rising (escalating) anew, this time was directed at his own failings. This sort of blunder would not have happened even as short as one year ago. What was happening to him? Was he suddenly going soft in the head? Channing was a dangerous place for the injudicious; would he survive the next akin blunder? Worren Youkup did not fear death as such; but he was proud of his prior accomplishments and had always been self-righteous in his actions. What he feared most was to, pass away (expire) with besmirched reputation. His status and good name meant everything to him. In his span of seventy years, he had lived in accordance with what he believed and preached, with perfect decorum and etiquette, with unfaltering loyalty to family and home, and staunch, undying devotion to the Sovereign and the State. His good standing was the only legacy; besides, seventeen insignificant compilations of literary works left in the Royal Library that he would leave behind when his mortal form was reduced to dust. How could he remedy this recent failing which would leave such a culpable imprint, a shameful blemish, on his otherwise perfect, impeccable life's work? How could he erase this grave mistake? It could not be done. Why not then, without further delay bravely admit his failing to Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek and stoically accept his ignominious end and be done with it?   

In this agitated state and with his skin prickling Worren Youkup had remained awake the remainder of the night, staring blankly at the canopy of the bed, oftentimes tossing, and turning, his mind reeling with endless cycles of self-recrimination. One minute cursing his advanced age and cowardice at not being able to swiftly end his life with measure of decorum, then in the next breath, cursing the ill-fated times they all lived in where which evil thrived in every crevice of life. Rounding out these thoughts was memories of Lady Sejon and, dire oaths to never again let him be manipulated or cajoled by womanly wiles.  He cast aside the covers and set at the edge of the bed. He was incensed (infuriated, exasperated) with himself. It should never have happened. What an asinine thing to do!

He clenched his fists till his knuckles were white.  It was humiliating enough to be duped or, to put it kindlier, swayed by her charms. He had been lately, because of Prince Mangnian, fallen into the habit of calling on her in the afternoons to enjoy her delightful company, while partaking tea and tiny cucumber sandwiches which were his favorites. Those times, he would also, with approval, observe her performance (playing the role) of the conscientious, dutiful mother, very much concerned with the welfare and correct upbringing of her son, Prince Magnian.

 

02- LADY SEJON  YOZDEDK  (104)

   

How cunning of her to have tapped into his largest weakness; his firmly held belief that, overall, mothers were special, wonderful, and superior beings, to be perpetually esteemed, everlastingly revered, and rightly accorded a treasured status in every civilized society. He had worshipped his own mother who had been lost to him in early childhood, as the archetype of human treasures. His (recollections) memories of her countless loving ministrations, to date, still brought tears to this eye. As with all things there were of course, the sinister/ dark exceptions in Channing, more precisely the Royal Court of present regime, which had brought together more than its fair share of the ambitious, the grasping and detestable lot that sadly marred the sacred graces of motherhood.    

Sejon a good mother? Hah! he scoffed. He bristled as he thought, in hindsight, how her sort treated their own children, flesh of their flesh, as if they were but inanimate objects to be used as lethal weapons to further their own ambitions. There was no family feeling or respect here, only naked greed. He was, just then, reminded of another similarly distasteful example of a bad mother. The memory caused his lips to curl away from his teeth slightly, oh, but Lady Lingrace was far worse. For too many years (more than he could count,) he had observed from the sidelines how her son, Heng Erling, had been subjected to constant ridicule and scorn, so masterfully initiated, that he did not even guess that he was being artfully manipulated into, furthering his   mother's vile ambitions. Lady Lingrace had once been the attendant to Lady Elin (Prince Qijerrik and Prince Herleif’s mother). During that time and, even after her husband Gustav Erling had been executed for treason, she had continued to, without shame, her not so secret, illicit affair with Zakhertan Yozdek. Shortly after Grand Marshal Gustav Erling’s execution, all members of his family including Heng's elder siblings had all been put to the sword. Heng Erling had been spared solely, and Worren Youkup was certain of this, because the boy was the illegitimate son of Zakhertan Yozdek.   

“Where did all you’re scheming get you in the end, Lady Lingrace Erling, all that conniving and treachery?”   Worren Youkup mumbling shrugged; he was secretly pleased at the ironic outcome. “You had managed to retain your fine good looks but in the end the signs of ageing had finally caught up with you. You became a has-been, but you refused to bow out gracefully and live quietly in the background.” Worren shook his head knowing, Lady Lingrace right up to the very end had competed with the younger favorites, scheming, and plotting, strangely enough still igniting Sovereign’s passion, and choosing to exist, though precariously, near the apex power.    

“I will never understand the insatiable drive that motivates such ambition; you, a married woman and as the lady- in- waiting to Prince Qijerrik’s mother Lady Elin, are guilty of violating most sacred trusts. When Grand Marshal Gustav Erling fell from grace after failing to capture Lord Zhon and the infant Prince Nevetsecnuac, and you were doomed to share his fate, was it not your betrayed head of household Lady Elin’ gracious and benevolent plea on your behalf, that had spared your wretched life and the life of your illegitimate spawn? Even after all that happened, you had not changed one bit; right to the end you had connived and plotted. Imagine sending Heng Erling, on not so secret, fool’s errand. I fear he had been lost to Sovereign forever, never to be heard from again. You had parlayed your bargaining chip on a bet and lost him. Then all it took was one minor incidence to cause your downfall; for who would care to defend an old relic who had an extensive history of perfidy?” Worren Youkup in a hushed voice had aired this entire grievance to the pitch, empty room; for to date, deep in his heart he still bore a lasting resentment towards Lady Lingrace Erling who, as a young woman, had spurned the friendly advances of the well-meaning young pupil of the Royal Tutor Keonz. Barely out of childhood herself, she had shown a talent for unconscionable duplicity and astuteness that evenly matched her budding beauty; arrogant and full of herself, she had dealings with and fawned only on those she had deemed useful.

03- YOUNG LADY  LINGRACE

She had advanced her cause first by marrying Gustav Erling and then ingratiating herself into the good graces of Lady Bera then Lady Elin. Unfortunately, the young scholar with no political or family connections and a potential future as a eunuch Royal Tutor’s protégé did not fall into that exalted category.  All the same Worren Youkup would have understood that, however, it was her years of unmitigated, taunting cruelty and belittlement he found so hard to forgive. Truly one of a kind she was. Worren absently nodded, recalling countless cases where she had demonstrated her proficiency in manipulation and how over the years the shrew had managed to get away with so much.    

Worren had never admitted it to anyone, but despite being constantly snubbed, once when he had been totally inebriated, during a rare, debauched encounter with Lady Lingrace Erling, he had learned at an early age, a most useful, albeit painful, lesson and pointers, regarding the antediluvian arts of corporal deception.

04- LADY LINGRACE

Even so, it had still baffled Worren because most discerning Zakhertan Yozdek, had tolerated her for as long as he had. How Zakhertan’s patience never appeared frayed when he dealt with her, even when he passed the death sentence on her as she quivered before him. Then again, who can ever fathom the motives of a Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek?   

You digress, Worren Youkup! Worren inwardly admonished self, shaking his head as if to purge such irrelevancies from his mind and, to steer his concentration back on the matters at hand. Sejon mighty be a different sort, but she was no less a vixen. With all his life's experiences, it shamed him to think how Lady Sejon had so artfully used his own weaknesses to advance her own aims.

On every visit she had enticed (bribed) him with his favorite small cucumber sandwiches and other rare and exquisite sweets, a particular vice he was not proud of, but one which enabled her to lure him into cooperative mood. Growing close to both mother and son, he had vicariously enjoyed the typical family life he had missed and coveted for his whole life. She had flattered him endlessly, feeding his ego by acting as if he was a nominal head of the family. Even though he was unofficially retired (and considered by few in the palace an honorable relic), she had asked him how best to educate and guide her now five-year-old infant son, saying it was never too early to begin a proper education. Though these assertions echoed his own sentiments, as he had asserted so many times in the past, they had appeared fresh and genuine when they came from her. He had been primed so artfully that he had played right into her hands, had willingly imparted to her the vital information, and unwittingly instructed her on the countless pertinent steps to take to make the smooth transition and to attain her hidden, ultimate goal-that of showing Prince Magnian as the only potential candidate to replace the already despised Crown Prince Herleif.  It was a boon to her cause that Magnian already exhibited good stamina, agility, and an unusual courage for a toddler (an infant). An adaptive learner, he had already with his adorable qualities, innately endeared himself to those that mattered.  

05- PRINCE MAGNIEN YOZDEK

The apparent potential of this child had pleased Zakhertan Yozdek enough that he had become a bit more disposed to Sejon’s sly, relentless suggestions, oftentimes when he rested in bed after a pleasurable activity. As it were, from birth Magnian had been kept under scrutiny and vigilantly protected from unforeseen hazards that had befallen his former siblings. 

By the time, the activity outside had gradually tapered off Worren, out of sheer exhaustion, had also drifted into a fitful sleep only to be woken abruptly minutes later by the morning bells.

 

(END OF SECTION 9) 

 11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 8

 

Royal Tutor Worren Youkup’s sleep of late had often been troubled by violent dreams. This night being no different, he turned and tossed, thrashing this way and that, held fast in the vice grip of a terrible nightmare. Worren saw himself as he was once, a young, adventurous lad; in this dream episode however, he was alone in a tiny skiff, riding the swift currents down the Yawjun River and negotiating the turbulent, aggressive waves that threatened to topple his small craft (boat). Regardless of the danger, in his heart he felt certain of the urgency of reaching his destination; he must get there before it was too late, for time was of the essence!

01- WORREN YOUKUP AS A YOUNG MAN

Oddly enough, he could not remember for the life of him where it was that he needed to go; only that it was of vital importance that he got there. When the wind abruptly died down and all was still, he at once grabbed the oars and rowed as fast as he could towards the mid section, to take advantage of the swift currents and therefore, propel the boat swiftly as before,  gliding across the water as if his life depended on it.

Subsequently, the still air altered (was replaced), as the sun ominously took quick refuge behind the mountain that loomed over the left bank of the river. Shafts of lightning split the sky and peals of thunder crushed through the flotilla of clouds that had been swirled into being by the just then rising winds. Soaked now to the bone, Worren Youkup knew that his only safety lay in reaching the banks of the river as he applied his oars in that direction. He rowed and rowed, huffing and puffing, exerting himself to the point of exhaustion but still not getting any closer. To compound his difficulties, a thick curtain of pelting rain followed by a gray mist just swept off the land to erase (hide) all indications of the shore; his soul gripped in trepidation, he helplessly rode the undulation of angry waves, rising and falling on the great expanse of the water. His fear intensified realizing that he was now cast in the middle of a vast ocean. If the skiff overturned, because he had never learned how to swim, he would most certainly perish. What to do? What to do?

All right, so the talons of ill fate had carried him out to the centre of the ocean but being a pragmatist, he concentrated, not on how or what had instigated his dire predicament but rather, on the possible recourses where which he could extricate himself from this terrible danger. To his great consternation however, the little boat just then started to whirl around and round, with increasing velocity. He strained to fight the dizziness, to keep his eyes open and to maintain focus.

What is going on? He felt his forehead for the possibility of fever. Nope!

Then he saw it!!  Thousands and thousands of fish rising to the top, all floating belly-up on the surface, stunned by the churning waters; however, they suddenly transformed, all resembling (looking like) knives, stilettos, penknife’s, the ordinary kind scholars used!

 What did it all mean? A certain foreboding anew gripped Worren Youkup’s heart.

02- WORREN YOUKUB IN NIGHTMARE

All this while the whirling had continued and he got sucked down to the depths of the ocean by the funnel until the boat touched bottom where which a quaking, sandy bed tossed him mercilessly to and for. His heart’s palpitations intensified when he saw swimming towards him just then, the open red mouth of a huge grotesque black eel that was at least thirty feet in length. Another larger, even more monstrous eel chased away this monster however, which then turned and advanced towards him with an even greater zeal (vehemence). Worren Youkup clenched his jaw, same time his hand gripped the upper part of his nightshirt, as if to contain the fierce hammering in his chest and held on tight.   

Steady, steady on now. He told self, to calm his raw nerves. Except that, Worren saw that the eel now nearer still, had a human head. It swam closer and then flashing its razor-sharp teeth, it greeted Worren: “It will not be long now, Elder Brother. Oh, but how I missed you; I have been all alone and miserable all this while!"      

Worren realizing it was his long dead brother Kosi, he was about to accost him when, from the side another giant fish with mouth wide open suddenly advanced to, in one gulp swallow Worren and the skiff together. The old tutor and the boat, now in the belly of an abdominal cavity filled with toiling, turbulent, stomach acid- smelling putrid and burning everything, it touched, were quickly spirited away into the depths. The wood of the skiff began to smolder, and Worren knew that it was just a matter of time before, his flesh too would burn; meanwhile, his chest constricted from breathing in the steaming stench, rising from this sea of gastric juices. Oh, what a horrible way to die!

But Worren Youkup suddenly woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. Outside his door he heard rushing feet and urgent whispers. "What's going on there?” he mumbled to himself as he rose from his bed. He lethargically reached for his robe, his old bones creaking as he called out to his steward. Aside from minor ailments and the occasional slight headache, such as the one that plagued him now, he was in fairly decent (physical) shape for a man close to sixty-five years in age. Longevity ran in his family, so it was expected that he would live for yet another fifteen to twenty years.

03- WORREN YOUKUP (6)JP

Steward Chutek was quick to respond with the tepid cup of tea Worren Youkup needed to wash away the parchment that usually wrapped the inside of his throat. After gratefully gulping part of the lukewarm tea, he held the cup just a slight distance away from his lips.

"What in damnation is going on out there at this beastly hour? Has the whole city gone mad?"  He was a bit more than disgruntled by the pandemonium outside and believed the household should have long been asleep, snuggled in their quilts by now. In fact, it was his intention, once his thirst was quenched; to retreat (withdraw) swiftly under the sanctuary of the warm quilts and, hopefully, this time, get a good night's sleep.

However, as the steward answered his unwitting question, he blanched and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, over the bloodless gooseflesh. His heart wildly palpitated in shock and, cup still poised in mid-air, he fought hard to control a sudden bursting anger.   

"That vixen, this is all her doing."  With a quaking hand he put the cup on the nightstand. "She sure has played me for a fool, and there is no fool like an old fool." He continued with his incensed mutterings. "But this has gone far enough." He steeled himself, “No, do not lose your temper. It will do no good for you to explode. Get a grip on your senses now; this matter must be managed with tact and decorum. Yes, this will require all your faculties, tolerance and the necessary wiles all presented in a rational and reasonable manner.”   

Worren Youkup refused to even consider the alternatives in view of their grim repercussions and quickly pushed all unpleasant speculations away from his mind in favor of the more positive outcomes. Besides, he told himself, it is highly unlikely that anyone, even one as cunning as Egil Viggoaries, would ever fathom the unthinkable. None could ever conceive of, let alone question such a bizarre, far-fetched notion. For the time being at least, he had nothing to fear. Yet his heart in defiance of his will, would not co-operate with the cool calculations of his mind and his rage mounted despite all Worren's efforts to hold his emotions in check as he pieced the events together. All the innocuous incidents, the fragmented questions, actions, and machinations that built up to this denouement fell into place as part of the culprit's expert plan to coerce him into becoming part of this despicable, diabolical plot.

Worren Youkup’s mouth creased into a grimace of pain as indignation burned a pit in the cavity of his chest. He let out a shuddering sigh and shook his head, reflecting on what little consequence the unwillingness of his participation would bring to his eventual judgment. The ridicule that public knowledge of his part in this would bring, he anticipated, would alone be far worse than ten thousand public executions. His integrity was in peril and his head now throbbed with pain as he searched for the best ways to extricate himself from blame and at the same time to preserve the prestige he had held, reveled in for five decades. In seething fury and contempt, he abruptly rose to his feet, overturning the cup he had so carefully just moments before placed at the edge of the night table. Oblivious to the spill, he began to pace the floor, hands clasped firmly behind him, grumbling indecipherable words punctuated by the periodic curse under his breath.

04- WORREN YOUKUP (12)JP

This unexpected, atypical reaction baffled and astonished the steward.  

“I had no idea master cared so much about the Crown Prince.” He bit his lower lip in consternation. “How could I have erred so?”  Like everyone else, he thought that Worren Youkup despised the worthless Prince Herleif, having so often expressed privately his displeasure at Prince’s contemptible conduct.   

Still, the signs of Worren’s mental anguish, the way his face flushed taut with pain and the sweats beaded his brow, were unmistakable and alarmed Steward Chutek. He volunteered immediately to fetch Royal Physician, but Worren would not hear of it.  

"As if I have nothing better to do at this time of the night than be poked and prodded by those overrated ninnies," he griped, glaring at the servant. Worren’s voice however became more even and controlled as he continued, "Their ministrations are quite unnecessary. See to it that I am not disturbed for the remainder of the night, not by anyone."    

"But...But..." Chutek was about to advance an argument that was abruptly cut off short by a gesture of Worren’s hand.  

"I said no one, and that includes you. Now go!"  Having barked out these orders, Worren turned his back to the steward. Chutek stared at the obviously tense shoulders of his master's rigid posture and shook his head in despair, understanding full well that, when Worren Youkup was in this determined state there was no arguing or reasoning with him. He knew his master's obstinate nature extremely well and, therefore, despite strong misgivings he obeyed. Shrugging, he turned and dragged his feet across the room. Just as he cleared the door, he hesitated and, turning informed Worren in a clean, crisp voice that, all the same, he would be stationed outside at arm's length should the old tutor changed his mind or need anything further, anything at all.

05- STEWARD CHUTEK 5- JP

"Sometimes you can be such a pest. Who made you a mother hen?"  His face hidden from the steward, Worren nevertheless donned a smile, touched deeply by Chutek’s deep concern and unwavering loyalty. That was so typical of Chutek, he quietly reflected. To date he had fostered quite a fondness for the steward and felt as protective of the young man as if he had been his own kindred, the son he had always yearned for, yet never could have created (conceived).

Worren Youkup himself, orphaned at an early age, had been raised as the adopted son of the acclaimed scholar Keonz of Curnan Province, who had later held the office of Royal Tutor. As it were, before Zakhertan Yozdek, the position of Royal Tutor’s was esteemed enough to extricate (spare) the acclaimed literate (erudite, academic) from being an obligatory eunuch. Worren Youkup, typically, as soon as he could read and write, had been extensively educated in all the skills necessary for him to one day hold a tutor’s post. When the dynasties changed, it was during this time, as another crucial step to the preparation necessary for Worren Youkup to assume Keonz's post upon his mentor's eventual passing or incapacity that he, at the age of twenty-one, in traditional (age-old) ceremony, had been made a eunuch.   

Worren had always felt that, in a way, Keonz had been more fortunate than himself since the tutor had experienced a normal life up until the time when he had lost his wife and family in a catastrophe and had then chosen to voluntarily become a eunuch to educate Prince Qijerrik.    

“At least he had been given a choice.” Worren groaned, the old bitterness gnawing at him. Sub-human, Worren had inwardly termed all eunuchs, including him, and had carried a deep sense of loss and resentment since that time. He had always kept this resentment secret; however, absolving his adopted father from all blame, for Worren’s code of moral conduct which included absolute filial piety, demanded nothing less.

“After all, my prominent position had enabled me to enjoy the uninterrupted and otherwise enviable life of pace and luxury.” Worren endeavouring to lift his spirits out of the abyss, shrugged. “And I escaped all those years of persecution, which had so often plagued my counterparts (equivalents).”  His worries somehow assuaged, Worren reflected on another piece of luck that had facilitated this satisfactory long life. Sometime in the past, Worren no less brilliant than his peers, had had the good fortune of being in position (being able) to extricate young Zakhertan Yozdek from a tight, dire situation and the Sovereign's memory had been long. Furthermore, since Worren Youkup had never openly repudiated Zakhertan Yozdek’s usurpation of the Throne, this, and his past good deed, had spared him the worst of the indignities and barbarous tortures that had been meted out to the other scholars during those terrible years of the purges. This special treatment had been a two-edged sword however, for it had also alienated him from all the close associates he had cultivated in his previous years.

Had Worren not been a pragmatist, he would have ended his own life in protest over the atrocities; as it were, after the tumultuous times had passed, he had been reinstated to his former position. In this contemptible gilded cage hence, he had executed his duties mechanically, seeing to three consecutive Royal offspring’s proper education, till one day he hoped to be rescued, from this mundane and frivolous existence, by the peaceful sleep of long-awaited death.  

Worren Youkup’s thoughts reverted to Chutek, and he again cogitated (ruminated) on how fortunate he had been thus far to have at this late stage of life, a comforting companion, who was much more than a steward, by his side. Chutek reminded him in so many ways his old young self, but of course Cutek was also different in characteristics, he wished he could have had. Chutek had entered his service in his early adolescence and under most bizarre circumstance and even though Chutek had come from an uncouth peasant family, he had from the first endeared himself to him and as well established a good reputation among his peers by his extraordinary intelligence, keen observations, sensitivity and, above all, his compassionate heart which was almost a rarity in Channing. 

06- OTHER STEWARDS AND STAFF

 

Indeed, Chutek was different, had always been different from the bunch living, sham coexisting or thriving in capital city. Most incredible, he had not been hardened by the harsh experiences (trials) of life, even though he had suffered more than his fair share of it. Unable to meet their tax burden one year, his father had sold the youngest son Chutek into bondage to keep the rest of the family out of prison. It had been a vein effort, for trouble came nevertheless and Chutek had never seen any of them alive again. At the tender age of nine he had been orphaned and left at the mercy of ravenous wolves that prayed on such hapless, unsullied brood. Cursed with striking good looks, he had quite early on unfortunately, drawn the unwarranted attention from a lascivious official, who had jumped at the chance to secure the boy for his own licentious uses. Heaven only knows what that poor lad had (endured) suffered at the hands of that vile beast. Chutek, up to the present day, had refused to make any mention of those six ignominious years that corrupt official had enslaved him.   

With a certain understanding and sympathy for the steward's pain, Worren Youkup had never pressed to learn, although he knew enough to make an accurate guess at it. He had after all, seen the scars permanently imprinted (crisscrossed, etched) at the boy's back and chest, which had borne a mute testament to six years of abuse. Worren cringed as he pictured it in his mind, shaking his head and hissing out a long breath as if to dispel all the fierce indignation and anger that once more welled up anew within him. Chutek’s face however, for economic reasons, had been spared from being marred; and it brought little comfort to the tutor to remember that the official had paid dearly for his crimes.

Charged with extortion, the minor functionary, Worren Youkup could no longer recall his name, had suffered apt torture at the hands of Egil Viggoaries's officers before an ignominious public execution. Since the crime had fallen under Provincial authority the entire holdings of the man and his family, including all the servants, had then been confiscated by the Governor Yenokos of Kentor Province for proper disposal in accordance with existing law. As luck would have it, Worren on his special time off and wanting to get away from Channing, anon had accompanied his good friend Lukes when he was assigned on a state inspection to Kentor Province. They were being entertained at the Governor's mansion when Worren had chanced on Chutek. Worren was infuriated when the Governor Yenokos, seeing the boy was favored, smiled enigmatically, and looked at them both with undisguised calculation in his eyes. However, the pragmatic tutor had masked his disgust and indignation long enough to rescue the boy from the clutches of that despicable opportunist.

                                                                                        

07- GOVERNOR YENOKOS

                                                                                  

As anticipated subsequent day, wishing to curry favor, Governor Yenokos had only been too eager to make a gift of Chutek to Worren. Politely refusing this bribe, Worren had nonetheless later, as if in afterthought, had legally purchased the boy and sent him on ahead to be added, as a kitchen staff, to those in his employ. Of course, this was included as a small insert in Lukes’s extensive report to Zakhertan Yozdek and, despite the Governor's hopes; Yenokos still suffered the inevitable, downfall two months later.

Soon as he was back in Channing Worren initiated measures to free Chutek from bondage, giving him the option to select his own preferred livelihood (trade, vocation);  at his own behest however, Chutek had joined the ranks of the Eunuchs in the Palace and later still, became the new steward to Worren, whom he had served faithfully ever since. Sadly, Worren's partiality towards Chutek from the beginning had incurred the animosity of envious (green-eyed) Prince Herleif and consequently, the boy had suffered additional hardships and humiliations with his characteristic, stoic silence. Each time (whenever) Worren Youkup had found out about the harassment and put a stop to it, the spiteful (malicious) Prince had only become more adamant in his persecution. Committed to breaking Chutek's resilience, Prince Herleif with a surprising determination and cunning had consistently redoubled his efforts, as well as, drummed up support from among the other boys of his age at the palace, for his wanton (malicious) vindictive assaults (attacks) on Chutek.   

Worren Youkup, with his mind reeling with such concerns, for several minutes had remained rooted to the spot with his back to the door and stared blankly out the window into the darkness.

“This fresh trouble with Prince Herleif, the bane of my past and now present trouble, will certainly involve Chutek; and I fear this time I may not be able to extricate him from dire harm.” Worren thoughtfully nodded and sighed. “All those countless hours I'd wasted on Prince Herleif, trying to instill some goodness and benevolence in him, it was all, to no avail.” Worren Youkup pursed his lips, dismally reflecting on the fact that no amount of effort or discipline had ever gotten through to Prince’s selfish, greedy heart. “He’d always been and would always be an unconscionable, devious brute.”     

 And there was no denying what everyone knew but kept silent on: Prince Herleif, most unlike the revered Prince Qijerrik, had precious few good qualities to speak of. There was one thing, nevertheless, that Prince Herleif excelled in; since early childhood he had shown a rare, uncanny talent in astrological interpretations and, accepting the encouragement of others in this one field, he had gone on to surpass all expectations.  

Recalling the results that Prince Herleif had obtained in the past, Worren realized that the predictions had indeed always been of good account, not that it mattered to him now. The old tutor's opinions on the art were akin to those of Zakhertan Yozdek; lending the art no real credence despite all the prophecies he saw fulfilled, for he was sure there were many more predictions that were off target and therefore not remembered. He did find the exercise useful in much the same way as the Sovereign, as a source of entertainment for the higher classes and a means of manipulating the thoughts of the crowd and it did serve yet another purpose in that, for a few hours every night, it kept Prince Herleif out of trouble. For the latter reason Worren had kept his opinions on astrology to himself in order not to discourage the prince on the only endeavor for which he had shown any real promise.

Now, Lady Sejon's interest in the arcane philosophies was of a more recent vintage, Worren mused. But that was to be expected of the fairer sex. Still, with clear hindsight he wished he had not been so forthcoming about the recent, most dire, predictions concerning the present Regime. Prince Herleif had always run his findings past Worren first, so the old man could function as a sounding board, but Sejon had demanded proof of these findings when told, which once asked for, was difficult for Worren to refuse. He could well understand that her chief concern was for her child (toddler) Magnian. She had implored him, saying she could not rest until she had learned the specifics and as she believed, try making even a doomed effort to alter the future's bleak outcome.    

As it was within his means to help her, she asked that he borrow the Prince Herleif’s latest astrological work and show them to her. Then by applying her own knowledge in the field she could examine the findings herself. The scrolls would be returned afterwards, and no one would be the wiser.    

It seemed such a harmless request, and the alternative, her temper tantrums, and her wrath (fiery fury), would have been far more of a nuisance. Inwardly he had been amused by her naivety and had understood well her natural averting (avoidance), of having any direct dealings with Crown Prince. Besides, who could blame her for not wanting to feel obligated to one such as Herleif? Despite the outward congenial exchanges and though close in age,   

Worren suspected that those two had been in truth, anything but adversaries. In fact, Worren Youkup could not remember there ever been an issue they did not clash over except this prophecy. Feeling that the prince Herleif was quite unreasonable nuisance to begin with, for being so miserly (niggardly) with his findings, wanting always to extricate most recompense from each result, he had seen no reason he should not comply with her wishes. Who would have thought that innocuous act he had been persuaded to do, would land him in such serious predicament.  

All this trouble had germinated from the one harmless, yet evil kernel that had been planted, none the less, with his consent.

08- WORREN YOUKUP (13)JP

 

Worren Youkup looked down, re-examining the akin (copy, duplicate) document, chewing his lower lip as he admonished himself for not standing firm in his long-time resolve of noninterference. He should never ever have consented to the Lady's request. Oh, but she had been so wily (canny) with her persuasion. She had made him feel so special, entreating him so humbly while same time artfully buttressing (building up) and stroking his ego. It had simply melted his heart when she had looked up to him with those beseeching eyes with flickering (fluttering) eyelashes, appearing oh so vulnerable, so very helpless.    

“Those two are, as the saying goes, cut from the same cloth.” Worren Youkup grumbled under his breath and nodded. With hindsight now, he marvelled at the proficiency in the obviously kept up sham which had masked the actual truth. Those two were and always had been serious competitors. Worren Youkup felt foolish for not having realized till now, the full measure of it.  

“She was far from helpless doddering fool! The more is the pity that you had not figured her out beforehand. Anyone looking at the way she behaved would have reckoned she was up to no good.”    

Unexpectedly once more, her angelic face floated before his mind's eye and part of him, even now, looked for ways to absolve her from all blame. “She had not, likely, planned it at all, only when the circumstances presented themselves that she had astutely seized the opportunity (chance). Who could blame her.”  But the damning, irrefutable evidence rushed forward again to trouble his heart and force him to face the dreaded humiliating truth, that he was indubitably, used!   

Worren Youkup shuddered, imagining the far worse repercussions that could have happened with such an unpredictable person as Zakhertan Yozdek as it was things still looked pretty grim. Egil Viggoaries had been put on the case and given only three days starting at dawn to arrest the culprits and report back. Royal Tutor feared for the countless innocents that would suffer under his ruthless investigation.

“What to do? What to do?”  

 

(END OF SECTION 8)

 11-LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 7

Looking at his useless son, Zakhertan Yozdek, despite his misgivings, was reminded of the prince’s beloved, and now deceased mother, Lady Elin Yozdek.

01- LADY ELIN YOZDEK (2)jp

 

Herleif bore some resemblance to Lady Elin; for one thing they both had penetrating, honey-brown eyes, and long lustrous auburn (chestnut) hair with loose, sheen curls. Lady Elin had been the only woman who had come close to earning not only Zakhertan’s deep affection but also his unqualified respect, which was no small feat by any means. Though Zakhertan had taken several wives since, none had come close to comparing to her noble stature, brilliance of mind, beauty or sensuality or the other special talents and attributes she possessed. Still, it did not redeem (deliver) her from a grievous, gruesome end at the hands of her admiring husband when Zakhertan had found it necessary to be free to marry Idona, then Prime Minister Adelram’s daughter.

This had been but one of the many steps he had taken towards the realization of his grand design, and all of them had required sacrifices of one sort or the other.

“All the more is the pity,” he mused, studying Herleif’s face, “the boy has gained none of her (Lady Elin’s) characteristics when he inherited her looks.” Zakhertan knew that Prince Herleif had benefited nonetheless from his remorse at killing Lady Elin and that this had been yet another reason for his tolerance, of this unworthy offspring, this exceptionally long. But all that was going to change now. His heart once more turned to stone, Zakhertan glared at his son.

Without the Sovereign's permission to speak, prince Herleif, burdened with documents, had stood rigidly in his abject stance even as Zakhertan moved unexpectedly away from the window and came swiftly towards him. Zakhertan not uttering a word, circled his son like a predatory beast (or a hunting hawk), his steps coming to an abrupt halt, when his back was Infront of the closed door. In sharp contrast to his son, the Sovereign presented the very picture of might and authority that could inspire awe and fear in any man. Flashing in Zakhertan Yozdek’s icy, penetrating pupils just then was a single, somber calculation that caused Prince Herleif’s hairs on the back of his neck to bristle (stand on end).

"Well, what is it you want?"  The words, outwardly innocuous, were harsh and abrasive, their tone speaking volumes full of disapproval and contempt. Zakhertan noted with disdain how Prince Herleif had involuntarily flinched at the sound of his voice then as the fear was quickly mastered and the prince spun sharply about to face him and bowed respectfully, Zakhertan felt a certain satisfaction but hid his amused smile.

Prince Herleif, formally addressing his father, briefly stated the purpose of his visit.

"Very well," Zakhertan consented brusquely. "A few minutes, that’s all, I will spare you."  He gestured sharply, beckoning his son closer to the desk as he returned to sit once more in his plush chair.

With the outward appearance of patient parent, Zakhertan with a stern face heard prince Herleif out, all the while lending only a disinterested ear to his son's theoretical babbling. Prince Herleif on his part relayed in measured and lucid speech how, having been beset by disturbing dreams, he had consulted the positioning of the stars in addition to the oracle provided by the bones. To be ascertained (to ascertain the facts), he had shaken the bones for the second and third time only to reach in every instance the same outcome for the reading:  his illustrious father Zakhertan Yozdek and the Wenjenkun kingdom faced a bad omen. Soon, (in a noticeably short while) after a Nationwide upheaval, the definite downfall of the present regime was forecasted. Braving his most esteemed, sovereign father Zakhertan’s wrath, therefore, duty bound Herleif had come forward to forewarn his Majesty of this fact. The prince then asked permission to elaborate on the details necessary to substantiate his claim.

02- PRINCE HERLEIF YOZDEK (4)jp

Much to his delight, Herleif received a begrudging, stern nod from Zakhertan. Quickly he unfolded the first of his charts and proceeded to give an interpretation to the intricate geometrical diagrams and particulars which he had meticulously drawn, marked, and outlined.

Glancing at these, Zakhertan Yozdek noted how the drafting was so fine the piece could be considered an exceptional work of art solely on its own merits. “Why couldn’t his dastardly (burdensome baggage) son akin have shown, skill with military charts? At least then his talent could have been utilized, instead of this absurd gibberish, hogwash.”  Though he would never own up to it, Zakhertan was in fact, quite adept at astrology himself, having employed it during his youth many times to justify actions he had wished to take. Presently, taking in the details at-a-glance, he had briefly deciphered it already for himself, long before Prince Herleif had finished his explanation, inwardly concluding that some of Herleif’s interpretation had been right on the mark. There was one curious variance (discrepancy) however that Herleif had entirely missed; there were not one but two stars, directly positioned one behind the other, that it could easily be misconstrued as one. The juxtaposition of planets and stars meanwhile, were quite precise, right down to the birth of the new star, already much brighter than the star of Zakhertan Yozdek’s, which was ever so slowly moving into the ruling position in the constellation that governed the state of Wenjenkun. The future the fates foretold was quite obviously that of his dynasty's downfall at the hands of one, which would then be followed by another, a rising Sovereign to be. And the timing of one would be quick but not the other, at least not as quick as Herleif had predicted.    

Zakhertan at this point reflected how just last night in the Royal Observatory he had discerned (perceived) this new manifestation in the constellation but was disappointed to note that, its position and timing precluded it from being in any way related to the birth of Prince Magnian. Now that Zakhertan saw the chart laid out in front of him like this, he noted with slight trepidation, how close the first star was to the house of the former rulers. Could it be? No! Zakhertan dismissed the notion instantly. Even if he could have survived, the likelihood of that happening was ridiculously far-fetched. Zakertan chastised self. Besides, when had he ever attached any credence to such superstitious nonsense…  Ravings like these were useful only for amusement and for manipulating the gullible, nothing more.   

 Zakhertan turned his attention back to Prince Herleif who had just then unraveled the second diagram on the desk. This one was exceptionally crafted as well. “The wimp has a real talent here; too bad it is wasted.”  Taking no stock in what Herleif was saying, Zakhertan’s conciliatory mood abruptly dissipated, and he disdainfully scoffed, “So what if Herleif showed promise, had excelled in the black arts of Astrology and Alchemy? This vast knowledge would not serve him at all in the end.”      

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Zakhertan Yozdek recalled Herleif’s spitefulness and how his shrewish and ruthless applications of his knowledge and power had, in the past, won his son more enmity than praise.   

Crown Prince Herleif meanwhile having misinterpreted Zakhertan’s habitual inert mask (which Zakhertan wore at such boring times) and encouraged by his father's unusual tolerance, pegged these signs as interest. Consequently, with an overflowing enthusiasm that colored his words, he began to elaborate further on his hypothesis. Herleif had never known anything resembling to affection from Zakhertan Yozdek and was now having difficulty properly gauging such an alien concept. This was the closest he had come to an approval by his cold-hearted parent, and he had erroneously assumed that, for the first time, he was making some headway in communicating with Zakhertan.     

At one-point Zakhertan with an unreadable expression rose from his seat and hands clasped behind his back, walked over to the window to again stare at the outside. As there had been no command for Herleif to stop, the prince had continued with his incessant babblings. The prince Herleif’s bewilderment at Zakhertan’s reticence (silence) was shared by Neru who, having just finished with his task of burning the most trivial of the day's documents was standing at unease (disquietly) in a corner of the room mentally noting all that was being said as he awaited the Sovereign's next command. Zakhertan at present appeared temporarily distracted by one of the brightly plumed songbirds which, after finishing its bath, had alighted on the windowsill to fluff its feathers and dry off thoroughly.   

Contrary to appearance however, Zakhertan from the corner of his eye (in a side view) had observed (noted) how Herleif had quickly untied the knot binding of the last scroll and, with a completely inappropriate flourish, unfurled it (across) on top the desk. Instantly Zakhertan’s attention was riveted to the stiletto that, previously hidden in the scroll, had now been exposed. It was the most common, innocuous kind of penknife or a carving knife; it was not a weapon of choice for any would be assassin. Still facing the window, Zakhertan waited to see what his worthless son would do next. Prince Herleif, nonplused, stood frozen in his place, fear gripping his heart.   

Without turning, Zakhertan Yozdek barked, "Go ahead, pick it up!" 

03- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (57)JP

All at once the color drained from the prince’s already pallid but now completely ashen face. Trembling from head to toe like a leaf in a gale, he fell to his knees and repeatedly beat his forehead on the floor, vehemently professing his innocence in a choked voice. "I don't know how it got there, your Majesty. I do not. I did not put it there. “    

“I have been set up. Please, father, I swear, I had no knowledge of this. "He continued these denials in the contemptible, quaking croaks that further grated on Zakhertan’s irate nerves.  

“Just as I thought,” Zakhertan Yozdek highly incensed, stared at the giant marble legendary warrior stationed by the stone bridge thirty feet away in the garden, furious with his son for his abhorrent, self-debasing beseeching. Yet this was worse, far worse, than if Prince Herleif had indeed been behind this juvenile attempt. He might have even forgiven Herleif had he the backbone to seriously try assassinating him.    

Zakhertan snorted in utter disgust, “This is unforgivable; he is being made the fool. How did it come to this; who would dare make such a mockery of my, albeit an imbecile, royal spawn (offspring)? I should crush this inexcusable insect now and be done with him, just as I will crush those who are behind this reprehensible farce. “    

 "You are a disgrace!” he turned and snarled at his son; teeth bared. He raised his clenched left fist as if to strike and pulverize Herleif’s skull but abruptly held back, his rage still mounting. In a split second his right hand snatched the knife and flung it with incredible force at the songbird; so agile and quick was this move that the unfortunate birdie did not stand a prayer of a chance. Just as it had spread its wings to take a flight, the blade pierced its chest through and (before its last breath) hurled it backward, pinning it tightly to the ledge.  

"Guards,” The roaring command caused the dumbfounded Neru to jump several feet up in the air. Coming to his senses, he could only cast pitying eyes upon the quivering prince Herleif as two guards rushed in.   

"Take him away!"  Zakhertan pointed to the crown prince, still on his knees. "And give him fifty blows with the heavy staff for good measure, no less and no more."  Zakhertan knew that the hundred strokes that were required in this situation would prematurely kill the miserable wretch.    

“No; death will not come to you that mercifully Herleif, for you have not yet outlived your usefulness.” Zakhertan glowering at Herleif mused.   

Reluctantly Zakhertan also had to admit that, for now, he needed the prince alive for the stability of the succession until the toddler Magnian's chances of survival were assured. With certain distaste in his mouth, he watched the indignant, yet cowardly Herleif being roughly (man-handled) moved away by the guards. They had gripped him by the arms and, being much taller than the prince, they were holding him several inches off the ground.  

“Of course, you could never inspire respect in anyone, could you?” Zakhertan scoffed then signaled the guards (a slight lifting of the index finger) to wait. Instantly they halted in their tracks.    

"Thank your lucky stars that you are being dealt with so leniently."  Zakhertan strode over to pin his menacing glare to his son’s terrified face. "With each stroke of the staff I want you to contemplate on just why you are being punished. Do you understand me, boy?”    

"Now, get him out of my sight."    

For a man who had celebrated his ascension (ascent) to adulthood some five years ago, being called a 'boy' in front of others was a most demeaning insult, but Prince Herleif completely missed this fine point, as well as his larger, more grievous failure.  

"Father, I'm innocent! Please father, please hear me out." He pleaded as he was being unceremoniously hauled to the dungeons.

    

                                                                                 ~    

 

(END OF SECTION 7)