11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 20

Here is a succinct explanation as to what really happened Stuart Chutek, far from the Capital Channing:

On route to Lord Tonzeye Yevgun in Chukset Province, Stuart Chutek’s journey was hindered by tumultuous rains, which had made the major highway and most of the alternate roads, virtually impassable (obstructed or treacherous); therefore, he had stayed for the additional two days at a modest Inn near the Nexoko Pass.

01 B- STEWART CHUTEK TRAVELLING- JP

On the second night, during a private repast with a very friendly merchant and his bookish assistant also on route to Chukset Province, he had been quietly drugged however, then robbed of his possessions. The still unconscious Stuart Chutek was then quietly taken out the back door, carried to the edge of a very high precipice by these clearly ruthless Wolfbane Brotherhood agents, then unmercifully dumped over the cliff’s edge- with the immediate danger extant (existent) from shards of rocks protruding from the periphery-into the deep, forested gully (ravine, gorge) that had a fast flowing river with tumultuous waves and currents, carving a snaking course through it (the canyon) at the very base.

The turbulent and foamy waves of the river had carried Chutek for a time, his head bopping (trouncing) in and out, every so often barely visible, amidst the rushing waters that carved a violent path across the ravine and then eventually cascaded over a spectacular waterfall thousands of meters down, which was picturesque, though very lethal.

Logically, anyone in Chutek’s predicament would have indubitably perished; nevertheless, the capricious (unpredictable, variable) fate had deemed that Chutek, even though he had scant chance to survive, would miraculously triumph over this certain catastrophe.

02- STEWART CHUTEK  (5)

Alas, as Chutek was swept along by the rapid currents of the river, racing alongside the tree stems (stalks, trunks, heavy branches) and, consequently, his head often crushing into or colliding with these floating (racing) wooden debris- he inexorably (unavoidably) was fated to suffer a future syndrome (disorder) of permanent amnesia (memory loss). Furthermore, Chutek ‘s mien (appearance), his once beautiful visage was also irrevocably (altered) marred by the three unforgiving deep lacerations (slashes, gushes) across his face. And so, his ordeal had transformed him from being strikingly handsome to just being plainly ordinary, if not an ugly lad (guy, chap). Then again, it was a deliberate feat (deed) of destiny, or a blessing from Heaven, for Chutek thereafter would remain aptly anonymous and fortunately, be well hidden (concealed) from those that would still seek to harm him.

Chutek was eventually washed ashore to the gravelly (pebbly) beach, and discovered by a recluse, aged warrior that bore physical scars on his body all over, which told of a once violent past. Halvar Gosta was his name, and two decades ago he had permanently turned his back to that way of life, deliberately forsaking all trappings of civilization and any human habitations (settlements).

Halvar Gosta, once a mighty warrior, he had back then been pushed to the brink of insanity; thus, a bedlam (turmoil, conflict, bout), instigated by an unforgivable past trauma, at the ramparts (parapets) of the heavily armed fortresses guarding Eastern far frontier of Wenjenkun, had resulted in an unavoidable two hundred pugilists (combatants, squaddies), one high official and four officers’ fatalities, as they had tried to contain him. Nevertheless, escaping the clutches of the law, he had made good his escape; however, from then on deemed a rebel, overnight he had become a wanted criminal with a hefty bounty (reward) on his head.

Halvar’s unyielding will to persevere had eventually cast him to this faraway (outlying,) corner, where which the hostile terrain (territory) demanded constant vigilance just to survive. Absconded (fled, settled) to this high altitude remote mountainous region (at the northwestern sector of the Konourek Province of Wenjenkun Empire) where all but the hardiest of souls could have persisted, and by existing (subsisting) in this arduous though natural environment, incessantly battling the harsh climate and the abundant, voracious, roaming predatory beasts (that lacked the guile, treachery and duplicity of humans)- he’d gradually (by degrees) tempered his core explosive (volatile) fury (ferocity) and reclaimed his sanity (lucidity, reason). Thereafter, he had lived the reminder of his solitary days in (mundane) routine subsistence and in equitable (relative) peace. He hunted game or periodically indulged in fishing trips, for variance and to survive.

But then again, his lot (destiny, luck) perpetually dogged by erratic (random, unpredictable) providence (divine intervention), once while pursuing a game, he had fallen into a deep chasm and lost consciousness; when he came to, he found himself encountering a most venomous snake, ready to strike him. Halvar’s strong grip had promptly sent (dispatched) the serpent to the netherworld, but not before the serpent’s fangs had targeted his calf (shin, lower leg).

 

03   HALVAR (11)B -JP

The venomous bite would have finished him off for good had it not been for the woman who had happened to be at nearby vicinity, quietly and unseen, gathering rare medicinal herbs on the very mountain.

She at once had acted decisively to save his life. He had learned of this later, that she had first successfully drew out the poison from the two puncher wounds of the viper; then, she had carefully applied herbal poultices to the area. Subsequently, she had torn strips from her oversize shirt and carefully bandaged the wound. The next step had been the hardest to undertake (accomplish, achieve, complete), as she with some difficulty, got him out of the deep chasm, then hauled (towed, dragged, pulled) his massive muscular (athletic, robust), fit form, with dogged persistence, till they reached the safety of her well-concealed (by the runners, ivy), sturdy wooden cabin that had been built long ago by her now deceased warrior father.

Subsequent days, despite her diligent care, the stranger had been delirious, his soul and physical body thrashing about, racked (beset, tormented) with fighting personal demons and dangerously high fever. She with her strong determination, had patiently however, brought him back from the edge of death, with her ancient herbal remedies and medicinal poultices that had been passed down to her.

On the fifth day, his fever had finally broken (subsided), and he had slowly regained his full conscience (senses); that morning waking at dawn, though groggily (dizzy and weak), he had at first lain perfectly still, with his eyelids closed willing agility and strength to his limbs and trying to make sense of his present circumstance. When he opened his eyelids again, this time his patient, stealth gaze had at first briefly rested on his bandages, then perused (scrutinized, surveyed) the immaculate (spotless, clean) and orderly interior of a sparsely furnished wooden, logged cabin:

 His eyes stayed for a time on the remarkable warrior’s shield (armor) with an unusual crest (emblem symbol) on it, the like of which he had never seen and next, rested on the adjacent (nearby), a clearly magnificent, sheathed sword with jewelled hilt (handle), mounted on the far wall. There were also bundles of strange herbs hung low from the ceiling, infusing (pervading) the interior air with their varied fragrances, some of it being positively intoxicating. On a two-tear shelf, besides the window with shutters, rested six glass jars of herbs and 8 jars of what looked to be preserved mushrooms or fruits.

It was then that he acutely became aware (also realized) that he was resting on the only bed in the room. His soft regard (respectful stare) next affixed on presumed saviour’s back, he watched her carefully for a time as she tended the fire in the hearth (central fireplace). Then, while Halvar surreptitiously (quietly) observed her practical, methodical efforts (actions, movements), he inwardly queried, amazed at the small, framed female, who clearly was alone, having so managed to extricate (rescue) him from the deep gulch (gulley, pothole), drag him, for presumed inconceivable distance (length), till they reached the safety of her bungalow (abode) in the woods. He was same time quietly perturbed that another human being had lived/survived on this mountain without him ever detecting her presence. Typical mountainous region overall was an unforgiving place; death stalked the weak, with prevalent dangers abound, not only from elements but from myriad creatures and predatory beasts.

He was curious to learn if the shield and sword belonged to her or another; more importantly, how long and what kind of reason propelled her to live in this harsh environment?

Norna, just then detecting a slight variance in his breathing (also, his slight stirring), therefore, knowing that he was fully awake, in an unhurried manner then had half turned and enigmatically smiled at him with that broad grin; she then nodded, and rising to her feet and turning to face him fully, exclaimed: Its good, you’ll live.

04 B- NORNA - JP

Delightfully then, she had introduced herself as Norna (purposely leaving out her surname) and then quietly asked after his name. He parted his lips to comply (speak) but then suddenly became aware that his throat was terribly parched (thirsty); wincing, and with difficulty he had then propped himself up to a sitting position. Before he could ask her for it, however, anticipating his need she had hastened with the tepid (lukewarm) cup of water, then cautioned him to take it slow.

He had gratefully drunk his fill, and then introduced himself as simply Halvar, taking his cue from her and leaving out his surname. He next with deep gratitude evident in his voice, had thanked her for saving his life and then stated that he was now, forever, indebted to her. Subsequently, noticing her bedding all rolled up, and tugged at the corner of the hearth, he, lowering his gaze had expressed his shame and guilt at occupying her bed, while she slept on the floor. She had dismissed this so sweetly with the wave of her hand, that for the first time ever tiny crack had appeared in his icy heart, threatening to thaw it, and edit (revise) his forever hardened resolve, his (antipathy) utter aversion of all human beings.

Later still she had helped him drink (ingest) a particularly nutritious warm broth, till colour returned to his cheeks. Halvar upon his inquiry, had learned then that she had once lived with her warrior father and that the sword and shield bearing their family’s crest had belonged to her now deceased father Jarle. She had fallen silent for a time and noting her reluctance to speak any further on this, he had let it pass.

05- JARLE (WARRIOR, FATHER OF NORNA)2

Later still, nights being long, as each sipped from clay cups the freshly brewed hot tea, a sort of soothing herbal concoction that would enable one to sleep soundly, it was then that she desisting tears (though it was evident in her face that her grief was still fresh), in a choking voice told him, that she lived alone and had done so, since the sudden, tragic demise of her beloved father Jarle.

Three winters past, on a particularly tempestuous day, a sudden snowstorm had blanketed the mountain by several inches of pristine white, reducing visibility to virtual nil; her father Jarle returning home from a hunt and being caught in this, had furthermore, suffered a fall into a deep chasm which had also trapped a voracious (ravenous) predatory beast. She did not need to finish the narration (account, story), as Halvar with certain understanding nodded his head. He had clearly understood that warrior Jarle consequently had been mauled to death and then mostly, if not entirely eaten (bone and flesh) by the ravenous beast, by the time she had tracked her father’s whereabouts. Halvar had surreptitiously looked at her brief time later, with sympathy gripping his heart, understanding the grizzly discovery of Jarle that still to date, hunted her peace.

Following days as Norna slowly and diligently had nursed him back to sound (fit, good) health, anticipating his every need and providing it without being asked; during this period Halvar, nevertheless, became impatient at being idle, wanting to at least in part, by doing specific errands or repairs, to repay her kindness to him. Understanding this need, she tasked him with minor chores that entailed (required) certain skill but did not necessitate sturdy (robust) strength or vigorous agility.

06 HALVAR (8)

Subsequently, quietly observing her ways, Halvar was utterly drawn by her natural beauty and her quiet grace, but more importantly, by her agility and utter competence in stoically handling (dealing) as she did, the daunting (intimidating), demanding chores, errands (undertakings) vital (essential) for survival in this remote wilderness. More remarkable still, she did all that while preserving (keeping intact) her innate sweet nature and her compassionate, loving heart. Trying not to stare into those captivating, blue eyes, for she was clearly abashed (embarrassed); he quietly appreciated her characteristic (natural), remarkable resilience, high intelligence, and at times dumbfounding physical strength, despite her frail frame. By now, he had insisted on sleeping on the ground while she again rested at night on her bed.

He did not know it then, but gradually, by degrees, as he convalesced physically and mentally, recovering increasingly more his prior robust capacities, he began doing more strenuous tasks and providing regular meat and for variety, sometimes fish (like salmon), with his frequent hunting trips. Meanwhile, he was gradually being besotted (enamored) by this incredible woman that took his breath away each time their eyes accidentally met, or, when she smiled at him.

He did not return to his cabin for a long time; her place being sturdier, more welcoming and more practical than his, and when he did, he was aghast to see that while he was away, a lightening strike had totally (decimated, destroyed) incinerated, his cabin and the immediate periphery (margin, vicinity) to ash. He would have expired, if not severely burned, had he been staying at his (hastily constructed) cabin during this catastrophe. He understood then that Norna had brought him luck and, also for the second time, had saved his life. With a totally thawed heart (ice completely gone- as the trust in another permanently taken root in his heart), now definitely infatuated and almost fanatical in his devotion to her, he returned to live with her, this time permanently.

And so, the two unlikely persons, begun their slow, patient journey towards becoming a habitual (usual) blissful pair, with a consistent tender moments of family, nourished by the quintessential feelings of laughter, deep affection, care, joy, passion, trust, filial loyalty- all wrapped up in the precious bundle of eternal love.

The once disillusioned warrior Halvar had never anticipated (expected) to have a second chance at happiness, furthermore, to encounter another solitary individual, a beautiful, remarkable woman, that eventually became his everlasting soulmate partner (wife). Their frequent, enthusiastic union had blessedly in time, produced his beloved, beautiful daughter Clara who had her mother’s eyes. She was also an accomplished healer, same as her mother once been.

07- CLARA (NARNA AND HALVAR'S DAUGTER)  JP2

After the loss of his beloved wife to fever, three winters past, Clara now seventeen, she often gathered herbs from the mountain gradient; furthermore, it kept her mind occupied and from wondering what lay beyond the mountain. Halvar was very protective of his daughter, though he, not wishing to stifle her innate nature (and her creativity), learned to be patient and tolerant of her often, wayward ways. Then happened another addition to their sturdy abode (home).

One invigorating (brisk) morning, when the first rays of dawn reached earth, Halvar had quietly exited his wooden cabin (humble abode); then, with quick sure steps he had descended down from the mountain, armed with his fishing-gear (and also, his fishing spear), and quickly reached his favorite spot along the rocky shoreline of the tumultuous (fast flowing) river. But then, as he was about to cast his line, his ears had just then detected a barely audible low groan of pain, and so, he had spotted Chutek’s battered and bruised, barely alive body sprawled over the gravelly-sand, half hidden in the thickets, and from then on, his way of life had altered irrevocably.

Would Alvar have tolerated and allowed the rescued being to live with them, one wonders, if he was not a eunuch?

 The young man, rescued from the clutches of death by Halvar and nursed back to health by lovely Clara, then renamed in a quiet ceremony Randolf, fit in perfectly within the range of their blissful coexistence and so, in the end Chutek had lived happily ever after, away from the trials and tribulations of the civilized world.

08- HALVAR - RANDOLF(CHUTEK) AND CLARA

                                                                                               ~

 

(END OF SECTION 20) 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE CAPITAL CHANNING - SECTION 8

Fradel’s (Nevetsecnuac’s) expression still blank; he reverted his gaze back on Zaur.  The minister's eyes were fixed on a distant point, as his mind pondered (mulled over) on some serious recollection or thought.   Nevetsecnuac noted how all along Zaur had desperately tried to master, to contain a seething emotional battle raging within, while he upheld (sustained) an outward, impassive facade.

01- ZAUR STUGR   JP 28

The range of emotions (gratitude, sorrow, anger, exasperation, relief, dreads, apprehension, and impatience) that Zaur had tried to suppress beneath his calm facade (pretense), nevertheless detected by incisive Nevetsecnuac, rather intrigued him; hence, he subtly studied Zaur's face and wondered, “If I could vicariously impart to you (Zaur) all that I had observed in that pit, how would your emotions stand up to those grim revelations?  Would you be able to maintain this calm demeanor (face, guise)?”  A strange empathy, a sorrowful feeling enveloped Nevetsecnuac’s soul at that precise moment, provoking him to breach the all-pervasive wall of distrust that lay between him and his host, to communicate the true details in the hope of drawing Zaur out and enabling (aiding) him to drop the pretense and reveal what was truly at the crux (core) of his being. Moreover, Nevetsecnuac’s heart had ached to, for once have real communication, an exchange of thoughts and feelings, without least reserve. 

“What's come over me?” Nevetsecnuac snapping from his momentary weakness, this dangerous prescience (intuition), however, quietly admonished self: “It’s inconceivable to consider this sheer madness, especially with one such as Zaur, who has already proven to be shrewd and devious, though admittedly not dangerous yet.  I've divulged far too much already.  That pit was located dangerously near the spot where Egil Viggoaries's vassals waited in ambush for Fradel Rurik Korvald.”

 Nevetsecnuac ruminated (cogitated) now, how he had come perilously close to being discovered at the site by one of the sentries; however, fortuitously, the guard had been deterred from further scrutiny (investigation) of the noise, which Nevetsecnuac had inadvertently caused just moments before when he had fallen into the pit.  If that minor incident along with the planned ambush by Egil Viggoaries, were to ever reach Zaur’s ears (it was ever to come to light), Zaur’s discerning mind could, easily then link up the correlating (corresponding) facts and therefore, begin doubting Fradel Rurik Korvald validity. Nevetsecnuac hence reminded self to be more vigilant and selective with his rendition of the supposed facts; meanwhile, unable to not entirely trust his host, Nevetsecnuac was left with the only recourse of coaxing Zaur into taking the desired action on his own accord without any requisite assistance from scholar Fradel. 

The corollary (outcome) of Fradel’s part in all of this must appear quite incidental(minor).

Meanwhile, as Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) was not at liberty to conduct any sort of investigation within the scarce time span he had until his audience with the Sovereign - if his intuition (hypothesis) proved correct, by entrusting the key into Zaur’s hands, he would compel the good Minister to fulfill at least part of Nevetsecnuac’s obligation to that singular skeleton's spirit.

02-THE EXPOSED GRAVE

 Nevetsecnuac was confident that a proper burial would follow shortly afterwards, though much depended on the depth of Zaur Stugr's commitment.  If the minister was in earnest, he would even now be contemplating an inquiry into this, apparently very personal matter.  With the greater means and manpower at his disposal, Zaur could ensure that the unfortunate victim, or victims, would be granted the eternal peace due them in the afterlife.

In the pit of Nevetsecnuac's stomach, meanwhile, the nagging feeling that he had missed something vitally pertinent, some cryptic quandary (predicament, fix) which was tied to the elusive answer, had persisted.

Ending (interrupting) the unsettling silence, Nevetsecnuac resumed his fabricated account, being most careful to sporadically weave in just the right amount of truth.

"Having related how Toza had procured the key, Yakkasar for a time fell silent and cautiously, perhaps with a tinge of trepidation, looked about him.  Being finally assured that no one was paying any particular heed (attention) to us, he reached into his pocket, leaned across the table and saying, please accept this, unclenched his fist to drop this key right into my palm (hand)."

Zaur Stugr, lending Fradel only half-an-ear learned how Toza, Yakkasar’s audacious (foolhardy) son had returned from one of his bold escapades (more likely, illicit excavations or theft), and claiming he’d found this rare treasure, expectedly had attempted to fence the key to what he thought were some incited (interested) customers (buyers, collectors).  Not only had every avenue had fallen through, but worst trouble had beset the pair (father and son) shortly afterwards when Yakkasar, thinking he could do better, had taken the bejeweled key and showed it to an affluent acquaintance of his, unfortunately with negative result.

03- YAKKASAR AND HIS SON TOZU

Yakkasar’s trust was grossly misplaced, subsequent night a group of seedy ruffians had broken into their humble dwelling and demolished everything inside in their search for the key.  Toza, returning unexpectedly to retrieve something he had forgotten had interrupted their rampage and pitted against the four-armed bandits, had been badly trounced (beaten).

Yakkasar returning home, at small hours and in an already dejected mood, had found his beloved son in a pool of his own blood on the verge of expiring.  Stopping his father from fetching help, Tozu with his dying breath had implored Yakkasar to discard (restore) the wretched key, to its original owner.

 Believing the item to be cursed, Yakkasar had, after selling their small property to pay for the burial of his son, had undertaken the arduous return journey to find the pit. Only difficulty being, of late, he could not recollect the specifics his son had imparted to him.

Yakkasar had already traveled a respectable distance to, a rough estimation of an area, hoping that this would hone (sharpen, jar) his memory, but it had not. By the time he had met up with Fradel Rurik Korvald, having suffered during the course of his travel’s untold hardships, been assaulted, robbed, humiliated and subjected to other misfortunes too numerous to recount, Yakkasar had eventually been reduced to that sorry state. 

On top of everything else his health was now failing him and, noting that the persistent symptoms were the very same ones which had dispatched (caused the demise of) his former neighbor, Yakkasar firmly believed his days were numbered. Caught in these dire straits, knowing that he could neither retreat nor advance and, he would never be able to fulfill his promise to his dead son, he simply had begged Fradel Rurik Korvald to grant an old man one last favor and take this cursed key off his hands and perhaps, with his discernible competence, accomplish what he had failed to do.

"I wouldn't ask this of just anyone," Yakkasar vehemently had proclaimed, "but you have shown yourself to be a righteous (virtuous), good-hearted gentleman.  I beg you to help me out of my difficulties.  Both my deceased son Tozu and I'd be eternally grateful to you, and when my time comes to its natural conclusion, I promise, to speak well of you to the God of the Underworld." 

“The old man's insistences raised such pity in me (Fradel Rurik Korvald) that I had to finally acquiesce and consented to do his bidding.”

With complete confidence, Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) had anticipated the probable timing of Zaur's request, his retaining of the subtly imparted details, the approximate estimation of specifics; however, as warranted caution, he’d excluded the name of the Cyprecox Pass, where the vicinity of it the pit was located, leaving Zaur to discover this by himself.

04-NEVETSECNUAC  JP 62

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Nevetsecnuac cast a quick, unreadable side-glance at Zaur as he reached out for a morsel or two.  He’d been plied (served, provided) with variety of alcoholic drinks all night long and watched most assiduously; hence, he had been emptying his cup out of politeness, not realizing that he had consumed an inordinate number of sprits over and above his capacity.  Consequently, at present, Nevetsecnuac's head began to swim, and it became increasingly difficult for him to maintain his coordination.  Curiously enough, his thoughts and speech had not been impeded (hindered), though he was getting rather awkward (clumsy), thus he was most anxious to drop this charade and retire (get preferred rest) for the night.  Yet, very much to his disappointment, Zaur had maintained his thoughtful silence and did not voice the anticipated (prompted) inquiry.

Despite Zaur's own intoxicated state, earlier on he had perceived (comprehended) Fradel Rurik Korvald’s subtle goading (ploy) and stubbornly did not comply.

“Now you are being too transparent.  Is this intentional?”

 Zaur was dubious of this latest, seemingly pure motive, enveloped as if it were in mere sentimentality and benevolent intent.

“No one could be that caring…Why would it matter to you, Fradel, whether the owner of this key was vindicated or not?” He looked skeptically at his guest; for Zaur found it hard to accept that anyone would go to this much trouble merely out of the (kindness) goodness of his heart.

“There must be some sinister motive lurking underneath.  Moreover, what is behind this persistent, albeit discrete push, to involve me directly?”  Zaur suppressed a frown.

“Have I given it away?  How much does Fradel Rurik Korvald suspect?” 

Zaur never took anything at face value and had always dug deeper to be rewarded consistently with the ulterior motives behind those seemingly benign words, innocuous gestures and deeds that inundated him daily.  This was the golden rule to surviving in the duplicitous environment of the Capital and it had served him well so far.  He was not about to alter the philosophy he had espoused for his (whole) entire adult life on the mere chance that Fradel Rurik Korvald was a (glitch, an abnormality) rare anomaly.  Men acted the same way regardless of station, creed, or race, harboring the same malicious, greedy, and conspiratorial (conniving) intents.

Inclined slightly towards Fradel Rurik Korvald he scrutinized him, noting the subtle clumsiness of his movements.  “Truthfully, you are quite unlike anyone I have ever known (or encountered); even now, you are most remarkable, so resilient, despite your apparent inebriated (intoxicated) state.”  

A strange feeling of loss suddenly just then gripped Zaur Stugr’s heart.

“But I sense that beneath that placid exterior, there are so many grave concerns.  You seem burdened by a perilous responsibility, far heavier than the requirements of your young years.  What is it about you, Fradel Rurik Korvald, that I should feel inexplicably drawn to trust you in this way?  I feel simply dwarfed whenever I'm near you, yet this is none of your conscious doing.  On the contrary, your modesty and humility at times overwhelms me.”

 Deep down, Zaur did indeed harbor a certain affinity towards scholar Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) from the first moment when he had first laid eyes on him.

Being favorably disposed from the start, after each private conversation (discussion) with this affable, worthy opponent who had challenged his abilities to the maximum, Zaur’s admiration and respect had progressively increased (augmented) for Fradel Rurik Korvald.  Admittedly, Zaur had grown rather complacent over the years and needed this cerebral jolt (intellectual shock) which Fradel had presented at every exchange, for him to be prepared for the inevitable showdown.

“Under different circumstances, perhaps we could have…”  The sinister face of suspicion abruptly surfacing in his mind’s eye, however, cut short, this (yearning) sentiment to once more poison Zaur’s heart and cloud his judgment.

“No, you and I can never be close (intimate) friends.” For as far as Zaur was concerned the degree of complexity in Fradel Rurik Korvald’s character, the allusive secrecy, the vulnerable, pure naiveté lying atop a certain recalcitrance (or bedlam) were all inconsistencies in the scholar's character, which reinforced Zaur’s view that, Fradel Rurik Korvald was not one to be taken lightly and that underneath it all, lurked sure danger.

“What do I really know of him?  So far there is nothing concrete that I can hold up to him and say, it fits.  All along he's revealed only petty, negligible, and partial (incomplete) facts about himself. Nothing tangible, nothing useful that could be (pinpointed or) indexed for future use.  As always at every exchange, and this night is no exception, I'm stumped when it comes to deciphering his real motives.  Every avenue I explore in his character comes to the usual dead end. Is he toying with me?”

Subsequently working himself up into a state of discontent, Zaur Stugr became convinced that Fradel Rurik Korvald was a master at the art of deceit and that he'd been working all along to beguile him, to lead him astray, to show him up for a fool.  He became livid as he imagined how all along Fradel had subtly manipulated him and, worse still, had nearly beaten him at his own game.  With remarkable willpower, however, he maintained his impassive, amiable facade.

 He could not have imagined that his own cynical view was the very culprit he suspected, the evil contaminant that all along had blindfolded him, obscuring his innate intuition that otherwise might have shed the light of truth over Fradel Rurik Korvald.  Things might have turned out differently then but, being as they were, they now led Zaur Stugr to tread the course he would regret for the rest of his life.  He was locked in this erroneous course (route, path), and no amount of future great accomplishments could mitigate, alter, or amend for, what he would now fail to do.

Habitually, Zaur Stugr’s analytical mind, prevailing over any rumor or an account, did not allow him to capitulate or hastily construe facts without first exploring every avenue available to him, but the “key” and the lateness of the hour in this case after a long wearying (taxing) day, constrained him to make an exception.

05- ZAUR STUGR   JP 29

“All right,” he reluctantly conceded, “you win for now.  I'll play into your gambit.  I was going to anyhow and eventually resolve the mystery for you.  But I promise you that, when the time comes, I'll feed you such a bewildering version that it will spin your head into a daze and unleash your full imagination.”  He absentmindedly nodded to Fradel Rurik Korvald.

“And in due course, with perseverance, I'll break down that elusive (intangible) wall you've put up to guard your secrets.  I'll break you yet.  Wouldn't you be shocked out of your scholar's cap if you knew the significance of that key and, the enormity of the truth about the pit, skeleton, and I?”

All the same Zaur’s spiteful smile died before it reached his lips, as the imagined abominations, the gruesome tortures and, lingering, tragic demise of his revered one, caused an intense angst to overtake him.

Zaur’s ear just then caught Fradel Rurik Korvald’s explanation of, how the meeting with Zunrogo and the subsequent events had unfortunately thwarted (hindered) Fradel’s fulfilling his promise to the old man, Yakkasar.

“Is he still going on about Yakkasar and, that cursed son of a traitor Zunrogo?  When will he drop this tiresome prattle?”

Surmising this change in mood, Nevetsecnuac paused and once more helped himself to some food.  As he thoughtfully chewed it, he marveled at Zaur's tenacity and strong inner discipline.

“Very well, “he conceded, “I'll meet you halfway.”

 

(END OF SECTION 8) 

                                                                                        ~

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 26

Canute Yonn swallowed heard, then fighting the blinding, throbbing pain in her head, he continued to relate (reveal) his mother’s tragic story to the indifferent (unsympathetic) ears in court. “Tresor and his wife Suen were a kindly folk; and at the beginning they took great pains with herbal tonics and diligent care, to save my mother’s life. After a partial recovery, however, she was again driven out into the cold; this time the culprit was poverty, and the humble farmer and his wife had to harden their heart to do this.  Their reasons being valid, I carry no ill will towards them."

“How very magnanimous of you," Mouro ejected sarcastically and sneered.

Disregarding him, Canute Yonn elucidated (explained) why he’d so readily forgiven them: "Their deprived circumstances were onerous enough, but that year’s incessant rain had spoiled most yields (crops) and created scarcity. This prohibited any acts of charity to kin, much less a stranger.  Famine had already claimed two of their children, one at the age of three, the other barely a year old. My mother, Helga, was crippled by Senson's countless blows to her legs and could not work the fields or do any other strenuous work; she was a liability and a hindrance to them.”

01-FARMER TRESOR

“Subsequently, with scant clothing and food, her baby a millstone in her belly, my poor mother drifted from place to place, scavenging, begging for alms, to survive.  All the while trying not to hate the innocent child, me, in her womb. I’m telling it as is, when she had later unburdened her heart to me. She had endured these unspeakable hardships, living for the day of her vengeance."

"See, trouble begets trouble.” Micen stroking his beard, mused heartlessly. “They should have made certain of the serving maid Helga’s death before abandoning her in the ditch; if they had, all this trouble now could have been averted."

"I came into this world in a house of ill-repute, where we stayed until the day of my mother's passing." Canute Yonn, oblivious, continued hoarsely.  "I grew up hearing her bitter, tragic sobs every night, for she had never grown accustomed to selling her body."  He gazed dully at the floor to hide his eyes, brimming with tears.  The rekindled pain of those times again tormented his mind, wrenching his soul.

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"Please don't cry, Mama!"  His heart breaking, Canute buried his face in the pillow to drown out his sobs.  What was it that ailed her so?  Who was Senson, this name she had so often, like now, cursed out loud in her sleep?  He was seven years old.  He felt quite grown up and he did the chores like grownups, but everyone still treated him like a child.  I'm old enough to understand, why won't she tell me?

He tossed his covers aside and, sitting up, fixed his gaze on the locked door that separated him from his mother.  The room, no bigger than a closet, in fact it had once been used as storage, had a tiny window so high up that it let through only a thin sliver of moonlight.  The wind was howling outside but the dancing shadows in the room did not scare him.

 I wish I could comfort her; he rubbed his eyes sleepily; I know she needs me.

 Hanging his head low he heaved a deep, stealthy sigh wishing he could forget that another, a stranger, who was sleeping snugly beside his mother.  As he tried to purge his heart of the gripping loneliness, troublesome thoughts and haunting questions again crowded his brain.  Why does Mama claim we have no family?  What about my father? 

Canute knew that his father was not dead, for once in slip of the tongue, she had referred to him in the present tense.  But why weren't they with him?  Wouldn't he be angry if he came here and found out she had slept with all these men?

He didn't play in the street anymore, for the other kids would tease him and call him and his mother all sorts of unmentionable names.  Like sharp slivers each name-calling stabbed at his heart.  Many a time he had retaliated with fierceness and pent-up anger, beating and dispersing all those who had ganged up on him.  Unfortunately, swift repercussions, beatings and berating soon followed from his elders in the house.  He was in a no-win situation.  Things will never change; why should I fight back (riposte)?  Still, a faint smile brushed his lips when he recalled the proper whipping, he had given to that big bully Yenn Katog, who was always inciting the other kids against him. It served him right!  And, it had more than made up for the thrashing he got later. 

He now stuck out his chest in self-congratulation.

Canute’s mind reverting back to his father, he reclined and closed his eyes in hopeful dreams, imagining that one day his noble, warrior father, their savior, would appear at their door, looking tall and distinguished, kindly and strong, to claim them.

02- CANUTE YONN'S IMAGINED FATHER

His heroic father would rescue them both from that ugly, intolerable existence.  For, to the marrow of his bones Canute detested this place he was forced to call home.  It broke his heart to see his mother ceaselessly tormented, day after day, by this uncaring, insensitive lot.

 Restless, he shifted his position.  His eyes fell on the discarded old plantation fan Tike had given to his mother.  He picked it up and examined it in the scant light, noting particularly the holes.  Absentmindedly he began gnawing at its edge.

 A few doors down he could hear that old tyrant of a house mother, Tike, scolding one of the girls.  In anger he threw the fan aside.  Oh, how he hated that callous old shrew who intimidated everyone, young and old!

He grimaced, thinking how when he was younger still, his mother had kept him in line with the threat that Tike ate disobedient, disrespectful children for supper and that was why she had gotten so fat.

Unsought, he saw before his mind's eye those venomous, piercing beads of eyes, encompassed by a gelatinous face which split into a threatening snarl to expose rows of rotted teeth.  "I'll get you yet, you piece of shit!" Tike was shaking a fat, threatening finger at him.  "Your days are numbered; wait and see!"  He retorted, clawing the air savagely to tear at her reverberating double chin that always seemed to drip perspiration.

03- CANUET FACES TIKE

 Tike thrived on tormenting people, always caning, hitting, beating and cursing everyone.  Never satisfied, never smiling, except at the guests, and then her smile was more hideous than her frowns and haunted his nightmares frequently.  She flogged him incessantly, not sparing the rod even at the slightest provocation.  Worse still, he resented being forced to behave, to be made to quietly submit to her abuse. His mother Helga was made to suffer the worst of it, for every one of his defiant acts.

He could hardly comprehend the extent of the fear Tike evoked in his mother's heart when Tike threatened to throw them out on their own.  In fact, had his mother Helga not been the prettiest and one of the key attractions of Tike's establishment, the street would have been their home a long, long time ago.

Oh, how I hate her!  I swear I'll kill her some day! he shook his clenched fist in the air.

The weeping and cursing finally muted after the slamming of several doors.  It was the same scenario being played out every night.

The following day Canute received an additional reason for despising Tike.  Canute's mother Helga had been sick for the last two or three days now, vomiting and feeling dizzy.  He was really concerned about her so, after the guest had gone, finding the door unlocked, he'd quietly snuck into her room and attempted to give solace to her.  She looked paler than usual.  When the steps of the old tyrant were heard approaching the door he heeded his mother's directive and made himself scarce.  Not wandering too far, he eavesdropped.

"Doctors cost money", he heard the shrew say.  "Besides, keeping it is out of the question."  A few other words he could not quite make out.  Then he observed Tike taking a small bottle from her pocket and handing it to his mother.  "There, I don't want you to think about it any longer.  I was good enough to get you this.  Never mind where I got it, just drink it.  He assured me it would get rid of the unwanted pest (nuisances).  You don't think this is the first time I've had to do this, do you?"

Canute watched with some trepidation hoping against hope that it was medicine to cure his mother’s ailment, as Helga with some reluctance, a grim, ghostly expression on her pale face, raised the foul-looking potion to her trembling lips.

"Don't drink it, Mamma!  It may be poison!" His fears triumphing (prevailing) over hope, he sprang from hiding place to shout his warning.

"The idea!” Tike turned her venomous eyes on Canute, panting with rage, hands brought menacingly to her hips.

 "You ungrateful brat, poisoning her, is that what you think I'm doing?  You, you a slandering scoundrel, you!  Haven't I warned you never to come here this early in the morning?  How long has he been there?"  She turned to Helga, worried that he may have inconvenienced last night's guest.  She had another good reason to be fearful, since abortion was illegal in Wenjenkun.  She needed to ascertain that Canute had not heard or understood enough to incriminate her.

"I'll tell-on you!" Canute warned, having sensed her fear.  "I'll have you locked up!" he shouted defiantly, not really knowing what he was threatening her with.

"You, wrenched viper in my bosom; I'll teach you to threaten me, you piece of shit!" shaking her finger at Canute Tike began to viciously berate and curse him as she pounced on Canute.

But Canute was too agile and too swift to be caught, not one with her bulk.

Huffing and puffing as enraged Tike chased him down the hall, her shouts to the others to grab him created such a pandemonium that the whole house was turned upside down.

In the end Canute had successfully slipped through those innumerable, vicious, grasping hands and hid. 

By dusk, when eventually the mayhem settled down and everyone returned to their routine tasks, exercising due caution, Canute Yonn stealthily emerged from his hiding place.

By providence spotting the old shrew, he, hugging the walls, followed Tike all the way back to his mother's room.

Once more Canute hid and, from this vintage point, watched and waited with his heart pounding, for Tike to have her say and depart. Tike’s face was beet-red from all that exertion as she huffed and puffed and animatedly gesticulating, flailed (flapped, waved)) those fleshy arms of hers.

What has she got so much to squawk (crow) about?

Curiosity, getting better of him Canute pressed his ear to the door and eavesdropped. 

On and on, with mounting rage and spurting poison, Tike cursed and scolded Helga, as she unmercifully, vented her cruel diatribes on the hapless, ailing (sick) young woman.

 "I told you to get rid of that brat long ago.  He'll never amount to anything, mark my words.  He's nothing but trouble.  You know he's no good, but then you're no better!  Why do you encourage him to come up here?  Are you stupid or something? Mother’s affection, baloney!  All useless emotions!  You've no business feeling love, not for a bastard, not for anyone!  Now you listen!  I'm just about at the end of my patience with you.  I'll only tell you this once more.  Harden your heart to him or you'll be made to suffer.  Then you'll be sorry.  Get rid of him now, I say, for he'll turn on you too one day.  Just wait.  Don't you know the innate nature of all men by now?"

Tike paced the floor to and for in an unusual quiet, as she mentally formulated (prepared) her next set of arguments and rested her vocals.

The door he was concealed behind, (whom patrons sometimes used) was still unlocked.  He pried it on ajar and peered in to see what was happening.  To his dismay, he saw the emptied bottle in Tike's hand as she toyed with it before returning it to her pocket. Tike was careful that way; making sure to retrieve any would be incriminating items (objects) and destroying it later.

 Suddenly, in a much calmer mood Tike, going over sat by Helga’s bed and, her enormous paws cupping Helga’s delicate hand, she began persuading the ailing woman, to agree to something.  Typically, the shrew was trying first, a kinder, gentler approach but Canute knew all too well that, if this did not produce the desired result, she would in (but a few minutes) a flash reverts to her vicious nature.

"Why don't you let me get rid of the pest…? Arr, I mean the boy, for you as well?  You don't have to do anything.  I'll handle the transaction for you.  Why must you be so stubborn? I have your best interest at heart. Why won't you take my advice?  Can't you see that in the long run it would be better for him, too? He’ll grow up in a normal home.  I saw mistress Wang just the other day.  They're looking for another bond servant; trouble is they don't want to pay for a fully grown one. Now, don’t be so quick to turn this down; wait till you hear the rest of it. “

“When she told me of their wish to purchase a boy close to their Therran's age, to keep him company, be his study- buddy and, for to keep their son out of trouble; I'd at once, being so selfless (altruistic), suggested Canute.  She said she'd consider it.  I had hoped that they would have forgotten about that regrettable incident between the two boys.  But listen, if you agree I'll do my best to persuade them to take Canute off your hands; sold for a pretty price, I’ll even get a smaller commission, just to help you out. Besides, couldn't you use another new dress or two?  You really ought to be thanking me for finding him a good home.  You know that if he grows up here, he'll turn on you, sooner or later.  He'll hate your guts for what you're doing.  He'll despise you to the core for ruining his life.  Also, you know as well as I do, that no respectable, good girl will ever marry the illegitimate (illicit) son of a whore.  So why don't you heed my sound advice and get rid of him now, while there's still a chance, while there's still time."

Canute Yonn’s fury rising to the boiling point, he felt he would just explode.  He shook violently, uncontrollably.  He'd just about had his belly full of resentment against that old bat.  Grinding his teeth, he was about to dash out to gouge her eyes out… When,

"I caught you, you little worm!"  A strong hand grasped the back of his neck and lifted him up high.  "So, this is where you've been hiding all this time."

"Let go of me!  Let me go, you cursed dog!"  In vain Canute, eyes agleam with anger, tried to kick and claw his captor, the big, strong bully called Ron, Tike's nephew who (periodically) helped her with the running of the business.

The relentless verbal and physical abuse that both Tike and Ron rained on Canute made his mother livid with fear, worsening her wretched condition still more.  Her tragic pleas for them to stop hitting her boy fell on deaf ears until; finally, she uttered the words Tike most wanted to hear.  Canute was dragged outside, still kicking and screaming, bouncing down the steps until he was violently thrown onto the dirt of the cellar floor.

"I'll teach you to respect your elders." Ron ranted like a mad bull.  "So, I'm a cursed dog, am I, you, ungrateful turd."

He grasped the heavy stick which rested by the stairs.  "You've had this coming to you for a long time.  Take this, and this!"  He pounded solidly and savagely on Canute's tender young flesh.  "Plead for mercy, you wretch, or I swear I'll kill you!"

Despite the excruciating pain, Canute held fast, bit his lip to stop from crying out until he passed out. When he came to the musty smell of dust had assailed his nostrils and dirt coated his tongue.  His battered head was throbbing fiercely.  His fingers tentatively touched the area where the pain was most intense, at the hairline.  Just then he felt a sharp, cutting pain in his ankle and kicked his leg, scaring away the timid rodent that had wanted a taste of his flesh.  His torn shirt and pants had already glued themselves to his wounds.  Though every inch of his body was seared with pain he lifted himself with determination and persistence to his feet. Muffling his groans he groped his way in that semi-darkness, his path barely illuminated with a sliver of light streaming from the small window way up there; with determination, he weaved his way slowly towards the door.  As he had expected, the door had been barred shut from the outside.  His revulsion growing stronger by the minute, he drummed up his last ounce of strength and savagely pounded his fists against the wood.

"Let me out!  Let me out!  I'll get you for this, you fiendish bastards!"

 His strength was ebbing.  "I'll show you.  You can't keep me here for long…I’ll kill you all, you, you…. beasts!”

Curses on his lips reduced to barely audible whimper, his breath now coming in gasps, Canute (limply) collapsed to the ground.  He remained there motionless for an undetermined time until he'd recovered some of his strength.  The urgency of his mother's condition gave him the will, the (fuel) ability to forsake his pain.

05- CANUTE IN CELLAR

Rising to his feet, he first determined the direction he wished to go then slowly felt his way to that far corner.  He was relieved to find things undisturbed and so, with some difficulty, pushed the empty, moldy cart to the side.  This was not the only time he had been cudgeled or flogged then imprisoned in the cellar but, the last time, he had, through his resourcefulness, discovered this exit, this burrow through the wall and, enlarging it a little, had crawled outside, stolen a steamed bun from the kitchen, then returned to his prison without being seen.  He had been smart enough to have concealed the opening of this escape route and had confided its existence only to his mother, in order to ease her anxiety.

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(END OF SECTION 26)