11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 12

                                                                         

Worren Youkup had left Lady Sejon’s side nearing mid-morning mentally and physically drained. Profoundly concerned for the welfare of Prince Magnian, he had gone against his better judgment and given his word that he would not say or do anything to advance the matter of the stiletto (penknife) until Her Ladyship Sejon had first in private disclosed her involvement of it to the Sovereign. Worren, furthermore, had hoped and prayed that the good council he had given her Ladyship would be sufficient in obtaining the most lenient of corollary (outcome) from Zakhertan Yozdek, although no one could really be certain of His Highness' reaction on any matter.

Previous night Worren had been resolved to brave the same unfathomable ramifications himself after the conclusion of his visit to Lady Sejon... He would have laid open this shameful episode and hoped that, in view of his impeccable record of long and loyal service that Zakhertan Yozdek would have granted him the opportunity to end his life by his own hand. He may not have deserved burial with honors, but he also felt that he did not deserve the shame of a public execution either. Now, his own future actions, would eradicate that eventuality forever; however, for the sake of Lady Sejon and more importantly, Prince Magnian, a substitute, him, was warranted to bear the full brunt of Sovereign's wrath. His mind, therefore, was nobly set on, when he would be subjected to the inquisition, to doing his utmost and assuming full responsibility for the diabolical offence (wrongdoing), facing the full severity of the law, in order to appease Zakhertan Yozdek’ s insatiable craving for blood.

01-- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (61)

“Then again, would his old, decrepit carcass be enough?”  Worren Youkup inwardly queried, then shrugged: “Well, it’s the only one I have, and it will have to suffice.”  Worren for the first time ever, was happy that he had no living family or close relatives to share his fate (burden); with his trusted Steward Chutek soon safely out of the way, Worren’s heart rested easy knowing that no other of consequence would be made to suffer the anticipated torments, at the hands of  that fiendish Dark Eunuch, Egil Viggoaries.     

 “I have no regrets (compunction) for my age is advanced, and my life has been full and quite gratifying up until now, save for one small qualm. “Worren, looking down, quietly reflected. “I would have turned sixty-five in three weeks time; oh well, I will have to abort plans for the party; ironically, it would have been rather a momentous event, as both a celebration of life and a farewell. Alas, fickle fate has robbed me of the chance.”     

Try as he might, Worren Youkup could not evade the angst (anguish, heartache) that had suddenly, against his will, pained his heart; for he had never ever expected to end his life in such an ignominious manner. The very thought of it made him wince and he fought back the tears that started to form around the (brim) edges of his eyelids.

“Stop this foolish nonsense! “He inwardly, sternly, admonished self. “There's no going back now, Worren Youkup; you are committed to doing this and that is that!” He exhaled deeply, only to be beset with yet another set of worries. “Would there be sufficient time to get Chutek out of harm’s way? Poor Chutek, he would have to remain, even with different identity, in hiding for an exceptionally long while, to escape the clutches of that hound- dog Egil Viggoaries.”  

02- STEWARD CHUTEK 7

Worren Youkup was angry at having also wasted way too much time because of his unscheduled visit with Sejon, now he must hasten even more, to do all requisite tasks (it needed doing) in much shorter period. Calling for his trusted aid Tedor (who’d been with him for well over twenty years), Worren without further delay, set things in motion. Soon after he was seen getting into the palanquin, as he was most eager to take care of this and other related business before his routine (habitual, expected) report to the Sovereign.

Worren first called on a certain official in the Department of Bondsmen whom he had made prior arrangements with, for an interim certificate of manumission for Chutek. The final stages of the official documents would be processed over the subsequent days, and then hidden, duly filed in the archives. Worren had been working towards this end (goal) for quite some time now and having already made most of the preliminary arrangement’s weeks in advance, was now able to finalize the last steps needed to ensure Chutek’s secured, comfortable life. Subsequently, he made another quick call at the Legal sector 3 Department where a document granting Power of Attorney over his affairs to the Scholar Tonzeye Yevgun of Chukset Province was promptly drawn up.

Upon his return home Worren went immediately to his vault and set aside bundles (parcels, packages) of currency (paper money, gold) to be given to the trusted officials responsible for the swift processing of his requests in both the Capital and the Province as well as the hefty fee needed for Chutek 's manumission certificate. Calling a trusted servant, he sent these gifts post haste to the various officials within the Capital. The wads (pouches) for the Provincial officials, a particularly larger sum earmarked for Tonzeye Yevgun, plus the sealed documents, were all then promptly put into a metal traveling cache. The sealed documents were of course the manumission certificate of free citizenship for Chutek, copies of the official papers that were in process, the Power of Attorney to Tonzeye Yevgun and a letter to him directing that all of the land holdings in Chukset Province which Worren had secretly acquired and had hoped to retire on, to be immediately transferred to his Steward Chutek. Hopefully Chutek, by then under a different alias, could escape detection and live out the remainder of his days comfortably in obscurity.

Worren Youkup next went to his study to prepare the last item needed.

 

03-

 In this letter Worren entrusted Chutek’s welfare and his prospects to the capable hands of his friend. In it also he bid his long-time friend farewell and requested his help with the Provincial authorities to ensure that his last (will and testament) wishes were properly conducted. Afterwards, the sealed letter too, was placed in the metal cache, which was then locked. Worren Youkup’s resources in Channing were nearly depleted now, but he did not care; for, what use would they be by the week's end, anyhow?

At dawn of the subsequent day Chutek, clad (dressed) in his travelling attire and, for fifteen minutes now having received his final instructions from Worren, was then imparted the key to the cache and was told to secure it on his person.

Chutek, had been purposely kept Ignorant of the enclosed windfall prize in the locked cache; with only a hint that it had contained Worren’s latest unpublished sonnets (private elegies) and that it required some edification (improvement) and expurgation (editing) , as well,  that it was of utmost importance to his friend the renowned  (distinguished) Scholar Tonzeye.

Steward Chutek, subsequently furnished with appropriate travel papers and expenses, was then instructed to, post haste deliver these to Lord Tonzeye Yevgun in Chukset Province.

04- STEWARD  CHUTEK - IN HIS TRAVELLING CLOTHES

Worren had awesomely disguised (masked) his inner turmoil to completely dupe the astute (incisive) Chutek; hence, the cherished (like a son) steward thinking that he would be gone only for a brief time, exuberant  and all in smiles (anticipating meeting the illustrious Scholar Tonzeve Yevgun whom he’d greatly admired), took his leave of Worren, carrying only one light baggage and a still lighter heart. He had no way of knowing, however, that soon after he’d departed, Worren had curtly (and without explanation) dismissed all his other attendants and then after locking the door to his study, had sat at his desk unmoving for several minutes and with a blank (void) stare fixed (pinned) on a distant (vague) object. This was an innocuous (innocent), unremarkable painting mounted on the far wall, which depicted a snow-capped mountain scenery; though, it held a secret and a specific, affectionate meaning to Worren, and thus, whenever he gazed at it, it had always lightened his soul and gladdened his heart. As he continued to stare at it now, a shadow gradually darkened his face and his expression increasingly became somber (dismal, gloomy), then altogether grave (grim, morbid).

Worren’s brows subsequently knit as his eyes glistened, brimming with moisture in sheer defiance of his will; eventually, a silent string of tears cascaded down, dampening (wetting, moistening) his pallid cheeks.

                                                                                           ~                   

 

The moment that Worren Youkup had left the South Palace, Sejon had began pacing the room back and forth with angry brows knitted in consternation. “All this trouble over one penknife; and now there is the looming threat of Egil Viggoaries on the horizon! What to do? What to do?”  

Sejon smiled wryly, realizing that she had picked up the phrase from Worren Youkup; then the flustered state (anxiety) swiftly returning, her cheeks flushed crimson and she sulked.

05- LADYSHIP SEJON- JP

All she had been able to do so far was to stall the inevitable; she had no intention of ever confessing to Zakhertan Yozdek, for her to do that, would mean, she was either foolhardy or brave, and she was neither. Like everyone else in the Palace she was terrified of Zakhertan Yozdek and his unpredictable riposte. Sejon held no illusion that, because of their intimacy, he would be forgiving or lenient; moreover, whenever she was with him, with an admirable skill she had always masked her fright, knowing Zakhertan despised passive and cowardly women.  

Lady Sejon quaked deep in her heart all the same, each time she was summoned to the cold and forbidding North Palace; for every summons could mean her death sentence and that, one day she’d inadvertently offend him in some way or other, and the next instant, she’d lose her pretty head; though that eventuality would no doubt be the most merciful end, considering Zakhertan’s appetite for blood and suffering.  It would, most likely be, an excruciatingly painful and lingering death! The birth of Prince Magnian meanwhile, had afforded her precious little security or an assurance; she was nevertheless still young, quite beautiful and being optimistic, she had accepted her precarious existence, for the trappings of luxury, power and prestige were all an irresistible draw, in the hope that her eventual, sure fate would be far away. 

For now, she was the Sovereign's favorite, but for how long, she could phantom. Many a sleepless night she had pondered on a concern, a careless word or an act that might have been the instigator to end what she had enjoyed and held dear; that’s right, all could be extinguished in one commanding breath by Zakhertan Yozdek.  Zakhertan's favor had limits, she knew all too well; also, that he had no tolerance for least stupidity, carelessness, or failure.

06- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK AND LADY SEJON

“No, I will not chance it. I will not be confessing to anything and that is that!”  Again, she had mimicked (imitated) another of Worren Youkup’s phrases. “The old coot gave his word for now, but I can only stall him for so long. He must be permanently silenced before he can utter an incriminating word to anyone. Nijel would know what to do. She knew people.”  She stopped abruptly and called out for Nijel, only to be told that her favorite had left without a word to anyone.    

 "Just find her!" Sejon screeched, stamping her foot. "I don't want to hear excuses! I want to see her now!"  The panic-stricken servants rushed to comply as Sejon resumed her pacing and grumbled aloud, "What to do? What to do?"    

                                                                                                                  ~

 

It also happened that Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund also had a strategically placed network of informants and was routinely apprised of all developments in domestic and foreign affairs as well as the plotted intrigues, the very moment they transpired, within the walls of the four Palaces. It could be said that he was the second most influential and informed official in the

Kingdom, His Highness Zakhertan Yozdek being the first, except that no one, other than Sovereign, knew of it.  

In Channing, as the Senior Grand Secretary, Qarzten Caimund had always concealed well his predominant aptitudes behind the reticent humility and polite decorum that put everyone, friend, and foe alike, at their ease, especially when with him. Since he was never perceived as an ardent adversary whom he could be, he received the full cooperation of all factions. Only Zakhertan Yozdek from the beginning, discerning beneath Qarzten’s deceptive façade, his strong analytical mind and aggressive sometimes brutal will that wielded the strong arm of the law to bring swift justice and order to all segments of the Central Government, appreciated and same time remained vigilant of Qarzten Caimund.

Zakhertan Yozdek was the only one who could so utilize Qarzten’s invaluable input, his subtle yet vital role in preventing, suppressing, or eliminating, chronic internal Royal strife that flared up from time to time, which if left unchecked, could have seriously undermined Wenjenkun government’s core stability. Meanwhile, under Qarzten Caimund ‘s directive his invisible force had always, in the aftermath of any sporadic Provincial insurgency swiftly and humanely, with minimal cost, restored lasting stability as well, the law and order. Of course, at times certain glitches (anomalies) had unavoidably necessitated brutal crackdowns of the suspected or budding parasitic cliques, and so, those violent nationwide sweeps, had become the consistent (regular) trademark of Zakhertan Yozdek’s reign. But mostly, Zakhertan valued Qarzten Caimund for his farsightedness and uncanny precision when he closed in for the kill. As it were, the Senior Grand Secretary had the eerie ability to perceive calamitous events well in advance of their germination into outright trouble and to present, through his timely intervention, had kept the adept Central Government’s diverse functioning body intact, as well, preserved the omnipotent power of Sovereign.  Sovereign Zakhertan impressed with Qarzten’s competence, had additionally, covertly, assigned Qarzten to the crucial, challenging task of checking the growing influence and maintaining the balance between, two key factions under the leadership of Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren and Director of Security Egil Viggoaries. Things being the way they were, however, the full extent of Qarzten Caimund’s specific duties had never been fully specified, leaving room for Sovereign’s future addendums in the Rules’ Book.

07- QARZTEN CAMUND (4)B -jp

Qarzten Caimund’s discerning mind nevertheless anticipating Zakhertan Yozdek’s future aspirations, had started, as early as when he held the position of Censor, the enormous task of compiling all (grievous offences and) damaging evidence against the two chief factional leaders, for their eventual, lawful incarceration and deposal. The result of Qarzten Caimund’s continuous, meticulous investigations of Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s illicit dealings, been the compiled stacks and stacks of documents, all, linking the PM to a multitude of crimes: everything from kidnapping, torture, bribery, extortion and even murder. Lamont Gudaren reeked of corruption to the very marrow, a typical representative of everything Qarzten detested in a man; furthermore, the amassed evidence could be deemed sufficient to expediently have His Excellency (PM) and his affiliates tried in the High Court and promptly executed.

Qarzten knew that the new Prime Minister had already, secretly been picked out by Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek, who was waiting for precise time to inform the candidate of his promotion. Qarzten Caimund wanted nothing more than to promptly rid the country of this parasite, this carrion crow Lamont Gudaren but he had patiently postponed informing His Highness of his latest findings, pending (awaiting) the final piece of evidence to, at right opportunity, simultaneously present both airtight cases, against PM Lamont Gudaren and Chief of Internal Security Egil Viggoaries, in one comprehensive report.     

Strangely enough, both culprits’ lives were intertwined in many ways. The hindrance  (impediment) unfortunately, had risen from Egil Viggoaries’s sector and, despite all Qarzten Caimund’s intense efforts, he had not made as good a progress as he had hoped, this warranting the last minute, slight rescheduling. But once armed with the expected proof

Qarzten would then, petition (and strongly urge) Zakhertan Yozdek not to delay the inevitable. Furthermore, if managed properly, the situation could be brought to swift satisfactory conclusion, without involving the Sovereign's Elite Guard or kindle any new civil unrest. Delay would portend only more ills.

 

(END OF SECTION 12)

 

 

                                                                                                       ~

 

 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.

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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.

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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.

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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)