LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 37

The passenger official, Ceroz Agripe had tried his utmost to keep his beloved wife alive, but her injuries being so grave, she did not live long.  After her (hastily improvised) impromptu funeral where her corpse also ended up in the river, the official Ceroz Agripe had remained in deep mourning and mostly sequestered in his cabin. He was naturally devastated and from then on incessantly mourned her loss. In his bereavement he ceased all communication and activity, as well, frequently refused any intake of sustenance (provisions, nourishment).

 

01- TORMENTED CEROS AGRIPE

He did not appear idle, rather, seemed to be contemplating something dire; meanwhile, he’d remained always in bad temper and often lashed out at the crew members, or whoever called on him. Ceroz’s angst (dread) and mounting heartache, meanwhile, had raised no alarms, as there were ample other more pertinent concerns and great deal still to do on aboard.

The infant’s death was attributed to crib-death, a common occurrence at that time, which often befell (occurred), one in every four babies. 

The official Luvet, despite Zunrogo's assurances, had also chosen most of the time to remain isolated (quarantined) in his cabin.  He had never had any dealings with Ceroz Agripe, yet at his wife Disaidun Agripe’s funeral, his blatant (unconcealed) hostility towards him, his intense (penetrating), fiery (blazing) antagonistic gaze (eyes), had both mystified and greatly alarmed official Luvet.  He’d subtly questioned Captain Zunrogo’s Lieutenant Tzan about this matter, but Lieutenant’s response had been less than satisfactory; moreover, his not so subtle, cryptic words had thence (thereafter) hunted Luvet’s peace. He could not shake the feeling that he’d somewhat been set up (accused, blamed for something he didn’t do) and ominously, a cruel, ignominious fate had awaited him. But how could he escape this impending catastrophe when he was constrained as passenger in a fair size vessel (craft, boat) temporarily stymied (because of necessary repairs) in the center of the vast expansive river, with the shoreline barely visible. He was not a competent swimmer and there was no small dinghy (dory, rowboat) on this cursed ship.  

 

Last few nights, burdened with deep concerns, Luvet had hardly touched his supper but drunk heavily to ease his mounting trepidation (fear, anxiety). Pacing back and forth across the room, he stayed up most of the evenings contemplating a plausible plan to ward off this impending disaster.  He could not shake the terrible foreboding in the crux of his being, that if not now, in matter of days, even if he succeeded in evading (escaping) the grave, lurking peril (danger, hazard, risk), his life would still be forfeited.

 

02- LUVET

                                                                 Scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald, meanwhile, from the very start, had refused to be sequestered in his cabin; not wishing to remain idle, he’d instead, had done his bit in expediting the mending of the ship.

Under Tizan's competent supervision, in no time at all the vessel had been made sail-worthy; hence, the fourth day at dawn, taking full advantage of the sudden rise of a north wind, they’d charted a course over the wide river that would bring them at a swift pace into the port city of Hanbrak, the river port immediately before the Capital city of Channing.

Once they had docked, Zunrogo and company were to precede post haste from then on, on horseback, to the Capital.

                                                                                  ~

 

Midway to reaching the port city of Hanbrak, no one other than Zunrogo, had anticipated the sudden and unexpected tragic turn of events.

In the dead of night, as all the other tired souls, including Fradel Rurik Korvald clutched their pillows in deep slumber; Ceroz Agripe suddenly snapping out of one of his catatonic (inert, withdrawn) states, had sat bolt upright and guardedly looked about him.

With wild gleam in his black pupils, he quietly rose from his bed and went over to pick up his sleeping baby. But the crib was empty, his precious Tait was not there, he’d gone missing!

Suddenly his memory served him a faint recollection, how in his anguished state, before the battle on board had started, trying to quieten the bawling (wailing) infant, he had pressed his precious boy to his chest and, tragically, smothered (suffocated) him.

“But when did they take him away? Where was Tait now?”

His mind once more becoming unhinged, his memory fogged, and he felt suddenly confused. He looked down at the empty crib, “There you are,” this time he clearly saw his precious boy Tait fast asleep.

03- BABY IN CRIB

Smiling, he gingerly picked up the small pillow, which he’d often used to protect the baby from the edge, his arms swaddling (enveloping) it, he held the precious cargo close to his chest.  Suddenly the baby was awakened and began to squeal.

“There, don’t cry Tait… Mommy will be here soon.” He gently rocked the bundle in his arms till the baby was quiet.

Bending his head, he gently kissed Tait’s forehead. His beautiful son seemed to be smiling at him. “Oh, you are such a good boy” He blew him another string of kisses.

Again, confusion set in, but just as quickly it went away; his mind was much clearer now, suddenly he knew what he must do.  Going over, he edged out the door of the cabin and locked it behind him.

 

Once in the dimly lit corridor, hugging the walls, he inaudibly crept two doors down to Luvet's cabin and quietly slipped inside.  Three paces into the room he stopped.  With the mad fire burning in his eyes, he quickly surveyed the immediate surroundings: his eyes momentarily rested on the table which was cluttered with dishes, food left uneaten, but there was the  discarded  wine stained cup, the empty wine jar tipped on its side; then he observed the stack of documents on the night table and the flickering oil lamp teetering dangerously over the edge; finally,  his gaze came to rest on the sleeping official.

Ceroz Agripe’s pulse again raced as the shiver of fuming rage and seething contempt rippled through him.

 

Gingerly, as if wary of waking his infant son from sleep, Ceroz put the precious bundle down in the plush, oversize chair in corner and, reaching into his left pocket, retrieved a long, red, silk cord.

 This crimson silk cord had been his former wife's favorite fashion accessory.  He took a shuddering breath as his gaze rested on it, recalling the multitude of purposes she had put it to.  Now it would serve a new purpose.

 He caressed it lovingly, touching it to his cheek, then to his pallid lips.  The lingering perfume it held misted his eyes with the memories it evoked, and he moaned softly in pain and dropped his head.

Abruptly anew the ire erupted in his chest, and he clenched the cord taut with indignation and bile until his knuckles whitened and cracked.

Just then Luvet stirred in his deep slumber, uttered some incomprehensible phrase, and then turned onto his side.  Ceroz was rooted to the spot, holding his breath as he considered his recourse should be the cursed official awake now and catch on to his presence in the room! 

Then, however, a lugubrious, loud snoring resounded in the air.

“Vile cur; how dare you sleep without a care…  Death is too good for the likes of you!”

 A wave of sickness, disgust and anger washed over Ceroz Agripe as he gritted his teeth.

“Your flesh should be ripped (torn) into minute pieces and fed to the wild dogs!  I swear, even if it is the last thing I do, I will gauge-out your eyes and stuff them up to …. where they belong.  Your manhood and your black heart I shall trample underfoot.  I will make certain that you will never be born again in any condition to defile a good, virtuous woman!”  He spat; his anger barely contained as he shivered once more.

His body was rocked with an all-consuming-wrath, and he clenched his fists to steady his steps as he determinedly approached Luvet.

 He stopped at hairsbreadth away from the edge of the bed.  His nostrils dilated as he glowered at the official; before him lay an ordinary official with plain nose, ordinary beard and mustache and typical lips, nothing special at all.  In the dim light, Ceroz noted how his reddish hair was scraggly (disheveled) and few strands hung loose at the sides.  There was nothing remarkable about him, nothing that would betray to an onlooker in the least his vile, contemptible nature.  There was no trace of inhumanity which Ceroz could detect in that oblong, rather impassive (blank) face, yet this mangy dog Luvet was assuredly the lowest of the lowest.

Surging contempt consumed Ceroz as he felt the bile rise in him once more.

05- CEROS AGRIPE -GONE MAD

In the next instant the cord looped around Luvet's neck and tightened with such unusual force that it bit two inches into his neck.  The convulsions of the struggling body were kept under control only by the application of Ceroz's total weight upon the dying man.

When Luvet finally expired, Ceroz drew from his other pocket the knife his wife had given him as her instrument of revenge.

 In the next few minutes, he set off to work, fulfilling his promises of defacement to the letter.  When he was done, he discarded the knife onto the table and stepped back.

As if now reconciled with the dead official, Ceroz smiled and calmly walked over to the corner to pick up the baby once more.  Going above deck, he moved slowly and serenely, looking as if he was merely taking the infant out for some air.

 Before any of the watch could realize his intention and stop him, he simply stepped over the edge of the boat and disappeared instantly in the foam of the wake.

 

“Man overboard…Man overboard!” In dead of night, the warning sounded.

 

But the vessel, as ordered, kept on (with its speed) going.  They could not have rescued him anyhow, even if they were any such order.  Driven by the strong northern wind, the vessel was moving way too fast to stop or try turning back, without grave risk to all.

The gruesome sight of Luvet's mutilated corpse was discovered soon after.  Without exception, every member of this rugged crew was chilled to the bone.  Enough incrimination evidence was left behind to leave no question as to the murderer's identity.

The motive was framed variously in everyone's mind but most chalked it up to simple insanity induced by the tragic loss of his beloved wife Disaidun Agripe, his infant boy Tait and the recent events, such as the terror and violence of the battle.

 It was generally determined that, being weak in nature already, Official Ceroz Agripe had simply cracked under pressure.  A few, however, speculated that the mutilation stemmed from the settling of an old grudge (score).  Some guessed that it was a crime of passion, and that the wife must have had an illicit affair with the bureaucrat Luvet.

Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) suspected that Zunrogo was somehow at the root of it all and despised him even more for it.  However, he had nothing solid on which to base his suspicions (allegations), therefore he buried his resentment and concentrated on the serious concerns that lay ahead of him once they reached the Capital.

06- TZAN JP

 Tzan, by piecing together the snippets of information and what he’d astutely observed, in the end discerned the true probable cause.   Tizan absently nodded as he wrapped up the pieces of the official's corpse; then with a sinister grin, he covertly eyed Zunrogo, telling himself to never ever for an instant let his guard down, to never underestimate (take too lightly) the captain’s capacity for ruthlessness, or misjudge in future Zunrogo’s devious powers of manipulation.

                                                                                        ~

 

               (END OF SECTION 37- END OF BOOK 8 – ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL)

 

(LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC EPIC STORY CONTINUES IN BOOK 9- THE CAPITAL CHANNING)

 

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 22

01- MOUNTED ZUNROGO TUGO  LEAVING THE INN BEHIND

After leaving the Inn area, at first the road (thoroughfare) they journeyed on, thronged with countless travelers from all diverse ethnic and economic backgrounds, coming and going, bearing their goods and materials to and from the outlying provinces of the Empire.  The friendly banter of the merchants mingled with the creak of wheels and clapping of the horse's hooves as they pulled the buggies, carriages and loaded carts towards the Capital.

After quarter of a day’s ride, the ongoing stream gradually thinned out as the main road branched out onto many side roads, leading in all directions to the outlying market towns and farming villages (rural communities) that flanked the thoroughfare as it cut through the vast, fertile plain that provided this section of the province with much of its fresh forage (fodder, foodstuff).

Later, these arteries would again converge, Zunrogo informed Fradel, to swell the main highway which the company was on, as the produce of the region was transported to the insatiable consumers in Channing.

“The travelers would then be intermixed, with idle, vacationing degenerate gentry on pleasure excursions, covert, religious zealots seeking absolution, profligate (wasteful) scholars supposedly there for indulging in nature’s beauty and, countless dissolute court officials with varied political rank, all of them, in desperate need of respite and regeneration… all, with their hidden perverse agendas looking to escape their tedium and discharge their exacerbated angst!” Zunrogo stole Fradel a sly glance and grimaced sourly.

02- FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC) AS IMPERIAL GUARD  JP 11

“What, no reaction… What does it take to ruffle those pristine feathers of yours?”

“As I was saying,” Zunrogo dispassionately continued. “These renowned, panoramic topography (scenery), as well, magnificent falls, hot springs, naturally fostered countless, leisure, recreational facilities. They had mushroomed, (built up) within just last decade, to perpetuate more currency, funds needed for military expeditions and more. Strangely enough, from these supposed places of refuge…all the while, the secretly sanctioned criminal elements…”

"Look, Captain!  Look!" The urgency in Frastos' voice and his pointing finger suddenly just then drew their attention to the far distant spot, where the Inn had been.  All heads turned to see the coiling, black smoke billowing up and darkening the sky.  Briac's face fell as a cold shudder passed through him.

"I wonder how it got started."  The adolescent boy's naive query drew the other traveler’s attention.

"Keep on walking; it’s none of our business!" The stern voice of an elderly man scolded the youth as he passed a fearful eye over the surrounding sea of curious faces.

Some had put their heads together to whisper then, eyes glued to the fire, shook their heads in apprehension and dismay.  Others showed fleeting signs of outrage or anger before a habitual resignation registered on their features.

 In all the spectators’ pupils (eyes) registered the akin caution, as the common sense of the old man's words rang true.  None of them could afford to get involved in the messy investigation, the ugly conspiracy or the legal entanglements that would certainly ensue.

Subsequently ditching their curiosity, with lowered heads, the majority hastened (picked up) their pace, whipping up their horses and steering their carts ahead, as most were anxious to spread as much distance as possible between themselves and the disaster.

The unfortunate few grave-faced travelers, who were headed towards the fire, purposefully dawdled, dug in their heels, and malingered to reduce their speed.

03- FRADEL RURIK KORVALD (NEVETSECNUAC ) GAZES FURIOUSLY AT THE CAPTAIN JP 38

Fradel Rurik Korvald (Nevetsecnuac) threw a furious look at Captain Zunrogo, with clear implication (as if to say), “I know you are behind this catastrophe.”

 Zunrogo plainly ignored this, however, and finding the varied responses of the travelers rather, most amusing, grinned sadistically and cruelly. Moreover, not wishing for another unnecessary confrontation with this upstart, righteous and irate scholar, deliberately ignored Fradel's continued, cold, admonishing glare, and just spurred his horse on ahead.

They traveled at this faster pace until dusk. Briac was somewhat comforted to be riding amid a protective semicircle; flanked by Frastos and Fradel Rurik Korvald on either side, while the captain rode in the lead.  He knew that, if he was hemmed in on all three sides and there were other travelers sharing the road, there would be a serious deterrent to any would be assassination attempt.  He coolly reminded himself that he would be a far easier target at any of the Inns they might be staying at, or if he strayed from the group. 

Just as Briac’s taut nerves were starting to loosen, a single arrow, of unknown origin, whistled through the air, grazed Frastos’'s ear, and lodged itself in Briac's high scholar's cap.

"What in the world?  Oh no!"  In his fright, drenched in sudden sweat, Briac nearly fell from his horse.  Only a quick reaction by Fradel Rurik Korvald steadied him in the saddle again.

Shaking like a leaf, he did not thank Fradel but cursed his dire predicament and considered how he could best break free of what seemed now to be a tight cordon of death trap and make good his escape. Quickly Briac decided on the best recourse left open to him and he purposefully reared the mare.  His hand next, grasped at the wig to tear it from his head (scalp) and same time his mouth opened wide to shout out loud his vehement denial and declaration: that he was but an imposter and not the cursed Fradel Rurik Korvald.  His eye just then however, catching (noticing) the captain's ephemeral, lethal, hard glare, Briac’s hand (on the wig), as well the words at the tip of his tongue, abruptly stayed (froze, came to a dead stop).

Zunrogo, obviously disappointed, grimaced wryly and sheathed his sword. He then turned and looked away in the far direction; where which just then, the solitary figure of Tizan had appeared from behind a rising hilltop and began swiftly descending towards them.

“So, this was your handy work.” Briac inwardly scoffed. “You couldn’t resist, yet again, to taunt me.”

The captain was more concerned how Tizan had managed to catch up to them so quickly and, meeting Tizan halfway, at once interrogated the Lieutenant.

"I took the short cut through Yennicroc pass." Tizan smirked (grinned) and shrugged his shoulders.

04- TZAN JP

Considering the nature of the treacherous terrain, the captain was impressed and nodded his approval.  "Still, I see you are none the worst, for wear."

Still grinning, Tizan threw a scornful look at Briac.  "You mistake me again, sir, for his likes."  His eyes filled with loathing as he indicated the pale impostor (Briac) with his chin.

Tizan’s words struck a raw nerve in Briac, and it was only with great difficulty that he forced some constraint on his seething rage. Gritting his teeth, Briac pulled out (grasped) the arrow that had lodged firmly in scholar’s cap, snapped it in two and disdainfully threw it to the ground.

The empty threat implicit in Briac's action greatly amused Tizan, who threw his head back and laughed uproariously.  Briac was about to say something more provocative to infuriate Tizan when Zunrogo interceded.

"Tizan, you and Fradel Rurik Korvald have not been properly introduced.  May I introduce you, sir, to my Lieutenant, Tizan Lout."

"We have already met." Fradel grimaced, returning Tizan's polite nod.

"Why, of course you have," the captain smiled, recalling the brief episode back at the Inn, when Fradel Rurik Korvald had raised difficulties with his first accommodation (alloted, assigned room).

As they talked, Tizan's eloquent tongue and pseudo fine mannerisms, affected solely for the sake of impressing the captain, grated on Briac's nerves.

Scoffing at this sycophantic (fawning) spectacle, he rode the mare on ahead, temporarily forgetting the constant danger to him.  When the Captain and Tizan took the lead, he fell back to sulk in the center of the group once again.

"Any unforeseen problems," Zunrogo suddenly questioned Tizan.

"None, Captain…As always none." Tizan answered smartly then, unhindered by the least shred of conscience, looked away, smiling smugly. Tizan had no way of knowing of course that he had been properly duped, as his malign plans were aptly undermined by the intrepid Kozur affiliates who had a (monopoly) personal stake in that region.

                                                                                    ~

After a restful night's stay at a roadside Inn, Briac awoke at cock's crow to another nasty shock.  Finding the scalp to be uncomfortably hot, he had taken it off before retiring and laid it on the night table, yet now it rested squarely atop his head once more.  Worse still, when he went to remove it to wash his face and scalp, for it itched terribly; he discovered that it was permanently fastened somehow to his own skin.

"What's wrong?" Frastos, who had just finished washing his own face and dressed already, noting the frustrated anger and dismay on Briac's face, asked.

05-FRASTOS - JP 17

"It won't come off.  It won't budge."  Briac tugged once more at the hair.

"Stop fooling around," Frastos came over and brusquely yanked the wig not expecting to find any resistance.

"Aiyhhh," Briac screamed in pain.  "What are you trying to do, scalp me?"

"You mean it’s for real?  That's impossible!"  Frastos' words were barely spoken when Tizan knocked and immediately stepped in.

"What?  You two aren't dressed yet?  You'll have to forfeit your breakfast then.  The captain wants both of you downstairs, immediately.  We're ready to leave.  Now!" he bellowed at them and turned to go.

Briac nimbly rushed to block his way.  "Are you responsible for this?" he pointed to the wig.

"What about it?" Tizan glared.  "It’s done in accordance with the captain's orders.  Do you want to make something of it?"

Briac inwardly dismayed, backed away from the challenge.  "Why?" A complaintive whimper escaped his lips, before he could stop it.

"You need to ask?" Tizan scoffed, his cold eyes pinned on Briac.  "He saw the stunt you almost pulled when my arrow pierced your cap.  Well, it’s to prevent you from repeating it again, and to keep you from disobeying orders.  Count yourself lucky you were spared from harsher reprimand.  I would not have been so lenient if I had been in charge."

“Well, thank Heaven you're not.” Frastos inwardly scoffed.

Frastos blanched and lowered his head, catching the hostile glower from Tizan (as if latter had read his thought), just as the lieutenant was exiting the room.

"Don't worry," Tizan ejected coldly, as he rushed his steps down the hallway, "the adhesive will wear off in a month or so."  He grinned venomously as he turned and headed down the stairs.  "That is, if you live that long."

 

                                                                                   ~

 

When the group stayed at an Inn on the outskirts of town for the night, Briac, in his (masquerading) pseudo role of a scholar found, the special treatment by the manager and help that his new status begets, very much to his liking.  Moreover, he was now a magnet to delightful ladies and gentry and taking advantage of this boon, shamelessly indulged in heavy drinking and licentious behavior long after Tizan, Fradel Rurik Korvald and Zunrogo had retired to their respective rooms.

When eventually Briac took his favorite up to their room, Frastos as his assigned bodyguard, with his back to them, was forced to be privy to all Briac’s passionate moaning and grunts, as he pawed her; hence, this adding smoldering jealousy to Frastos’s mounting list of resentments. But as the night progressed, despite his conscientious effort of vigilance (alertness), the hard days ride taking its toll, Frastos’s eyelids dropped, and he very nearly drifted off to sleep.

The beauty Briac was still shamelessly fondling chose this precise moment, to whisper a suggestion into his ear.  Finding this most agreeable, Briac rose to his feet and abruptly announced to Frastos, shocking him into full wakefulness (alertness), that he would retire now and that, temporarily, the guard's services would not be needed.

This subtly instructed Frastos, “to give him (Briac) a few hours ‘leeway to complete his amorous business, before Frastos returned to their shared room.”

“Why should I?”  Frastos was of half a mind to make things difficult for the impostor scholar but, on second thought relenting, shrugged his shoulders and rose.

His hand was about to turn the nob of the door, when, "What audacity!" he, with his back to them, heard her exclaim indignantly in her amorous voice.  "He should be reprimanded, if not punished, for such rudeness."

06- BEAUTY SEDUCING  BRIAC

Frastos could only guess at the lies Briac whispered behind him, as the latter (Briac) quietly sipped his drink.  In fact, Frastos was hoping for the slightest provocation, having had enough, to put Briac in his proper place.

Halting his grasp, “Go on, I dare you to reprimand me!” he hissed and then half turning his head, he glared at Briac.

He waited but since no such castigation (rebuke) happened; disappointed, he simply shook his head and quickly darted outside.

He did not stray too far from the door, musing, “Where am I supposed to go in this ungodly hour?”

"Oh, how sweet, how tolerant you are," he heard the woman's beguiling voice inside the room say, instead, as it drifted to pleasurable chuckles and moans (groan). 

"Oh, can't you be patient?" the muted whining came next, and the subsequent giggling.  "Oh, you are way too shameless!"

Then he heard Briac, with his heavy footing walking up to fasten the lock on the door.

“You got to be kidding me.” Frastos moaned.

"Oh, you mustn't do that.  Please leave the door unlocked."  The seductive intonation of her voice lured Briac into complying with her wishes. Or maybe Briac thought better of it, mindful of the possible repercussions from the captain, for disobeying orders.

“What a complete, utter fool you are.” Frastos shook his head with scorn. Totally disgusted at the outside, he quickened his steps to walk away and to spread as much distance as he could between him and this contemptible moron.

 Briac, on the inside, had waited and listened by the door till he was assured that Frastos, in quick succession, had descended those steps at the end of the hallway.

“He’s finally gone.” He turned, only to find her reclining provocatively on his bed, beckoning him to come into her embrace.

Grinning from ear to ear, like a hungry beast about to pounce on his prey, Briac rushed across the room and flung his body clumsily atop her, only to grasp the pillow instead as she agilely shifted to the other side.

 His loins were on fire.  "Come to me, my sweet dove.  I promise to be gentle." he purred as he leaned forward to hold her in a tight, passionate embrace.

"Is that any way for a gentleman to behave?  Oh, you are so strong you take my breath away."  She pushed him away coyly to fall back seductively among the heap of embroidered, plush cushions.

A log splitting in the fire, momentarily took his attention away.  He turned back to gently admonish her, "You mustn't toy with my affections."

07 - BEAUTIY (OR THE ASSASSIN)

The words, however, simply froze on his lips and his eyes widened with sudden fear.  In that scant lighting, in her hand, a dagger’s blade had flashed (catching the light of the lit candles) and the next instant, she launched it targeting his heart with murderous intent.

He was a seasoned soldier so at lightning speed he first swerved to avoid her deadly strike then lurched forward, his hand intending to grasp her wrist, to gain control of the dagger. Nevertheless, escaping his grasp, she, with one fluid motion jumped off the bed and then turned to, unafraid, squarely, still seductively, gaze at him.

“Was she merely toying with me?” Briac queried inwardly, as he noted the clear absence of malice and no implicit threat in those crystal, clear blue eyes of hers.

She, with unreadable emotion, meanwhile, unwarily gazed at him for a spell, seemingly assessing his next move, then simply let the dagger drop to the floor; after which, nimble as a cat, darted out the door.

 

(END OF SECTION 22)                                                                                                   ~

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 9

Dokurak most thankful of the fact he had a sympathetic ear, with a secret purpose in mind had ceaselessly unburdened his heart: “Beginning a new life with only a measly pittance I had concealed from the authorities, I first purchased some worthless piece of land and after initializing irrigation, proper crop rotation and a great deal of work, managed to turn my luck around.  Soon the land began to yield a good return, enough at least for me to properly care for my children. “Dokurak, falling silent for a spell, looked down.

“Unfortunately, the former owner who’d sold the land to me for a song now regretted his hasty decision; additionally, most envious of me for the beget bounty (profits), have harbored a personal grudge against me.  That was the precursor of my fresh troubles.” Dokurek pensively shook his head.

"When my eventual pardon arrived, and I was allowed to settle permanently in this region I ignored my neighbor’s envy and animosity and falsely thought that the past had finally been put safely behind me. For a short while things looked promising. My sons, meanwhile, going against my will and ignoring my good counsel, chose not the agrarian (farming, rural) livelihood (occupation), but that of erudite (literate).  Then again, there was a measure of leniency in the law and a few good posts and desirable government positions were once again being made available to promising learnt (scholarly) candidates.    Gradually I relaxed my vigilance and even allowed my heart the joyful pride when one of my sons, Kuer, was promoted to a good position in the Magistrate's office.”

02- KUER

"How was I to know?  How could I phantom that some unscrupulous, grasping officials would, within a decade, instigate yet another onslaught against the Literate?  You see, in their greed, they had come to realize the immense profits that could be reaped from the land and property holdings of the successful intellectuals (scholars).”

"Zakhertan Yozdek, a military man and an autocratic landholder, had, despite his outward policies of leniency, still harbored in the crux of his being a deep contempt for the scholars because of their analytical (logical, critical) way of thinking and their accrued (amassed, retained in mind) vast reservoirs of knowledge of past rulers.  Meanwhile the extensive military campaigns he had waged to secure his throne and Wenjenkun’s borders had nearly depleted the treasury.  The Office of Revenue was already hard pressed to come up with additional sums via (by means of) burdening taxes and forced labor, and besides, extra funds were now needed for the new campaign against Korion.

“It took only a little persuasion and a staged incident by the new Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren, to make the literati into scapegoats once more.  Thus, the holdings of these affluent families were laid open for pillage and were sold at auction once the unfortunates had been blamed for the discontent, turmoil and hardships that plagued the country.”

Dokurak suddenly stopped talking and after his long, dubious look at Fradel, his voice tinged with jealousy, he said:

“You have really been most fortunate, Serek Vern (Fradel Rurik Korvald), to have escaped these disasters… these genocides.  I wish that I had been empowered to do the same for my sons.  You see, I had the foresight; right at the beginning of it all, I had read the signs and predicted the outcome. The ill-fate hovering at cusp (verge, edge), over the horizon, had left all too prevalent signs for anyone intelligent or discerning, to be wary.  Foolishly, though, I imagined that my pardon and the quiet, model (exemplary) life I had led, would exempt me and my two sons from all of this impending (looming) catastrophe” Dokurek shook his head then sullenly bit the corner of his lip.

"My second mistake was to place too great a store in my influential friends and the Magistrate that had mentored Kuer.  I could not envision that they, too, would collude with my enemies and turn on me for a share of the gain.  Of that, I am sure.  That oversight, unfortunately, was my gravest mistake and for years I've been eaten alive inside, bit by slow bit, by the burden of regret I've carried in my heart.” Dokuek desisting tears, wrung his hands.

"My heart aches so sorely (agonizingly) whenever I think of my two boys…my poor, innocent boys!  When the disaster fell Kuer had been married two years and, what's more, his beautiful, virtuous wife, Luokil, was carrying my grandson. “

03- KUER AND HIS WIFE LUOKIL

"But alas, my world once more collapsed when Kuer and Ruek were arrested and taken away in chains.  I knew that the charges brought against them were pure fabrication, that there was no solid evidence at all to convict them on, so I immediately dispensed generous sums in bribing the right officials trying to buy justice and extricate my sons from (false) blame. “

04-KUER AND RUEK FALSELY CHARGED 

 “All my efforts were in vain, however, for they wanted it all.  My property was confiscated in the blink of an eye and sold for the state's gain to the very same people who had laid the false charges against us.  I was again, shortly after,  reduced to a beggar's state.”

“Kuer was well liked and had countless influential friends but none; none dared to speak up on his behalf when...” Dokurek, abruptly stopping,  bit hard the corner of his lip; anger and despair registering in his pupils, he looked yet again  in the direction of the large mount, quite oblivious of the trickling blood that slowly made its way down his chin.

"You can't imagine the anguish I felt at seeing my boys, as they were dragged mercilessly down the street in chains, then …. Then… buried alive under that accursed big mound." Dokurek swallowed and pointed.

"But not a whimper escaped their lips.  My heroic sons!  I would have ended my own miserable existence right then and there, but I summoned all my courage to live on, enduring misery and humiliation in order to care for my unborn grandson.” Dokurek swallowed hard, and eyes brimming with tears, he dismally (gloomily) shook his head.

“Alas, as cruel fate is, he and his mother both died in childbirth. She went into labor soon after she had witnessed her husband's murder, you see."  Pointing to the two smaller mounds under the weeping willow tree, adjacent to the big mound, Dokurek lamented in a choked voice, "They lie there, close to my son Kuer and Ruek.  I cared for their graves all this time and offered continuous prayers for their comfortable existence in the afterlife.  Now I'm old, too old and too feeble to be of much use to anyone.  I would have joined them long ago, but I have not a soul to count on to bury these old bones and I have nothing left to barter with."  He buried his head in his hands.

"Oh, all those years, how could I have been so foolish? How could I have been so utterly beguiled?” He lamented. “It’s taken me a lifetime to see the error of my ways.  My eyes are finally opened. But what good is all that now? If only I’d listened to my younger brother’s words for, he was right all along, right about a lot of things.  I’m filled with endless remorse that eats at my soul?”

“Still Heaven, it seems, has at long last taken pity on me."  Dokurek abruptly looked up, smiling wryly and, with the back of his hand, wiped away the deluge of tears that soaked his pallid cheeks and neck.

 "For here you are … Good sir, can I impose on you, can I rely on your compassion and good graces to perhaps trouble you, to do me this one last great favor?"

Fradel was nonplused by Dokurek's imploring gaze and, understanding his meaning, frowned.  "I shall not be party to your murder sir.  Surely you have many long years still ahead.  Do not despair.  You have persevered this long, undergone so much; perhaps an emancipated future..."

Before Fradel could finish the old man had flashed a blade he had concealed deep within the folds of his rags.  With a swiftness that belied his age, giving Fradel no chance to move, Dokurek buried the knife hilt-deep into his chest. But missing his heart just barely, he lived long enough to still implore Serek (Fradel).

"I do not deserve your kindness, sir. Ugg…. Still, I know you will not disappoint me.  Far too long have I endured this loneliness, burdensome guilt and unbearable heartache?  I make no excuses now and accept full blame for my past miserable life choices. Having paid some penance; let me embrace fate and join them now.  Please, pray that we all find peace in the… afterlife." He gasped his last breath and, (blood oozing from his mouth,) was no more.

Fradel had done the right thing by Dokurek and, although he had buried the old man's body in a mound next to his grandson and daughter-in-law under the same willow, all rites duly carried out, he still carried away with him the pain of Dokurek’s misspent life.

 

                                                                                    ~

Fradel was from then on burdened with a series of fresh concerns.  The guilt ate at him to the crux of his heart: guilt for being spared, for having led a privileged life of ignorance while so many had perished.  Fradel now pondered: Had he (Fradel) the right to do what he planned?  Wouldn't his intended actions unleash yet another bout of purges resulting in blood baths and fresh persecution of the Literati? 

This was at the root of Fradel's dilemma as he rode away from the graves beside the ruined hut.

Fradel, tersely now, as if with a special understanding, nodded.  Yes, things being the way they are, whatever I do will have little bearing.  The outcome would invariably be the same.  So long as evil reigns (rule) supreme and corruption festers like locusts on this land, salvation will be a distant dream for everyone.

 

                                                                                         

(END OF SECTION 9)

                                                                                              ~