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 6

Subsequently, long after his firstborn's ignominious death, Zakhertan had thoroughly investigated all happenstances from varied perspectives and scrutinized even the remotest incidents (episodes) that could have given rise to his son’s shocking defiance; meanwhile, seeking any explanation to forgive his son and to absolve himself from least blame. He had even considered the possibility that his beloved son had gone temporarily insane, had suffered a medical mental affliction (episode) or injury that had resulted in his irrational, deplorable behavior.

Nevertheless, Qijerrik consequent unfilial breach could not be minimized (disputed) or denied; after considering this at present once more, Zakhertan shook his head and again hardened his heart. Qijerrik when captured and brought in chains before him (Zakhertan) to account for his crimes, though altered in personality, had been perfectly resolute and of sound mind. Zakhertan recalled with perfect clarity each nuance and subtlety of affectation, moreover, every brazen discord (articulated dissent) of that day when Qijerrik stood adamantly defiant despite his obvious grave injuries.

01- -QIJERRIK YOZDEK IN CHAINS

 Zakhertan gritted his teeth while the muscles on his face went taut (rigid, tense, tightened), just as it had done then, his heart in the throes of extreme emotional turmoil- observing (witnessing) his son’s  stoic bravely, hearing his son’s defiant responses to his culpable (accusatory), damning analyses and sadistic demands, never giving an inch, shackled and seriously wounded as he were beneath his armour (breastplate, chainmail), result of his prior gallant skirmish with the elite force!

Incredibly, even after all this time, despite all that had passed (transpired), Zakhertan still held deep affection for his firstborn son and he still yearned deep within the crevices of his soul, to have Qijerrik standing by him, as he had once done. Zakhertan had given him the single, unheard of until then, chance to repent, to explain his actions and to beg absolution from him (his Sovereign father). Though, Zakhertan had known all too well, that the offer of leniency was wasted on the son after his own heart. Predictably, Qijerrik had remained unrelenting and defiant until the bitter- end.

"I gladly welcome death (be freed by death) and decent into the debts of Hell than intake another breath and persist (live) under the noxious grid (net) of your tyrannical rule!"

 Those caustic words, then to present, were forever etched in (scarred, burned in) Zakhertan Yozdek’s heart and still pained him. At the time seeing red (enraged), Zakhertan’s fury had just exploded.

"Your death shall not come that easy."  In a blinding rage (not seeing his son), he had descended upon the insolent, shackled prisoner and, drawing his sword severed, in lightning strike, Qijerrik’s right arm above the elbow; but with incredible self-control he had stayed his blade, desisting the urge of cutting Qijerrik’s throat and in a sweeping motion amputating both of his (son’s) legs above the knee.  

02-ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (68)

Qijerrik for a moment or two had fought hard to remain conscious as the stump of his severed arm, the severed artery, sprayed blood all over Zakhertan’s chest and on the guards who flanked him. Nevertheless, fuelled by indignation, for he possessed the same fiery temperament as Zakhertan, Qijerrik’s voice thence, thundered with his wrathful curses directed at his father, till his strength gradually but assuredly waned.

Zakhertan, his fury only satiated by the spilling of blood, consequently, in lightening speed sheathing his sword and then simultaneously withdrawing his dagger from his inner garment, grabbed the tongue of his son and cut out the offensive organ at the root.

His son, by this act, would be silenced forever, so he had thought. But those eyes, those hateful, burrowing eyes spoke louder than any battle cry. The look had extricated (wrenched) Zakhertan’s soul out from his body, then inexplicably plunged (plummeted, drawn) into the debts of those blazing blue eyes of Qijerrik’s; Zakhertan thus helplessly mesmerized, held captive (caged) by the force of it, had endured Qijerrik’s heaped on silent recriminations-making Zakhertan feel like an abhorred monster and worse, making him suffer (experience) the effects of his actions had had on others.

Zakhertan could have well tolerated (stomached, endured) all blame and that penetrating glare of loathing; but then his son’s eyes had unexpectedly softened and had insufferably next, got suffused with a deep, profound pity for Zakhertan, before Qijerrik succumbed to loss of blood and his eyelids dropped! That did it!

At that moment, unbridled fury had again exploded in Zakhertan for, “how dare his son, so abjectly pity him?”  Anew his heart turned to stone; Zakhertan had barked his orders to the guards to get the traitor Qijerrik out of his sight at once. His death, however, would not be so swift.

03- INFURIATED ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (16) JP

The guards understanding Zakhertan’s unspoken command, had hauled Prince Qijerrik to the darkest of dungeons, had his wounds cauterized, and then had the prince chained to the far wall. Once a day Qijerrik was force-fed to keep him alive, for Zakhertan still demanded repentance from his son and if necessary, it would be extracted by torture. Subsequent days, the rebellious forces bereft of his leadership, had been one by one, swiftly, and methodically rooted out and vanquished; and in less than two months every whimper of rebellion had been crushed.  

Every generation of Scholars’ families down to the extended members, servants, associates as well as, all other suspected sympathizers were one and all, rounded up and publicly executed throughout the Kingdom. Many villages and rural towns which had lent support to the Scholar rebels had been raised, incinerated and every life within them snuffed out of existence. Their severed, blood-soaked heads were hoisted on pikes over city gates or in village squares where the eyes were picked clean by crows and the empty sockets formed nests for maggots. Left there indefinitely to rot and stink, they served as a grim reminder, a deterrent, and a warning to all dissidents.  

Each day for well over a month, Prince Qijerrik chained and immobile, had spent long, agonizing hours, being kept appraised of the most recent atrocious and ghastly reprisals exacted (meted out) on his once compatriots.  

 Zakhertan had hoped that the self-recrimination alone, at all the suffering Prince had caused, would force Qijerrik to see the error of his ways and beg, by whatever means he could, Zakhertan's forgiveness. Only then swift death would be bestowed on the prince, along with the granting of full funerary rights. The alternative, Zakhertan let Qijerrik know, was to be kept in the dungeon indefinitely, to undergo sporadic tortures then be left to rot until his corpse would be tossed into the moat below like that of a common criminal. Qijerrik, defiant to the end, had, however still found a way to cheat Zakhertan of the pleasure of his demise (death). At the beginning of the second month of his incarceration, after eating normally for two days to build his strength and lull the guard's suspicions, he had taken advantage of the brief period when the shift changed and, gathering all his bodily strength, had swung his skull backwards with all his force against the wall he was shackled to.  Prince Qijerrik had always been a stalwart (strapping) young man and even in this weakened state, it had taken only one attempt to shatter his skull and therefore end his existence.

Both shifts of guards, finding out what had happened and fearing Zakhertan’s wrath, fell upon their swords and immediately ended their life. The news of his son's suicide had at first infuriated Zakhertan Yozdek, but the more he thought about it, the more he admired his son's resolve and courage despite himself. Though misguided, his son’s stubborn defiance right up to the end had earned Qijerrik, Zakhertan’s lasting esteem and deep eternal love, for being such a true warrior. Breaking his own rule of law, Zakhertan had taken Qijerrik’s remains and had them buried beside those of his mother Lady Elin, in the Royal Tombs; however, the corpse of Prince Qijerrik still received no funerary rites.

04-ZAKHERTAN YOZDEK 78

Zakhertan’s heart from then on had grown even colder still, for he had after all, lost the only person who had mattered to him in life. He had since then been, figuratively speaking, dead to the world. He had allowed himself no attachments and had taken solace only in wars, with murder and mayhem (pandemonium, havoc) being his constant companions; however, none of that had satiated his voracious, predatory soul’s gripe (or lament). His heart, already turned to chunk of ice and caged in an iron chest, had only last year, though hesitantly, had begun to thaw. Zakhertan’s thoughts at present reluctantly turned to Crown Prince Herleif, he speculated whether he had unfairly shunned his second son, born three years after Qijerrik to the same mother Lady Elin.

The two Princes could not have been more different. Prince Herleif was so vastly inferior to the firstborn, that it was hard for Zakhertan to believe Qijerrik shared the (same chromosome, gene pool,) same gene (genetic factor, DNA, RNA) with such a sorry specimen. Lately however, Zakhertan’s feelings about Herleif had been mixed and his heart at times had been tinged with small measure of guilt, for he knew deep down in the crux of his conscience being that he was partly to be blamed for those ill-gotten results. Hadn't he after all desired this outcome in Herleif, this weakling, the bane of his life, and took corresponding (apt) measures all along to perpetuate it? Yes, over the years he had followed his son's failings and his sorry progress, assured that no danger would arise from him but, unlike Yoshikan Sousing Nokuzuk Binchan of Korion, Herleif had not faked his incompetence.

05- YOSHIKAN SOUSING NOKUZUK BINCHAN   (44)JP

Zakhertan thence (from that time on) having changed his mind had subjected his second son to rigorous (arduous) training; try as he might however, after numerous failings and some physical injuries, Prince Herleif had proven absolutely that he had no knack for civil or military calling. He was a dismal failure and a bitter disappointment for one such as Zakhertan Yozdek. Unlike his late elder brother Qijerrik, Prince Herleif was not agile enough, lacked zeal, lacked compassion and benevolence, lacked stamina, courage, wisdom, and skill. Even the most stringent, rigorous training that would have otherwise transformed an ordinary being into a semi-competent commander or an acceptable soldier (warrior), missed its mark in Herleif; he was, at best, a mediocre fighter, and a dismally incompetent supervisor. Nor was this his only failing, prince Herleif was miserly and lacked imagination and foresight; he had failed to apply his extensive schooling in strategy into practice and so was also a failure as a tactical commander in the field. Sovereign Zakhertan had learned this lesson at cost of thousands of good fighting men and a near loss of a province; fortunately, the timely intervention from Prince Herleif’s replacement, a much abler Commander Zifel, had rectified the situation and secured the province. Zakhertan had never been able to forgive his second son Herleif for this terrible blunder and disgrace. Even after his banishment to a remotest province as Governor, much more suffering had been readied for him. In fact, it was only due to the sudden demise of Zakhertan’s third son, Prince Kendar that Herleif's life had been spared at all.  

Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek robbed of any other adolescent male heirs, had reluctantly recalled (summoned) Prince Herleif back to the Capital Channing. This was of course a temporary measure, as Zakhertan had estimated that now Crown Prince Herleif might last just long enough till a pegged, more capable offspring was born to him (Zakhertan). For some time unfortunately, fate had denied Zakhertan this fundamental right; after the accidental death of Prince Turin Yozdek at the age of three (born to Lady Idona Yozdek), then the sudden demises at infancy of both the Prince Chucek (born to Lady Shayen Yozdek) and Prince Kureing (born to Lady Yinnis), Zakhertan had furtively next hung all his hopes on Prince Magnian, who’d fortunately had survived and was presently, five years old. Zakhertan fists had momentarily clenched then let go, as he had thought how opportunely, fate had given him one more chance to redeem his mistakes. This time he would take care not to repeat Qijerrik’s morose ending, Zakhertan inwardly vowed. He would, furthermore, ascertain that no undue or adverse influences be thrust upon Magnian in an unguarded moment and that, his training and education be far stricter and all encompassing. Though Prince Magnian was just five years old, he had been already showing signs of a great promise, much like Qijerrik.

06- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (91) AND LADY SEJON

Lady Sejon, as the mother of Prince Magnian, at present enjoyed Zakhertan’s special favors; she was after all, voluptuous, well endowed, beautiful young girl of twenty-two years of age, with honey-colored eyes and long, wavy, raven black hair. Besides being astute and quite ambitious, she was also the beloved niece of Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren; Zakhertan would therefore, tolerate her just a little while longer, while same time, keep an eye to make sure of curbing her influence. And then, Zakhertan grinned venomously, knowing the fate, regardless of circumstance, that awaited his lovely consort.

Zakhertan’s deliberations were interrupted just then by a cheerful chorus of chirps from the shallow pool in the garden outside his window. He absently watched, as the pair of songbirds drank, dipped their bodies into the water and then, flapped their wings to shake off the excess moisture. Zakhertan elucidated (interpreted) their ablutions (ritual cleansing) as a utilitarian exercise, much like the troops bathing after a long march (and before a victorious battle); turning, he glimpsed at the guard waiting woodenly all this time for his command.

"Very well, have him come in."   

The guard responded sharply and within seconds the expendable Crown Prince Herleif was ushered into the room.

 

                                                                                            ~

 

(END OF SECTION 6)