LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 5

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE RESCUE- SECTION 5

Before dawn, leaving the morning’s mundane chores for Svein to complete, Stark made ready with the prescribed protocol and the requisite implements for the purification ceremony. As it was a pressing matter, the age-old ritual could be done without the other participants. All he needed were some personal items of theirs, such as lock of hair, or a piece of clothing. In solitude he would move expeditiously and potently perform, the necessary prayers, incantations and offerings to cleanse the entire premise anew, as well capping the area under protected dome, from any portended, harmful apparitions.

                                              ~                                            

Shortly after daybreak (sunrise), when the golden rays basked the room with their warm glow, she awoke with her head somewhat clouded, a derivative-effect of the ingested drug of the night before. At the start with her eyes only ajar, she had incomprehensibly scanned, perused the room, then recollecting the terrible fright of the previous night, she’d set up with a start.  As she rubbed her eyes and then her temples, gradually other facts came to mind. Too fantastic to believe, inwardly she questioned their validity, painstakingly going over in her mind all the pertinent details.

Had she articulated her fright in her native tongue and had Stark, truly, responded to her in kind?  Could she have dreamt or imagined it all- perhaps it was a feat born out of intense desire? 

After a period of soul-searching, the unlikeness of it all had in the end erased any such notions or hope from her heart, replacing it instead with sadness and deep dismay.

Then she noted the absence of her original garments; as she sought the explanation for their whereabouts, her attention just then was drawn to the gentle knock at the door.

Upon her verbal consent, Stark dressed in an embroidered formal silk robe and bearing a gift of change of suitable apparel for her, entered the room and greeted her politely. Going over, he gently placed them on the chest then turned to squarely face her.

 Extraordinary circumstances beget extraordinary measures; therefore, Stark deeming the time to be appropriate, with a courteous bow of the head, he now properly in her own language addressed her. “Please accept this attire in place of your old ones. When ready, you may join me in the next room.”

Not waiting for a response, he then promptly left the premise.

Hearing him speak such, boundless joy had all at once filled her heart.

 “So, it was true after all; she hadn’t imagined it.” She could not help smiling; a big wide smile adorned her face for long at last she’d be at liberty to, without hindrance articulate!  No more of past stiflingly restrictive, oftentimes annoying muted attempts at communication- as time and again she’d faced with the mind boggling, incomprehensible, different dialects of foreign languages since her departure from home- whether it be the exchanged, somewhat secretive dialects between merchants, the coarse, at times vulgar verbal intercourse of (sailors) shipmates on board the seafaring vessel, or the odd interchange between the fisherman that had rescued her, his family and friends.

But she mustn’t let her hopes get too high! She quickly checked her exuberance, for what if he only knew a few words, enough to get by?   There was one sure way to find out; and so, she expeditiously washed her face, hands then donned the attire and footwear that Stark had generously provided (left behind). Incredibly, they were both a perfect fit. When she caught sight of her rather unbecoming (indecorous) flushed face in the mounted metal disc that served as a mirror however, she forced the necessary restraint on her emotions again and sat quietly by the bedside till her breath was regulated and her pulse steadied. Then aptly composed, raising to her feet she quietly exited the room.

She found Stark seated by the fire and in a deep contemplative state smoking his pipe. Svein was noticeably absent, (perhaps) by design.

Before she could address him however, Stark, aware of her presence, calmly rose from his seat and put aside his pipe; facing her squarely then, with a slight bow of the head, he promptly, formally in her language, introduced himself as Stark Therran and politely asked after her true name.  He spoke with an eloquent tone, in a manner most gentle and refined, but she could only discern part of what was being said as he was tad out of practice and she was too emotionally struck, rather choked up, for an apt response, same time felt ecstatic as boundless joy had again surreptitiously (flooded) filled her heart- hearing him speak with her native tongue!

Despite Stark’s outward tactful patience, he was (somewhat) miffed and same time his curiosity mounted, seeing the girl’s slight hesitation after her initial joy, her ensued reticence in disclosing her surname.

She, eventually realizing that there was no polite way out of it, other than shamefully lying to this fine gentlemen that had been infinitely so kind to her- now courteously bowed and after her (relayed) sincere apologies for the improper silence, pronounced in clear intonation her given name, Teuquob then formal family name, Yuenen- one she’d been known for most of her life; hence, in righteous indignation forsook her true lineage, her flesh and blood father who had abominably rejected her.  Intriguingly enough, Stark’s suppressed reaction, the slight blinking of an eye, revealed to her that he possessed the knowledge of, or at least drawn certain apt connection to this professed surname; nevertheless, Stark neither dwelt on it nor made any further inquiries to ascertain what he must have known.  Instead, he politely indicated her to a seat with the understanding that they’ll resume with the rest of their exchange (thereon), in a more relaxed, informal setting. She was also invited to partake some of the steeped tea, cupful of which had thoughtfully already been placed on a small end-table by the seat.

Though she was bursting with innumerable questions and needed to know, “what probable connection?” his reserved taciturn manner and obvious reticence, forced restraint on her, and as well, discouraged her from her objective. Instead, she bid her time, enjoying the exquisite brew.

As it were, all she knew of her foster father’s lineage, a summary, was that he was the third son, who had inherited his title after the eldest (Haixi Yuenen) for some furtive reason forwent it. The latter for a time had been lost at sea and even after his remarkable, almost miraculous safe return, still opted to, living the reminder of his life in self-imposed exile. Meanwhile the second in line had lost his life in an ambush during one of the worst historically disastrous campaigns against an ancient race, that since then had been wiped out from the face of the Earth, thanks to Hendenko.

After his inheriting of the coveted title, her foster father’s position was further secured when he aligned himself through a propitious marriage, with the royal family.

 “Surely this tactful and cultured a gentleman before her had at some point in time visited Kontu and arbitrarily perhaps, came to know of her father or at least, of the family.”  She still could not help but formulate in silence; her feelings now doused with greater admiration of Stark.

At any rate, bound by gratitude she broke the uneasy silence between them by readily volunteering the subsequent, less intrusive information: How, once, seemingly long time prior, she’d been a passenger on a merchant ship that had encountered unexpected severe weather, veered off-course and consequently been lost at sea. The tragic episodes relived once more, despite her initial intent, she'd then uncharacteristically rattled on. When she became aware of this default, she tried to remedy it with succinct summation.

 “A presumed sole survivor, I ended up cast near the shores of this land…. Rescued from certain death by a kindly old fisherman and his wife, I remained with them for a time, as I’d felt obligated to repay their kindness.”  At this point her voice faltered, as she was lost as to how best to continue. 

She had purposefully omitted the facts concerning the odd circumstance under which she had left Kaimu and his wife Ensa; for in truth, she was not entirely clear of the reasons herself, for the premature secretive flight. Furthermore, there was the obvious lapse in her memory, when she’d suddenly found herself without a mount, dressed in a different, though pleasanter attire, cast amid a clearly higher altitude forest, without any recollection as to how she’d got there.

“We will at later time perhaps indulge in a more extensive conversation- after you’ve sorted out the complex details within your mind- and received answers to obviously many enigmatic questions.” Stark, noting her dilemma, had politely, with apt sensitivity, at this point interjected.  For in this case, he could afford to be patient; any interested party from the fishing habitat, if there were any, would have quickly abandoned any hope of pursuit, on the premise that she would be perished long before she’d reached the foothills, let alone the mountain.

Lightened at heart, she nodded in grateful concurrence her ready assent.

“We shall in due course however, as your initial aim had been thwarted, explore all plausible options where which to again afford you a passage at sea for the purposes of restoring you back to your family in the Country of your origin.” Stark in a thoughtful air re-lighting his pipe, deliberately mumbled. Through subtle design, he aimed hence, to resolving the other more prevalent concern: in determining whether she was a willing participant or not- in other words, had she left her home voluntarily or barring unforeseen circumstances, was she forced to flee; or altogether different, had she been a resultant victim of an economic, political or conspiratorial abduction that was botched, because of the unexpected disaster at sea? 

Subsequently, he’d also hoped to have gently, without too much prying (persuade) coaxed her to reveal her true intentions/objective for the future, in order that he may act in accordance with it.

Her elicited response wasn’t altogether unexpected, especially when her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears and with a sorrowful look, she then professed in a tragic, definitive tone that she had no family at all to go back to in her native land. 

 “That’s highly improbable.” Stark mused, now rightly intrigued; nevertheless, he forwent persistence, leaving it for her to, later perhaps, when she would be more willing, unfold the rest of her life’s story. At which time she may also profess to the true reasons for her flight. In the interim he was (somewhat) relieved, as it removed the urgency of contact with the outside world, a dangerous precedence that they would have otherwise had been obliged to undertake, risking during it, perhaps their unwarranted disclosure.

As it were, for quite some time now, as long as Svein had been alive, they had dwelt in solitude, far removed from any civilized centers of human habitation.  Only rare, exceptional instances or justified occasions constrained Svein to visit the nearby town, to procure some very necessary supplies (or items). 

This was the lifestyle Stark had elected for them both, and Svein to present knowing no other, had quietly adhered to it.

“Nevertheless,” Stark in an unusual tolerant mood, waved a dismissive hand. “Please excuse me for I am guilty of gross negligence as your host; I should not have been so presumptuously inquisitive, especially with subjects that are clearly injurious to you…Hmm,” after a thoughtful repose, he all the same reluctantly added, “though it is of vital importance, for the time being I shall also refrain from inquiring as to how you’d come by your prior, determinedly supernatural garments; unless of course, you care to elaborate on it succinctly?…” He paused and waited for her apt response.

Once more the bafflement on her face, however, told him all he needed to know. Nodding, he spoke with solemnity: “Fortunately you were spared a third time from a dire danger; shortly after your encounter with the apparition last night, as I was pondering on the concern, I happened to witness the sudden evanescence of your garb and footwear into thin air. Though it might be incongruous, under the circumstances, I was able to procure you on such short notice, a somewhat suitable wear. At a subsequent time, we can perhaps arrange to provide you with far more befitting ones.”

“Please sir,” Teuquob bashfully uttered (voiced). “As troublesome a burden as I have been until now, do not trouble yourself any further on my account, as this is more than adequate, a fine, considerate gift; moreover, I am eternally grateful and feel indebted to you and your nephew for all the protection, saving my life, and kindness you’ve both lavished on me thus …”

It was Stark’s turn to interrupt; he cut her short with a stay of his hand.

 “You needn’t be so obliged, for anyone else would have done the same under the circumstances; and please do not talk of being an inconvenience.” he added in mock anger. “You are a guest in our humble abode; any such talk shames me, declaring me a bad host. You are more than welcome to…”

At this precise moment Svein had returned. Seeing her up and about and conversing in a seemingly comprehensive dialogue with his uncle, he was both delighted and amazed; all the same, he nodded his head in greeting to both.

 Stark at once forgoing the rest of his intent and rising from his seat, addressed Teuquob resolutely: “Now if you be so kind as to return to your room, while I have few words with my nephew in private and appraise him of the recent developments; unfortunately he is not schooled in your dialect and that would (put) render him at a certain disadvantage”.

Before her dismissal however, he also added. “We shall call on you at the earliest convenience, preferably when the table for breakfast is set, unless of course, you’d prefer to have it in your room, this once more?”

“Being the full beneficiary of your competent, conscientious care, I feel perfectly fine and would be delighted to join the esteemed company when summoned.” She hastily responded, as she same time stole a shy glimpse in Svein’s direction, before her blushing, swift exit.

Stark with a wry smile nodded his approval then turned to address his nephew that bore on his face an unconcealed, somewhat astonished, stymied look.

                                                                                   ~

All cleaned up, informed of the recent developments, the table for breakfast fully set, ready as Svein was, he could not conceal his bursting inner joy when later that morning Teuquob emerged at the outside again, looking every bit as lovely, radiant and precious.

Coming forward, she duly bowed first to Stark then Svein, her endearing patrons, in proper greeting.

 “Let us forgo (dispense with) the superfluous, inessential formalities.”  Stark decidedly (ejected) addressed her in her native tongue.

Be that as it may, he then properly introduced her to his nephew Svein, with the utmost subtlety, acting as a go-between and translating to each, the spoken responses; then dismissing further protocol, he invited her to a designated seat at the table.

She’d delightedly cooperated; but then noting her inner quandary during the course of the meal and anticipating her ensued thoughts, Stark felt obliged to intercede and fully explained to her that, since there’d been no need up until then, Svein had not been schooled on her native dialect; however, because the present circumstances had necessitated it, Stark would thenceforth set aside some time to instruct both, in the other’s oral (verbal) language. Svein will be taught hers as she in turn shall learn theirs. As he explained this to both, each in turn expressed with heartfelt gratitude their ready assent (concurrence) to this very generous conciliatory measure.

                                                                                     ~

But keen as they were- with Svein well integrating this added study into his already taxed schedule- still it took some time for Teuquob and Svein to master the art to effectively communicate.  In the interim as it was more convenient, Stark and Teuquob freely exchanged facts and likewise experiences in numerous polite conversations.  Svein at such instances being left out of it, consequently his mood, rather state of being, more often than not graduated from being vexed, (annoyed) to miffed (offended), and to Stark’s trained eye, even became irked (peeved).

In response, Stark then purposely prolonged the interesting interchange, easing their conversation gradually to almost bandy- deeming this a good exercise, another apt lesson in remedying Svein’s otherwise impatient nature. 

She on her part was most endearing, for at such instances sensing Svein’s unease, though rather clumsily, would try to include Svein in their ongoing exchange.

                                                                                                  ~

Then there was that slight incidence sometime later, but still at the earlier stage, during one typical evening when Svein after fetching the heavy pot of brewed fragrant tea, he meant to place the just then filled cup beside her, but in that instance, Teuquob in her eagerness to help, had also reached for the same handle with a sweet smile on her lips, as she articulated the words “Thanks, please allow me.”  Comprehending her words, Svein’d smiled, but then meeting her eyes, bashfully he’d averted his and so at that precise moment of awkwardness the accidental touch (collision) of their hands had made both blush crimson. Moreover, Svein’s hand had quivered, almost causing the cup to spill its contents onto the table.

This move had been quietly observed by Stark and subsequently, a barely visible wry smile had registered (manifested) on his taut lips.  He’d looked away, musing: That boy, would he never cease to amaze me?  After all this time, he acts so timorous (shy) around a female, some warrior!  I was not that shy when I was his age.  This last thought, however, had saddened Stark, for then his memories had unwittingly trailed to a girl he had lost his heart to, when he was no older than Svein, merely sixteen years in age.

That very night, long after they’d retired to their respective rooms, as Teuquob had lain awake for a while longer thinking over the day’s events, her thoughts had reverted to that seemingly trivial incidence at suppertime. Envisioning next in her mind’s eye all the events since her rescue- her thoughts had (enumerated) contemplated on Svein’s fine features and noble bearing, his bravery, his stamina, agility and multi-talents. Clear representative of a story book reticent hero Svein was, with unstinting generosity of the heart, and handsome, good looks; he’d been most capable, yet so atypically modest- devoid of least insidious pride- gentle, tolerant, persevering and kind in his many varied ways.  A broad smile then registered on her lips and rosy hue had adorned (dawned on) her face just thinking of his most recent, bashfulness and all his other endearing qualities. Despite all her protestations and self-denial, she’d subsequently found herself strangely drawn to him more so than before, and her heart had palpitated wildly, with feelings of unusual depth. 

~

(There will be more exciting revelations in the next post of The

 Rescue, Section 6)

The Courageous Koi at Dragon's Gate

The Courageous Koi at Dragon’s Gate


In China they tell the story of the Yellow Emperor, who became so angry at the wickedness of the humans that he decided to end their existence. Summoning the God of Rain, he commanded that the rain should never stop until the entire Earth was covered in water and all but a few of the offensive humans were all drowned. So began a Great Flood and every day the floodwaters rose until only the highest mountains were left. The Yellow Emperor’s grandson, Kun, managed to make a few safe havens with some stolen magic mud, but his supply ran out and the rains kept on falling. The Emperor’s anger had not yet abated and, for his disobedience, Kun was executed by the God of Fire.

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Kun’s son, Yu, was a golden yellow dragon, strong and beautiful, and he took up the task of saving humanity from the Great Flood. Yu spoke respectfully to the Emperor and described the suffering he had seen amongst the humans. His words softened the Yellow Emperor’s heart and he gave the golden dragon, Yu, the position of the new rain god. He also gave Yu enough magic mud to soak up all the water as well as the assistance of a Magic Tortoise to carry it for him.

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Yu’s mighty Dragon Breath easily dispersed the storm clouds and deposed the old Rain God, who had revelled in making ceaseless rain. Once the last drop had fallen, Yu and the Magic Tortoise travelled the Earth dispensing magic mud and creating solid land once more until all the mud on the Tortoise’s back had been used.
Then, so that the rain would have a place to go, Yu created the rivers with swipes from his powerful tail. As Yu was digging the course of what was to become the Yellow River in the north he came across a place where some rocky cliffs blocked the flow of the water. Yu pondered for a moment then, with calculated ferocity, he directed one mighty blow from his tail at the cliffs, cutting a chasm through the hard rock. “I name this place ‘Dragon’s Gate’ and from this day forward it shall be sacred to Dragons.”
This was the origin of the great rivers that flow across China to this day.

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Seeing the new land, ready for planting, the people left their caves in the mountains and ventured down onto the fertile plains. In their gratitude they begged Yu to become their Emperor. Thus Yu, the Golden Dragon, became a Man-God and lived a long lifetime on the Earth, almost as long as he would have lived had he stayed as a Dragon. Under his guidance mankind grew knowledgeable in following the ways of Heaven and gained favour in the eyes of the Yellow Emperor.

Yu the Great Contols the Floods

Dragon Emperor Yu is still honoured and remembered at the rapids of Dragon’s Gate on the Yellow River and the location still retains a touch of the magic it had at the beginning of time.

A certain type of carp, called a koi, gains their strength by swimming against the current. Not for the koi are the soft lives living in still ponds, for they seek out and revel in adversity. Thousands of years ago, before writing was invented in China, a huge school of thousands of koi swam up the Yellow River until they reached Dragon’s Gate. Most of the school grew discouraged seeing the roiling water and feeling the strong current that stood against them, and so they went back downstream to feast in the quiet waters of the lower river, leaving a small group of 360 stalwarts behind.

Hukou Waterfall

Leaping higher and higher, swimming faster and faster, each koi strained to reach the top of the falls, only to be swept back by the power of the water in the chasm. Their splashing drew the attention of sadistic demons that lived nearby who maliciously increased the height of the falls even more. Undeterred, the koi continued their attempts over the next hundred years, growing stronger and stronger with each failure until one single koi made a heroic leap and cleared the chasm.

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As he sailed through the air on his way over the water the Gods looked down with approval and transformed the flying fish into a shining golden dragon in the middle of his leap. The former carp was now a Dragon, the spitting image of Yu, the creator of Dragon’s Gate, himself. Flapping his new wings he continued upwards until he reached the clouds where he chased pearls of wisdom across the skies. Whenever another brave koi finds the strength and courage to leap the falls at Dragon’s Gate they, too, become a Heavenly Dragon.

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Because of their endurance and perseverance, koi have become the symbol of overcoming adversity and fulfilling one’s destiny. The Chinese word “carp” sounds similar to the word “business” and is also a homophone with “profit” or “advantage”. “Fish” sounds similar to “surplus” or “wealth”. Because of this word play, koi have also become associated also with good fortune in mercantile endeavours and paintings of them are a common decoration in shops and restaurants. And in the China of today there is still the possibility that a lowly shopkeeper may, by strength and courage, become a Dragon of Industry.

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Posted by Steve Caunce

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 4

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

 THE RESCUE- SECTION 4

Right from the start and all through her cautious trek amidst the thick foliage, Stark and Svein had both simultaneously detected then intuitively tracked Jiense's progression (advance) through the woods till her happenstance on the combat scene. On Stark’s signal however, they had fought on without cessation - mindful of her presence at the so-called negligible distance- until they’d reached the natural conclusion of morning’s exercise.

Subsequently, incensed as Stark was to ending short the daily routine, he’d notwithstanding, quickly donned his shirt and vest, and then squarely facing Jiense with a forced congenial smile, hastened to close the gap between them.

Likewise, Svein too had retrieved his shirt and vest, but then perhaps too bashful to come forward, he’d remained somewhat hesitant and rooted at the spot, only giving a respectful nod of his head in greetings.

She’d picked up the pace, purposefully averting Stark’s stern eyes while silently berating herself for her brazen foolishness and hoping against hope that she had not incurred too much of the old gentlemen’s disfavor, when just then (off to one side) in a side glance, she caught sight of an exquisite, rare orchid amidst some bushes.

What a fantastic form; such vibrant colors! The urgent desire irresistibly propelled her hand in defiance of her will, to reach for it.

“Don’t touch it!” Stark’s dire warning, however, was negated; but even if she had the means to understand his words, her outstretched fingers had already been pricked by the unseen, pernicious arachnid at the orchid’s stem. The toxin was the venomous (baneful), highly virulent strain that rendered its victim instantaneously comatose, then after a negligible amount of time, dead!

So why didn’t he simply let her die? One might ask.

This could have been construed as an opportune circumstance of the hand of fate. It certainly would have been an apt resolution to the multitudinous, portended future problems and inconveniences her presence entailed. But to an honorable man, there could only be one such recourse: an innocent life, barring complications, had to be still saved at all costs.

“Foolish girl,” Stark in a flash having reached her side just in the nick of time before she’d lost total consciousness and collapsed on the hard ground, picked her up and raced towards the cabin, with anxious Svein in tow- for there’d be scant, precious time to spare, if her life was to be saved.

                                                                                    ~

  After an undetermined time, she’d finally regained consciousness, though in a fevered state and drenched in perspiration, with her head pounding, suffering vertigo and feeling as though her innards, total viscera had been sliced or torn asunder.

“You are most fortunate indeed young lady that I have in my possession this rare antidote.” Stark shook his head. “Your recklessness almost cost you, your life, and it still might. But of course, you don’t understand a word of what I’m saying.” Stark exhaled rather exasperatedly, and then holding the cup to her lips, urged her to ingest some more of the medicine. It was most acrid in taste and almost made her spew it out. When he deemed that she had had enough, he helped to gently recline her head back on the pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin.

“There’s nothing further we can do now, try to get some rest. The fever and chills will pass eventually.”  His words, the intent of it was, nevertheless, being communicated, she nodded and closed her eyes.

                                                                                  ~

 For some time now the meat and vegetable broth infused with special herbs simmering on low heat, gave off an appetizing aroma.  After repast, with everything in Stark and Svein’s life being somewhat regulated, each in their own way was immersed in their specific nightly routine. Stark opting to pass the time by reading a passage from a bound book sat quietly by the crackling fire, meanwhile Svein situated at his study desk dealt with that day’s lessons. Despite the outward appearances however, Svein’s attention time and again had defiantly strayed from his studies, his mind frequently being preoccupied with the convalescing Jiense in the next room.

It had taken her two days and still she had not sufficiently (adequately) recovered; a while back, however, she’d been able enough to have a change of clothing and now in that makeshift nightgown she rested with better ease. Her old garments, though many times soaked with perspiration and such, when she discarded them off to a side and was picked up, looked and smelled fresh as though newly washed. Clearly magical, it had been neatly folded and placed in plain view on the chest opposite to her bed. Reflecting on this and other such inconsistencies, Svein’s resurgent curiosity about her, untowardly again peaked. He stole a cautionary look at his uncle. Nothing fazed Stark; he was very much engrossed in his reading. Why couldn’t he be more like his uncle? In contrast to Stark’s  infinite patience, he had to strive hard at curbing or taming his unbridled, curious nature; and whenever he was faced with least conundrum, as it was the case at present, it’d always nagged at him till he’d solved every bit of  the inexplicable facts.

Svein was suddenly drawn out of his private revere however when just then a sound of stirring was heard (came) from Jiense’s room.

“I’ll look in on her.” Stark ejected in a stern tone, halting Svein’s attempt at rising from his seat and rushing to her side. “You finish your studies.” Stark placed his own book down and going over, he peered through the slightly ajar door. Seeing what he did, that she’d responded favorably to the latest treatment- he turned his head askew and in a hushed voice asked his nephew to fetch him some of the bouillon.  “Absolutely no solids.” he then warned, as the youth in ready response rushed off to fetch a bowl. 

Disappearing now behind the door, Stark went over to his medicine chest, procured a miniature green-gray bottle, and then carefully deposited measure of its contents into the dish that had been promptly delivered to the bedside.  “The medicine and the amount of broth should be sufficient for the night; you may put out the cooking fire and resume your studies.” he addressed the youth now respectfully standing by the door. 

Sometime later he emerged from the room with the empty bowl; when the youth looked up at him questioningly, the uncle smiled reassuringly and after discarding the dish, said, “She should be fine.  In any case, she will now sleep soundly until dawn, and that is what we should be doing as well.”  Covering his yawn with his one hand, he then added, “It has been a rather long and eventful day.  Are you nearly finished with your studies?”

 Svein indicated that they had been completed some time ago, “Good, let us then retire for the night.” and so, the two took their repose in Stark’s room, Svein using the makeshift bed.

Subsequent morning Stark could see that some normal color had returned to her pallid cheeks and that she was now in full possession of her major faculties- such as speech, taste, smell and so forth- although still bearing some inherent signs of physical weakness.  After further scrutiny, paying particular attention to her sensory reactions, he was delighted to ascertain that she’d also regained her full hand eye coordination and that her eyesight, focal vision had not suffered any lasting damage. Her prognosis looked good; expectantly in a day or two she should make full recovery from her terrible ordeal. 

Indeed, most fortunate was she, that he bore the extensive knowledge of a physician, and therefore could accurately diagnose and treat her condition. 

For now, she was confined to her bed and barring some reoccurring convulsions, was urged to get plenty of rest and even some sleep.

During the course of the day Stark planned to check in on her, as he’d done in the prior days, and see to it her condition did not reverse or deteriorate.

Unfortunately, because her constitution hadn’t been as strong as Svein’s- for the boy had also been through this type of infirmity before he’d reached the age of ten- it had taken her considerably longer period to recover from the resulting debilitating symptoms of her terrible ailment.

                                                                               ~

 In all that time, though she took comfort and was appreciative of being under Stark’s competent care, she would all the same missed interacting (communicating) with Svein. As it were, she had only seen Svein once or twice during her lengthy convalescence and that with him always remaining at the doorway, as it was not appropriate for a young man to enter a young lady’s room while she was in nightclothes and in bed. Determinedly close in age, she was curious to learn more of Svein as he was of her. As her first savior, the two had shared a certain affinity and a friendship bond. Seeing him now standing aloof and somewhat dejected by the doorway, she’d wanted to simply call out to him, but again restrained herself in compliance with their rather stringent moral considerations. Meanwhile she held onto that hopeful outlook that she would be back on her feet in no time at all.

Unfortunately, on the subsequent day her condition unrepentantly, again took a turn for the worse. Once more her head throbbed and she suffered with more frequency from the debilitating vertigo, a condition she’d tried her best to conceal from either of them, feeling she’d been far too much trouble to them already.

 But Stark was aware of her resurgent impediments: This did not bode well! Before her condition further deteriorated, however, fearing worse relapse, Stark was now inclined to implement a more drastic measure.

She could fare favorably or suffer the irreversible, grievous (grave) outcome.

His somber expression had quietly alarmed Svein; nevertheless, keeping good faith, he’d obediently followed Stark’s explicit instructions.  In the aftermath of it, decently clothed still, she was given an ice-bath at the stream by Stark. Then after a change of clothing and intake of some inhalants (of specific herbs), she was safely tucked back under the warm quilts.

Presently taking the steaming cup from Svein, Stark placed it on the small table by her bed; then after exchanging some words, Svein took his leave, while Stark returned to the corner where his medicine chest now temporarily rested.  He reached into it again, as he’d done countless of times since her arrival, to procure this time however a miniature reddish-blue colored bottle.  He removed this lid and poured a careful measure of the powdered portion into the hot water and mixed it carefully. This was a risky procedure, a slight oversight in application, a wrong dose- for it was different for each individual case- it could be quite detrimental, worst still, she could be rendered brain-dead; nevertheless, it was the only avenue left to them! When the mixture turned a murky brown color, after a silent prayer, he orally administered it to her. He gently, carefully cleaned of the unavoidable spillage from the corners of her mouth and chin, placed a readied cold compass over her forehead; then going over, he replaced the bottles and put the closed medicine chest aside. Now there was nothing else further left for him to do except to wait for the outcome.

After an uneasy night, thankfully, the dire danger had passed. Ensuing days her prognosis being good, she was well on her way to complete recovery. 

“This added concoction will further restore your vital energies, partake some and have a good rest; by this evening you may even be well enough to join us in the living quarters.” He’d followed his mumbled, hopeful words that morning with sign language that was quite explicit and remarkably clear. She’d understood every nuanced word and gladly received the cup from him. Raising it to her lips without the need of his help now, she’d drunk the entire contents in small, interrupted sips. 

The rest of the day she’d slept soundly, waking at time of dusk, her condition as predicted, quite well, almost rejuvenated. Now for the first time in a long while, she was even able to leave her room, and to the delight of Svein, even ingested some plain food and joined in with the consumption of herbal tea with them.

Without being told she’d retired early however to preserve her newly gained strength. As she would be their guest for an indefinite time barring some other unforeseen circumstances, subsequent days held an interesting set

of challenges, what with all the re-scheduling of some tasks and certain adjustments that needed still to be ironed out or put back on track, to accord her an ease in transition with their regimented lifestyle.

                                                                                   ~

That night, in the wee hours however, Stark and Svein, were suddenly awakened by a cry, a sort of muffled scream from Jiense’s room. Stark bolted from his bed, urging Svein to stay put and quickly dressing, with lighted candle in hand he went out to investigate. He found her in a terrified state shaking violently in a seated upright position in bed, with her eyes pivoted to the far corner where her dress had been neatly folded beside her outer footwear.

As Stark had come in  to the room and half turning looked to see the object that held her attention in such frightful trance, he’d witnessed firsthand the terrifying apparition of a fierce, wounded panther  with his maw opened wide in  ferocious growl that  showed his long protruding fangs dripping, oozing  with blood. It had of course disappeared instantly the very moment Stark’s eyes met the haunting, fiery pupils of the predatory beast.

Stalked by such an evil apparition, no wonder a while back her condition had suddenly taken a turn for the worse; unfortunately, anew, she was being targeted. Good thing she had regained most of her vitality in precise time to deter this new onslaught on her psyche and physical wellbeing. Stark understood well now, the (immediate) night and necessary steps he must implement, to curb or altogether avert portended disaster.

 “You saw him too; I’m not imagining it?”  Her urgent plea turned Stark’s attention back on her. In her anguished, distressed state, she’d spoken words in her native, court dialect that had been, remarkably still, perfectly comprehensible to Stark; nevertheless one, that he’d long since abandoned.   “He’s come back to devour, to finish me off!” She drew his attention once more as she’d cupped her hands and begun sobbing.

“Now, now, apparitions cannot harm you.” Putting aside his surprise, he hastened to comfort her in the same lexicon.

“First thing tomorrow I shall use all the means available to me- incantations and prayers, to expel the avenging evil spirit and furthermore, permanently purge such deleterious future intrusions.”

“No use, there’s no escaping death!” She whimpered and despite all his reassuring words, being really shaken up, she continued to tremble like a leaf. Constrained to act, he fetched an appropriate sedative and with her compliance, orally administered it. 

He’d stayed on long after she’d drifted into sound sleep (slumbered state), seated by her bedside in a thoughtful repose recounting the bizarre set of circumstances that had led to this point: The deranged panther that had forced Svein on an unscheduled hunt; her getting been bitten by the rare, deadly arachnid that in turn further weakened her spiritual resolve and allowed the vengeful apparition this loophole.

 But conceivably even before this, perhaps through the purposely planted magical attire, the evil entity had gained the scant opportunity to transcend the protective circle- trespass over the invoked spells, the ancient(antediluvian) incantations  that up until then had acted as an apt deterrent, as well, held the perimeter of their habitat, out of all harm’s way.

Moreover, what were the odds- that in her delirious state the chance disclosure of her obviously closely guarded secret be revealed to the only other person residing in a remote wilderness no less, who could comprehend it?

Pre-ordained or not, there’d been too many coincidences here for him to disregard or to dismiss.

He reflected further (squinting and shifting in his seat). The origin of her spoken dialect was an island kingdom far, far away. How did she come to be, what circumstance had cast her in this remote corner and on this mountain? The enigma must be resolved, though handled delicately.

 His attention then reverting to the supernatural (unearthly) apparel and footwear, he nodded his head with a sure thought: First and foremost, however, these should be properly discarded, preferably this very night, to prevent another infraction/ unacceptable breach by that metaphysical force.

Having so concluded, he’d decisively walked over, his mind musing over an apt incantation that would be the most effective means in disengaging the link. As he reached for the garb and footwear however, that same instant the focus of his attention in a flash both, vanished without a trace into thin air.

This new development both unsettled and irked him.

                                                                                   ~

Sometime later he’d returned to his room with his mind beset with (numerous) taxing concerns, but refused to respond to any of Svein’s queries, for he needed to first sort things out for himself; urging latter instead to show patience and go to sleep. Tomorrow, everything will be explained to him and furthermore, they would get all the answers to the questions that’d been long plaguing them, concerning Jiense or whatever her actual name may be.

 

(Galvanizing facts are revealed in the next post of The Rescue, section 5)

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 3

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE RESCUE- SECTION 3

                                                    

Jiense (Teuquob) after having washed up, she had waited patiently for a time seated at the edge of the bed, for her hosts to call in on her. Then feeling bit famished, she had sauntered to where the tray with food was and helped herself to some delectable tidbits, after which, again in the same repose, waited for their return.

Well, disposed, in this interim her eyes had leisurely scanned the room: it was kept impeccably (spotlessly) clean and with everything attractively arranged in their respective places.  The walls bore shelves filled with bound books and countless scrolls.  Going over, she’d picked one, then another, perused through each but could not decipher the strange writings or ideograms (ideographs) that was so meticulously laid out (each contained).  Then her attention was drawn to Svein’s spare hunting gear off to the side, hung up for future use.  Running her fingers over it, she astutely studied the fine artisanship of the bow and the quiver, holding some thirty arrows.  She was reminded of his heroic stature all during their adventurous escapade of the past number of days. Just then she was again distracted when her attention was drawn to a beautiful ink painting farther to her left.  Done on silk, and then mounted on the wall for easier viewing, the scene depicted was breathtakingly beautiful and most lifelike.  As she gazed at the scenery, she felt the coolness of the misty veil of twilight that shrouded the low-lying valleys at the foot of these majestic mountains.  She could feel herself breathing the fresh mountain air into her lungs.  The flight of the birds was captured in such a true likeness that they looked as though they would, at any given moment, fly out of the picture towards her.  She stood there admiring the painting for quite some time, then once more she looked about her.

The few tastefully crafted pieces of furniture accentuated the elegant lines of the room and the other simple pieces.  Clearly this was no ordinary hunter’s lodge.  Everything about these two, their refined speech and manner, the presence of books and art, all spoke of a cultured, perhaps an aristocratic individual.  Yet same time devoid of least conceit or any egotistical pride, they conducted themselves with such unassuming, humble decorum.  Her curiosity now peaked; she wished she could some ways learn their language to resolve this conundrum, this quizzical enigma. Perhaps she could persuade the old gentlemen, though stern as he was, he may yet prove approachable if asked nicely, to educate, rather enlighten her on the indigenous, verbal language.

A moment or so, she was back at seated position at the edge of the bed awaiting their contact. But as time progressed and there was still no sign of

either of them, overcome with tiredness she had reclined on her side and gingerly laid her head on the raised, pristine pillow intending only to rest for a spell; instead, short time later she’d succumbed to a deep sleep. 

                                                                                  ~ 

Presently, the knock on the door awakened her with a start. How long had she slept? Thank goodness it was not dark yet. At once jumping up she composed herself in a respectful seated position at the edge of the bed; after exhaling deeply, she coughed loudly to sound her ascent and waited perfectly poised to receiving her gracious hosts.

Entering the room, Stark indicated to her to remain seated then pulled up a chair beside her. Lifting his medicine box onto the night table, he opened it. The first layer contained a set of beautifully crafted medical tools, a testament to the goldsmith’s art, gauze of fine silk and so forth.  He lifted out this section, placing it to the side, and revealed the underneath section, carefully segmented, which contained some forty or fifty miniature porcelain bottles of different glazes and colors, each filled with different potions to treat a variety of ailments.  He chose one of light, sky blue and, after prying out the stopper with one hand. He poured some of it onto cotton gauze and after receiving permission, very carefully applied it to her cuts and bruises. Though it stung quite a bit, she bore the pain stoically, allowing him without undue interruption, to finish the job of tending to her wounds.

Stark with his most attentive care as well oversaw to the rest of her anticipated needs.  She could not manage speech and, with her eyes and sign language she strove to convey to him her intense feelings of deep gratitude. Appreciating the effort, he’d simply nodded with an amicable smile and urged her to get some more rest. The supper will take a while still to be readied.

When the aromatic, flavorful smells of stewing meat and choice vegetables drifted into the room and reached Teuquob, it woke her from her lengthy nap ravenous, yet feeling absolutely refreshed.

That evening she ate all the generous (portions) serving of food on her plate and even had seconds.

Stark was somewhat pleased at being so aptly appreciated for his culinary skills. Female gender always expressed themselves ever so delightfully!

Though her stomach was full (bursting at the seams), out of politeness, she’d even partaken some of the sumptuous, rare fruits and other such dried morsels laid out for the finishing course. 

After the fine tea, refusing her help, she was politely asked to retire to her room for good night’s rest, that of which, she’d obliged quite willingly. Back in the privacy of her room, she was delighted at finding an immaculate, folded nightdress, best suited one they could find, for her use. Undressing quickly, she’d downed it, which wasn’t a bad fit, and crawled in under the warm quilt, for as much as it was summer, nights in the mountain this altitude, was still quite chilly. She had expected the roaring of the predatory animals milling about at outside would keep her up all night, but no sooner had her head rested on the plush pillow, that she was instantly succumbed to deep slumber.

Same could not be said, about Stark and Svein. Exhausted as Svein was- for it had been a rather long, grueling day- still, he was by no means ready to retire. After the dishes were cleared away, seated comfortably then by the raging fire in the central room that served as both the dining room, kitchen and study room, Svein, over another fresh cup of tea, related succinctly to his beloved uncle his adventures, and the circumstances under which he’d encountered and rescued the “damsel in distress”.

As she’d been unconscious at the time, he had little choice but to take her along; later still, thought they could not utilize Wenjenkun’s proper language for communication, she’d nevertheless, shown willingness to follow him. Constrained (compelled) with the certain sense of obligation for her welfare, he’d taken the chance and in defiance of the rule, had brought her here.

Under the circumstances Stark could not fault (or raise least objections to) Svein’s reasoning and nodded his albeit reluctant ascent; then he’d quietly listened on to the rest of the young man’s narrated adventures and the rather intriguing details of his ensued, rousing actions, till it was time for them to retire.

                                                                                 ~

Subsequent morning, both Stark and Svein rose at the crack of dawn and went about quietly accomplishing their daily routine chores; but out of deference for the young lady, she was allowed to sleep as long as she wished.

When Teuquob finally awoke and rose from the bed, she found clean, neatly folded towel and fresh supply of water in the porcelain wash basin for her use.

After dressing up she opened her door slightly ajar and peered at the living quarters expecting to greet them, but there was no one about.  After moment’s hesitation, she emerged at the living quarters and called out to elicit response from her hosts, but soon realized that she was indeed, quite along in the cabin. Yet the stove was lit, and an iron kettle placed on top of it was letting off steam. 

Meanwhile there on the dining room table was some light fare that consisted of fruits and nuts and some grains, and a loaf and so on, for a suitable breakfast. The Teapot remarkably still contained rather hot brew of tea just right for consumption. She was hesitant to take part at first but upon reflection seeing that there was only one table setting, a single plate, utensil and a cup and everything was arranged in front of one chair, she readily understood that they must have already breakfasted (had theirs) and in anticipation of her needs, all that before her had been arranged (furnished) for her private (sole) indulgence.

Seated comfortably at the designated chair, she nevertheless hesitated for a moment or two longer. Meanwhile, her attention was temporarily drawn to the tall bookshelves with their volumes of bound books and rows of scrolls at the far end.  Before it stood a chair and desk which bore some more books with place markings jutting from each, a set of ivory brushes, carved lion paperweights done in a semi-precious stone, with blocks of ink beside them.  A few feet away rested a comfortable looking rocking chair with a small table beside it.  The door to the other room was tightly closed. 

There is so much I wish to know about them; for instance, are they scholars in seclusion or patricians? What propelled them or compelled them to choose this obviously difficult, sort of renegade, precarious existence? What about family and friends?  Very much intrigued, she again inwardly queried, before turning her attention back to the breakfast at hand. It looked quite appetizing, and she was famished after all. So, without further delay, she helped herself to some of the delectable fare, expecting them to at any moment to come through the main doorway; but long after she’d had her fill, there’d been still no sign of the men. She would have liked to have cleared the dishes and put things away, but her new and strange surroundings deterred her from this aim, not wishing to incur disfavor with the elderly gentlemen who appeared to be rather set in his ways. He might not appreciate her well-intended intrusion; somewhat reluctantly therefore, she left things as they were and went outside in search of her hosts. Standing at the doorstep, she scanned the immediate perimeter projecting her gaze as far as she could see; but to her dismay there was not a sign of them anywhere.

Where could they be? Did anything dreadful happen...? 

Suddenly she was beset with that uninvited dread; she forsook the only rational recourse of returning to the cabin to wait for them there, and instead opted to exploring the immediate vicinity. Her attention was at once elicited by the rustic, sturdily built structure that looked to be a stable and she walked towards it.  Once inside, she saw the most remarkable, the finest breed of war horse ever; the spirited steed was well taken care of, the floor was neatly swept, the trough contained fresh water, and he was contentedly eating the fodder that was piled high before him.  Carrying a special fondness for horses, she drew near and stroked his mane.  He stopped eating, neighed softly and nuzzled her arm.  Instantly, they’d become good friends.  When later still, she made certain mention of this to Stark, he’d appeared quite amazed; nevertheless, he concealed from her how this horse was, in fact, quite willful, temperamental and unapproachable. 

Adjacent to the stable was a smaller structure which she soon discovered it to be a smoke storehouse. Emerging outside, her attention this time was drawn to that small, cultivated section of herbs, vegetables, and other such presumably eatable greens of diverse varieties.  Going over, she studied them with interest, even recognizing some rare species that were known to have had some very important medicinal properties. 

Ensa would have been delighted at such an abundant arrangement- so well organized too! Perhaps, her hosts would allow her to help along with the gardening? “That way,” She mused. “I could be of some service and repay their kindness while furthering (expanding on) my knowledge of the horticulture that is indigenous to this region.”

 “Hmm… Her hosts, but where were they?”  Looking about her, rather impatiently, she again questioned the air.

“Perhaps if she were to venture little further… she may run into them?” 

 Subsequently, during pursuit, she’d dangerously strayed far beyond the safe circumference of the habitat. She did not think she’d gone too far following the scantily viable footpath, but before she knew it, she’d suddenly found herself immersed in the thick foliage having lost all sense of direction- Ups!

Unexpectedly, the unequivocal sounds of combat coming from little ways yonder, reached her ears and despite her better judgment, her heart laden with misgivings still succumbing to the subconscious wish to investigate, involuntarily propelled her feet to advance towards the direction of the noise. Fortunately, she had the good sense to halt part way before she happened on the volatile scene and using apt discretion, instead, she peered through the opening in the foliage. The vista that her eyes beheld - both Stark and Svein naked to waist, locked in the fiercest of armed conflict- verily shocked and same time dismayed her. 

Subsequent minute each of them a blur, they wielded their swords with such consummate skill, affecting such deadly strikes on the opponent, that the act lasting for a spell, yet seemingly perpetual, quaked the very earth and the sky.

More incredible still, in the blinking of an eye the combatants and the circumference next became invisible, as all were sucked into that vortex of the blinding swirling clouds of dust and flying debris. 

Shaken to the core, she withdrew at once back into the shadows and after having steadied her nerves, inwardly now queried, “Have I dreamt it? How can it be…Such force, the like of which I have never, ever seen! How could mere mortals affect such vigor, such potency?”  Though she could not resolve this quandary, nevertheless, she assured herself, that there had to be a valid explanation for what she’d just observed. As it were, in all that time spent with Svein, and despite his unbelievable strength and stamina, she’d never once questioned his authenticity. She nodded, deciding to hang onto that prior intuition; however, with the ground incessantly shaking beneath her feet and her ears still ringing with the noise, she found it hard to repute the existing extraordinary circumstances and inwardly again quizzed, “Such force, the incredible speed…Surely they could not, but be, of the spirit world!”  Moreover, the persistent strong imagery, Svein and Stark liken to the two immortals, demigods or titans fighting, refused to dissipate or go away.

What had she gotten herself into?

Unbidden, just then another concern crept into her heart to further unsettle her: Why were they fighting? 

A moment or so later, still agitated, wringing her hands, she’d leaned her head and back against the thick trunk of an ancient tree, to sort things out for herself. “What possible reason or argument provoked such an outcome between the two? Was she the cause of this contention? The elder gentlemen had at the beginning, when he first laid eyes on her from afar, looked rather displeased.  He had later, rather reticently perhaps, been cordial, even kind. Could she have been mistaken about the tell-tale (indicator) signs of her being welcome nevertheless?”

Unwilling to look, through the sounds and the undeniable vibration beneath her feet, she could still determine the intensity of ongoing conflict; pinned to the spot, with her eyes trailing the invisible lines on the plush, grass carpeted ground, she now struggled with the inner dilemma: the urge to flee or to intercede! 

Just then however the eternal disturbance ceased as the two abruptly broke off their deadly engagement (dispute/ contest) and Stark began instructing Svein on the alternate measures and varied maneuvers. 

With her mind now at ease, she heaved a deep sigh and shook her head, feeling somewhat foolish.  “So, they had only been practicing. How absurd she’d been to have thought otherwise.” 

“But it had looked so real, so deadly!” She reiterated inwardly, in her defense. “Perhaps in her agitation, she had unwittingly imagined the intensity as well. Under the circumstances, as it would be improper of her to resume with her spying, she might as well announce (disclose) her presence.”

She brushed aside the foliage and stepped out into the clearing; before she could accost them however, she was again startled, rather stymied by what she saw, and it had actually, this time, registered in her brain- Stark’s amputated right arm with the part missing right below the elbow, the naked flesh of the stump now exposed in plain view.  Previously in the pitched fighting with their swift agile maneuvers, moves that had been executed with such precision that the combatants had appeared as though a single entity; and earlier still, perhaps due to her extreme mental and physical fatigue, she’d not paid any particular attention or given any credence to the immobile, rather, the missing portion of the arm of her host, especially since it had remained well concealed under the long sleeved fine garbs. In her defense, he’d carried himself with such finesse and a natural bearing that even the most astute observer would have overlooked it.  Be that as it may, at present quickly bracing herself from this added shock and assuming the correct composure, she’d willed her feet in the direction towards them.

                                                                                            ~

   (More exciting facts are revealed in the next post of The rescue, section 4)