LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY - SECTION 3

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY - SECTION 3

That evening, when the monk Fayet’s services were no longer required, as an alternative to withdrawing to his room for prayers then sleep, Fayet sought instead, to pay a visit to his friend and confidant, Muro.

MONK MURO

 It was not long before their casual conversation about this or that point of interest veered to usual contending topics.

“How you carry on!!! Give that wagging tongue of yours a rest!”  With a stern, brisk remark, Muro walked over to his night table, and withdrawing a particular parchment, then obtaining the appropriate quill pen (brush), dipped the point into small inkbottle and resumed adding few more lines that had just come to mind, to his long-standing prose, sort of elegy, that he’d been working on.

“Boy, what a strange bunch! I mean, they are so formal with each other.” Fayet suddenly blurted out, looking away from the window. He grimaced, seeing how he’d startled the other in mid-stroke of the enigmatic verse.

Muro’s head raised, he pinned his questioning eyes to Fayet’s, with a stern expression of slight annoyance, since he suspected Fayet of weaving yet another tapestry of lies to gain importance. “He’s so obvious with his not-so-subtle hints; I suppose the report can wait...”  He put the quill pen down.

“Well, let’s hear it, I haven’t got all night!” He, with irritation, snorted.  Outwardly, however he could not resist toying with Fayet; and so, abstaining from making any verbal inquiry, he again picked up the brush and purportedly (ostensibly) turned his attention back to the parchment before him.

“First they came quite unexpectedly and out of season at that, then they expect us to go all out for them!” Fayet pursing his lips ejected a peeved grunt.

“Are you still griping about that?”  Muro smiled wryly.  “I would think that, of all people, you should be the last one to air a complaint, or can it be that the old gentleman is tight-fisted with you, denying you the lion’s share of the gratuities you are so used to wringing out?”

“Why are you so bent on antagonizing me?  Really, from the way you speak one would think I have been hoarding (stashing away) a mountain of riches beneath my bed.  You know very well that I receive no extra perk, minimal that always is, until the last day of their visit when all accounts are settled.”

“Fine, fine…” Muro forgoing Fayet’s sarcasm, cast the report aside, fetched the board that had stones on it strategically placed, and on his beckoning, they resumed playing the ongoing game. When at last, after careful consideration, Muro moved the key stone to another place on board, “Hah, ha, ha….  You’ll be sorry you did that!” Fayet lifted one of his pieces, and skipping two spaces ahead, placed it squarely down with a thud, in apt retaliation.  “Now take that!” The advantage he’d gained had instantaneously cheered Fayet anew.

Muro frowned, “You caught me off guard.  My mind was elsewhere.”  Then, shaking a finger at Fayet, he warned, “But don’t celebrate your gains too soon.

“Confound it, what was it I needed to tell you? Oh yes, now I remember.” Fyeta ignored the latter’s idle threat. “Now listen, I really have a good piece of info to tell you, but it must not leave this room.”

Fayet cast an anxious glance, “Do you mind if I close the door?  What I have to say next must be kept in the strictest confidence.”  Then, without waiting for the other’s assent, he sprung to his feet and went to the door, closing and even locking it. 

Muro’s curiosity right now aroused, he looked inquiringly at Fayet when the latter returned, and once more were seated across. Delighting in prolonging the suspense, Fayet first examined the pieces on the board game most carefully.

“For Heaven’s sake, I haven’t touched a thing.  Now what was it you wanted to tell me about?” Muro impatiently demanded.

But Fayet gallingly kept his cool and pinned his eyes to the board.  Then, with deliberate slowness, he moved his piece to a strategic point.  Now, with a contented air, he swelled his chest, leaned back and smiled.  Pointing his finger to it, “First try to get out of this one,” he gloated. “I told you I would get you, sooner or later!”

Muro became distraught.  Indeed, he was placed in a most precarious position.  One wrong move and he would have to again forfeit the game.  He already owed Fayet a considerable sum, since they had always played for stakes.  He was hoping to recover some of his losses today.  As Muro wracked his brains over his next move, Fayet drew near and whispered in his ear. “The list for prayers, the elderly gentleman had been asked to complete this morning”

“What about it?” Muro stuck out his chin in antagonistic stance; then upon reflection, “Oh, have you seen the list?” he quickly asked.

“Of course not, what a thing to say, why that would be an unpardonable violation? It would land me in serious trouble, to say the least!” Fayet grumbled feigning shock, but all the same dawning smirk and winked. 

Muro, tad flustered with all Fayet’s pretexts, inadvertently placed his piece in the wrong quarter; this could have ended the game immediately in Fayet’s favor.

“Hey, you can’t do that!  Take it back; I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.  But remember, you owe me a turn.”

“Never mind the game,” Muro pushed the board aside, “I’ve lost all interest in it. Fayet, stop beating around the bush; have you, or have you not seen it?”

With a broad smirk on his face, Fayet made a pretense of dallying, and then uttered a few, unconvincing, words of denial.

 “Do tell if you’ve seen it, brother.” Muro, adapting a softer stance, entreated. “I promise not to divulge your infraction to a living soul.  Still, you’re probably pulling my leg.  His eminence would have your hide...You wouldn’t be so brazen?”  Now he cast a doubtful look at Fayet, goading him to prove otherwise.

 Fayet’s persisting, knowing smirk nevertheless reaffirmed Muro’s suspicion.

 “But how did you ever manage it?”

 “Did I say that?” Fayet stalled, pursing his lips and looking away in indignation, exasperating Muro further. 

 “Have it your way, brother.” Muro, afterthought, offered a quick solution.  “Let us say that someone else, an undisclosed third party saw the list.  What so incredible (strange) about a list anyhow, why make such a fuss over it?”

Fayet ‘s sheepish smile deleted, he ejected in a serious tone: “Now, you didn’t hear this from me, understand?” He paused long enough to receive Muro’s affirmative nod. “Ah, and that’s just it.  It is not just an ordinary list, but one that is most intriguing and highly dubious!” He was about to say more, opened his mouth, but did not articulate any.  He appeared to be hesitating.

What now? Muro almost demanded, but checking his quickly rising temper, asked latter in conciliatory tone, to please continue.  “Brother, why keep me in suspense, reeling me in like a fish, then stalling?”

“I assure you that is the farthest thing from my aim, however,” Fayet coughed, as if to clear his throat, “if I were to tell it to you in its entirety, it being a rather lengthy account, my throat would get parched, then what’s there to lessen my discomfort?  Frankly, I’m tired.  Perhaps I should leave it for now, and call on you on another day, to tell it then.”  With that, Fayet gave a pretense of rising to his feet.

‘So that’s your game. This better be good!’

“Oh no, that won’t do,” Muro hurriedly grasped Fayet’s arm to keep him down; if truth be told, he was now beyond peeved, regretting the day he’d disclosed his secret stash, the so called, medicinal brew to him. “Here, you stay put while I’ll go get us some medicinal brew.  That should be sufficient to ease any would be discomfort to you.”

“But, brother, I would not dream of putting you to so much trouble.” Fayet protested, halfheartedly.

“Nonsense, I insist you stay and partake some. It’s the least I can do.” Even as he said this, Muro was cursing him under his breath.

‘You draw a hefty price, this better be good!’ Again, he inwardly huffed as he went to retrieve a small portion of his hoard, the medicinal concoction, one he’d so masterfully adapted, through his extensive knowledge of medicine and chemistry.

The so called remedial, therapeutic ingredients, cured over time in such a way, that when ingested, it intoxicated the senses, akin to inebriated state. The only drawback was that the ingredients to this private stash, had to be carefully, in miniscule doses siphoned off-from the dried ingredients stored in kitchens or jealously guarded herbal storages- so as not to be noticed, then secretively ripened under various guises, mixed and then allowed final maturity in particular containers in such a way as to not incur suspicion or discovery.   With that much trouble, he’d jealously guarded the fruits of his labor, till that day of accidental discovery by Fayet.  Since then, he’d been a pest, every so often calling on him to extort some- supposedly in fair exchange of some vital information as latter was better positioned to obtain it, but specifically, for Fayet’s lasting discretionary silence.

Muro dawning a deceptively appeasing smile to his lips, first cleared the table of the game board, fetched some goblets (glass, cup) then going over dug up the clay flagon from one such hiding place- a seemingly innocuous flowerpot.  Brushing off the unwanted debris, he broke open the seal and poured a generous portion of the contents into Fayet’s cup. So potent was the concoction, that a single mouthful equaled a full cup of alcoholic beverage.

Fayet’s beaming face only served to annoy him further.  “How generous you are brother to treat me to your special remedy!”

That’s right, rub salt on the wound.  “Brother, you do me too much honor,” nevertheless, he grunted. “Clearly, this is but an ordinary cooling beverage, to help alleviate your discomfort.”

“Thanks all the same.” without further due, unceremoniously Fayet raised the cup to his lips, the saliva already glistening at the corners of his mouth, with ready anticipation.

Muro was the senior of the two, but his unassuming straightforward, and unbending, stubborn nature had impeded his advance in the order, and he was oftentimes assigned to mundane, menial tasks. At least that’s what it seemed on the outset; whilst Fayet with his ready wit, with his craftiness and glib tongue, quite the popular person with wide circle of friends, through his amicable deference to his superiors- especially those that allocated duties to the lower orders- had always landed himself the latent lucrative jobs.

 Tall in stature (height), with a fair complexion and gentle eyes, Fayet always donned that most likable smile and his innermost charm to melt away all contempt, jealousy and anger in his adversaries.  One could never stay mad at him or deny him favors for too long.

 “Well, as I was saying, this person in question, who had been entrusted with delivering the letter, well, he noticed that the adhesive of the seal had not dried properly.  So, taking a chance I... I mean, he carefully pried it open and peered at the contents before re-sealing it and delivering it to His Worship’s confidence.  You would never have guessed at the contents of that letter.”  He stopped to swallow some more supposed cooling beverage, and then waited for the other to urge him to continue.  When Muro did not oblige, Fayet bit disappointed, resumed, “One request was what you would expect, being for the ancestors- Nothing unusual in that, but the other three listings, well, they were most curious.  At the top of the list, instead of the usual one, of our reining Sovereign’s name, was the cryptic allusion to late Sovereign, you know, the one who was deposed.”  Again, he paused for a reaction. “Fortunately, I am gifted in such and was able to decipher it without an extensive effort, that’s how I came to know of it, in case you’ve been wondering.” He then volunteered gleefully, the effects of the drink already going to his head.

“That is most curious.” Muro was forced to agree.  “Loyalists, still existing in our midst, I would have thought that they’ve all been annihilated long ago?”

“It goes to show you, one can never be certain about anything.”  Fayet grunted. “Didn’t I promise you this would be good?  Wait till you hear the rest.  The other request was for a name I’d never seen, “Lujeling Osywie”, not even from this country.  I mean it was foreign in origin.”

“So, what,” Muro remained unimpressed.

“Well, don’t you think it’s strange, especially since they made no claim to be foreigners?”

 “Oh, you can be so exasperating!” Muro lashed out at Fayet, having reached the end of his patience. Besides, his sense, his reasoning mind was also being affected somewhat, (not yet dulled though) by his consumption of the potent brew.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe, despite all seeming appearances, they are perhaps some affluent merchant families or something like it after all.  Why stop there, the next thing you’ll be laying claim, I bet, is that they are not a family, that they are not even related! Besides, why don’t you just drop this entire pretense, this mocking charade?  You really are insulting my intelligence with your insistence that it was not you who peered into that envelope.  Why don’t you just come clean with me?  Or is it that, after all this time and after all your claims you still mistrust me?”

  “Well, before I hang myself further, you must first give me your solemn promise to secrecy.” Fayet growled.

“I already have done so, and more than once, I might add.”, Muro protested.

“That’s right, you did.  Well, all right then, I won’t try to deceive you any longer.  Yes, I’ll confess, it was me all along.  Now, returning to the point of the said foreign name, my guess is that they are spies and yes, I suspected all along, that they are not a family, only pretending to be one to be innocuous. I wonder how many more moles (infiltrators, plants) are out there, furtively living in our midst and relaying back vital information to, in the end, undermine our Nation.  Aren’t we strained in our relationships with our border kingdoms?”

“You have a very fertile imagination; I grant you that. Even if that was so, why waste time here, so far from the capital or the other such metropolis, where ample opportunity exists?”

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth.  That part is a conundrum to me also.” Fayet shrugged.  “Unless they are in hiding and need a place to lay low for a time.  I mean, who would look for foreign spies here?”

“Still,” Muro demurred, “why risk compromising their cover with their untimely visit here, instead of a more usual time.  And surely it would be some poor disguise: noted gentlemen with such attractive youths as his kin, spies, bah!?”

“That proves it!” Fayet excitedly interjected, “Normal concealing abnormal, and that in turn, concealing normal?  Don’t you see how perfect their cover is?  Look how much trouble I’m having, laboring to convince you of the idea.  One more thing, when the elderly gentleman bathed, I saw how his right arm was severed, a clean cut right below the elbow, as if it was caused by a sword or ax.  A surgeon would have cut the joint, and an accident would have left messier scar tissue.  I tell you, there is something suspicious about that lot.”

“And wait, till you hear more.  The third name, a non-distinctive name, but parchment held against the light revealed that there had been something else, deliberately expunged underneath; unfortunately I could not quite make out what it was, still, few bits looked like - ‘hu...rrog..Zho’.  Now I ask you, why go through so much trouble to supplant it?”

“You’re sure it hadn’t been an ordinary, innocent mistake, set to, right?”

“Why say so, you don’t believe that any more than I do.”

 Muro could no longer hold his peace, “Brother, do you take me for a fool?  Why insult my intelligence with your suppositions and spun tall tales. Why by your own account your facts are contradictory.  If these people were spies or loyalists, hard enough to be both at the same time, why would they put down actual names for their ancestors, two such at that?  Secondly, in keeping with their clandestine feat, they should have first, at the head of the list, put down our Reigning Liege’s name to deflect least suspicion instead of the deposed one, in cryptic form or not. And why would they be so clumsy as to leave remnants of concealment to be picked up….by you, whilst they made no such attempt with their obviously foreign names.   If they wanted to make a true offering to such, they would have waited until they were in safe domain of their own country; I ask you, why risk everything by doing it here, covertly or otherwise?”

Fayet’s good mood in a puff of smoke had now vanished in thin air as his head was riddled with rebellious, skirmishing facts that (other) latter had invoked; hence, he retaliated.  “Boy, you are dense.  If the truth, like a big, ugly fly, landed on your nose you would not see it and, like you are doing now, you would deny its presence.”

This was uncalled for, how could he stand by and let this brute affront him?  Not only had Fayet consumed his scant reserve, taken him for a ride, but now he would stoop so low to openly insult him in his face, by making fun of his nose!  The latter knew that, because of a recent manifest pimple (zit), this was a contentious issue with him!!!  Muro was so filled with rage that he wished he could pound Fayet into dust. But that would not do; so instead, he took a long slow intake of breath, inwardly recited the prayer of patience and took a sip from his goblet, as he forced restraint on his anger.

Obnoxious (insufferable) Fayet, meanwhile, clueless as to what he had done, with a meek smile plastered on his lips, had held out his cup for another refill.  Muro lied: “I’m sorry, there is no more, we’ve consumed it all.” and, using this as an excuse, declared his fatigue and suggested they retire for the night.

 “I think you’d better go now; I have to get up early tomorrow.” he repeated bluntly when the other refused to take the hint.  He had meant to leave it there, but this time he could not stop himself from adding, “Not all of us are as favored as you.”

“Tsk, tsk.” Fayet growled, having caught Muro’s words.  “So that’s the thanks I get for my troubles.  Brother beware of your shifting color.  Spare no caution, lest some insects mistake you for a green plant and start gnawing away at your most prominent projection…Ha, ha, ha!”  Rising from his seat he belched laughter into Muro’s face.

It was all he could do to stem the urge to strike this upstart Fayet.  And so, the two had parted as adversaries, cursing inwardly, the ground the other walked on.

The estrangement had no lasting effect however, by morrow, when the effects of potion wore off, their fury would similarly wane and Fayet, with his amicable ways, with his sleek, wagging tongue, would once again inveigle himself into Muro’s good graces.

                                                                             ~

(END OF SECTION 3)

 (Be sure to check the next post section 4, that is also the conclusion of “Trip to the Monastery”; where which a pleasant, but not altogether a surprise element, will be disclosed.)

  

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY - SECTION 2

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

 THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY

SECTION 2

 

 Anticipating tad spare time before their so-called admittance to the grounds, Stark, dawning a patient, placating smile, succinctly and in measured tone next imparted to Teuquob of the fierce struggle that had lasted for more than two hundred years of Wenjenkun’s history between some eighteen religious sects- with the resultant, subsequent fortifications. “Regrettably,” he then reiterated, “at the conclusion of this bloody, turbulent era, thirteen sects with their ritualistic practices, had ceased to exist and their places of worship, along with untold, ancient books bearing incalculable wisdom, rare works of art, had all been incinerated or razed to dust. “

The subsisting five, adopting cautionary measures, had consequently sought to gain the patronage of the reigning monarchs and their overlords. Having succeeded in this aim, these religious orders had for a time enjoyed exemptions from all levies, conscript labor, and further boon, became the recipient beneficiaries of abounding lush tariffs and precious offerings. Naturally, they had flourished in both power and opulence, with their resounding vast religious spheres of influence lasting for decades. When the last sovereign faced the danger of usurpation from Field Marshall Zuronghan and once more the entire country was cast into turmoil by the warfare (skirmishing) between loyalists and supporters of the Field Marshall, these five sects had remained in aloof obscurity, claiming vacillating, irresolute allegiances, pending of course on the outcome of latent battle- to the portended victor.  As a result, they had been spared but only just, from the wrath and the subsequent bloodletting that had ravaged the country from then eventual, victorious Zuronghan, in the wake of his irrevocable ascent to the throne. 

Kept under a watchful eye, the small number of temples belonging to these five sects, scattered throughout, in remote, high altitude, inaccessible settings, were allowed to persevere with their precarious existence. Heaven’s Gate Spiritual Temple being one such, only the most devout, well-endowed pilgrims undertook such a daunting task of the trek to here, during the short summer months, as this also happened to be the safest time. Gone were the days when mass amounts of pilgrims, despite the distance and grueling aspects of travel to such heights, still made the journey required for their soul’s eternal salvation. Then also in those bygone days, the steady streams of rich carriages, mounted gentry and ordinary folk on foot, beasts of burden laden with bribes, gifts, and offerings - all contended for space on these narrow stairways leading up to the Temple.

According to each pilgrim’s means- typically sometimes these important guests staying the entire two months - certain provisions would be made within the temple grounds for their suitable accommodation. Private apartments, set in enclosures within the high walls, affording them both privacy and comfort, each with countless rooms complete with kitchen and courtyard, during high season these would be thronged with incessant, beehive activity as most influential guests came equipped with their large entourage of wives, children, stewards, servants, and slaves.

These compounds stood vacant for the ten remaining months of the year; but during high season these and the rest of temple grounds came alive liken to the sleeping giant being awakened. Days were filled with the most elaborate set of ceremonies of worship, whether it is for the sake of the ancestors, or for specific deities, or for other sacrifices. The nights were reserved for modest vegetarian feasting sometimes lasting till dawn, in the wake of charged spiritual lectures, and grueling nocturnal sacred rituals that invigorated the appetite.

At appointed times during the week the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, aged 89 years and who, like his predecessors, laid claim to immortality, presided over the grandest of ceremonies. At this time, acting as host (emcee), His Eminence, through his silent prayers, directly communicated the requests of his guests to the appropriate God in charge.  For all this, privilege the guests paid handsomely.

Indeed, with those days long gone, some aspects remaining the same, the Temple welcomed the devout, affluent few during the summer months; whilst for the remainder, the inaccessible Sanctuary banned ingress to all supplicates. During such isolation, The Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, Prior Sckeno, Precentor Steran, Sacrist Yun, Hosteller Ruwo, Almoner Qure, Celarer Wou, Infirmarian Wuno were proficient in their various tasks. In addition, they and the junior priests along with the novices devoted their time to highly regiment cleansing rituals, prayers and other such cultivation of their souls. Each had to partake in grueling martial exercises, to strengthen the body as well. For humility, no task being too minuscule, they took turns in overseeing certain necessary chores such as working in the kitchens, dormitory, granary, lavatory, infirmary, as grounds’ keeper, work on building repair and so forth. They would cultivate gardens medicinal or otherwise, copy ancient manuscripts, practice art and calligraphy, meditate, and do mental exercises to keep in top physical and mental form.

Notwithstanding, for the purposes of security, Stark had deliberately chosen this particular period, of early spring, to gain admittance to the temple grounds.

The guards at the outposts, positioned in accordance with the four directions of the earth, had already forwarded notice of their approach to the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn. On His Holinesses’ explicit orders, no contradictory action had been taken to dissuade or impede their progress; nevertheless, as added precaution the party had still been detained at the gate house for a spell whilst pertinent things were sorted out.

Most intrigued, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, carefully observing the said object, to ascertain its validity, inwardly questioned, why would latter take such a risk, what indeed propelled him for this dangerous precedence? Then after some moments of thoughtful deliberation, shrugged, He would learn of the reasons soon enough.

His Holiness then gave his consent for their admittance and issued the orders to his subordinates accordingly. All inconvenienced, the monks hurried the novices to open apartments and make ready the necessary rooms to receive the guests.  Meanwhile Stark, Svein and Teuquob were directed to the waiting hall where, with great courtesy, they were shown to their seats and promptly served some fragrant, herbal tea. The horse had already been led away to the stables to be properly looked after there.

 No sooner had the guests finished their hot tea and the cups had been cleared away, then a priest calling himself Lucon, accompanied by subordinate monks, came forth to make official introductions and to extend prescribed greetings and felicitations.

LUKON

 It was then that prudent Stark, deciding on the spur of the moment, had introduced Teuquob and Svein as his offspring.

 Looking at them askew, Stark presently concluded, that the two were indeed most believable as siblings, so, none would question the validity of his claim.

 As the subordinate monks stood to the side, prudish Lucon acting in capacity as the spokesperson for the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, promptly relayed next his superior’s formal greetings, offered proper apologies and gave succinct reasons as to why his superior was presently indisposed to receiving them in person.  

Stark in keeping with this façade, with humble, yet grave demeanor, consistent with protocol- satisfied latter’s subsequent, circumspect inquiries, by offering his apologies in conjunction with his pseudo reasons for their inconvenient (ill-timed), yet compulsory intrusion.

Svein a quick study, had followed suit and played along his part admirably.

For even in this House of Gods, there might dwell unseen eyes and ears of a mole, a conduit for the sweeping tentacles of the reigning monarch that was known for his mistrustful nature.

Allegedly much in demand, Lucon, professing his apologies, had then regrettably entrusted his guests to a disciple Lu and took his leave.

Disciple Lu armed with a bound book and writing implements, first dipped his brush in ink and then promptly, with apt efficiency registered in shorthand script form, all the pertinent facts concerning their visit, their immediate and long-term requirements, the planned length of their stay and so forth. After thanking Stark and extending his assurance of speedy compliance with all the noted requirements, he also took his leave.

 Senior Monk named Fayet subsequently coming forth to introduce himself; he then announced that he was entrusted with the task of overseeing to all their personal requirements and needs during the length of their stay.

After their luggage was assiduously carried away by minion novices, portentous Fayet then ushered the honored guests to their hastily prepared quarters. On the way he apologized profusely for the lack of a welcoming committee, and later still, for the inaptness of their rooms, hinting, with brazen audacity, that more appropriate quarters could have been duly arranged had they only abided by the rules and came at the allocated time. Expressing astonishment cloaked in genuine concern, he then blabbed on endlessly about prior patrons that had sought the same but had been typically denied entry and in one or two such instances with the resultant, totally unwarranted reprisals/retaliation, which had been to their person.

SENIOR MONK FAYET

Lost in his own head, he continued mumbling to himself in audible form and venturing a guess that,  surely Stark’s manner of speech that had marked him as a man of great learning and of high position, and that his company also being seemingly significant personages- again deviating from norm of the prescribed rules of their order- they had been exempted from the forthright inquiry into their ability to meet the anticipated expenses.

Though annoyed, Stark kept his temper in check with this inconsistent monk, who with his persistent, not so subtle prying, sought to gain certain insights as to their person and endeavor.

After Stark, Svein and Teuquob were settled in their adjacent quarters they were left to refresh (clean up), have a change of clothing and take some well-earned rest.

The following day they received the expected invitation from the Prior to call on Abbot Boqast   Tizanzenn. Their visit to him, though brief, was still most informative and harmonious.

ABBOT BOQAST TIZANZENN

 Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn brilliant, quite discerning, and wise, was a most spontaneous, charming, unassuming and unconventional priest.  Despite his advanced age of over eighty (89), he was charged with energy and talked and moved with the vitality of a young man. His high office gave him no superior airs and he carried the humblest view of life.

 From the first, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn had pretended and so treated Stark as though a new acquaintance, mere stranger; nevertheless, an influential person of means and a potential benefactor, decidedly one held in favor with the present Sovereign and so well deserving of deferential treatment.  This had been enough, though not entirely, to dissuade many resident monks, from unwarranted questions and interest.

 The next evening, according to protocol, the second invite had followed, requesting Stark, his son Svein and daughter Teuquob’s presence at a small ceremonial dinner in the secluded Jade and Gold Harmony Hall.  At this informal gathering the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, coming forward to greet Stark personally, had first inquired after the other’s health and comfort then escorted Stark to the place of honor, on the podium, to seat right next to him. 

Carefully selected small, combined group of covert loyalists, trustworthy associates and other such notable priests that were present, in response to this well calculated feat; expectantly, with their curiosity peaked, they strained their eyes and sharpened their wits, and so easily ingested, regurgitated, the ensued, so-called vital info pertaining to their guests. An accomplished mean, those suspect spies rested easy in mind, that Stark had to have been an influential personage in covert service of reigning monarch, and therefore, one not to be further prod, to be crossed, (to be trifled with,) or informed upon.

All through dinner, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, endowed with a special gift of the gab, chatted amicably, cryptically with Stark, with nonbeing the wiser; and both in turn was apprised of the most recent developments, in that assumed role of honored guest and host. 

Also deceived, Svein took delight in the animated ease with which two brilliant minds Stark and His Holiness, conversed, in contrast to Stark’s usual reserved air. The contagious sincerity of delightful smiles and harmonious chatter permeated throughout the night, as they partook in that simple, yet most enjoyable fare.

Subsequent morning Stark received the customary request to provide the list of names for which he wished prayers to be offered to, by His Holiness. Stark quickly overcoming the slight mishap, completed the unusual list on the offertory paper provided, in Svein’s presence, so that he too will be in the know. After placing the information in a sealed envelope which had been courteously provided to ensure the guests a certain measure of privacy, Stark then summoned Fayet and handed it over, to be delivered to the hand of the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn himself.

All during, owing to his training, Svein had most admirably masked his surprise, conducting himself with certain decorum. The instant Fayet and the attendant novices had cleared the room, Stark turning his attention back on Svein, his face bearing the strangest of expressions and forcing a half smile to his lips, he then said, “I am disposed to answer any questions you may wish to pose regarding the list, Svein.”

This unexpected turn threw Svein into a quandary. True, it was his wish to learn who the third name on the list had been, “Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon” that of which his uncle had inadvertently, what it seemed to have been a moment’s lapsed judgment, had in encrypted form written it down, but then quickly, most meticulously taken the pains to permanently erase all traces of it, and supplanting it with “Furen  Bevrad ”.  First, he had ever seen of it, Svein had been rather perplexed by this presumably mystery relation or clansman bearing the surname Zhon?  More pressingly however, he wanted to know why had Stark, forgoing precaution, had written first on the list, albeit in encrypted form, the late Sovereigns name?

But, abandoning his curiosity of the first issue for the sake of the second and the disquiet it entailed, he replied, “Uncle, please forgive my audacity, but I must question the prudence…. umm, the first name on the list.….? Sir, I meant to say, how you can be ascertained of His Holiness’s….?”” Svein abruptly fell silent, noting Stark’s sudden stern expression, liken to gathering storm, as all color drained from latter’s face.

Now he’s s gone and done it; his uncle was furious with him! 

But, before Svein could explain, “Svein, by your words you have disgraced His Eminence and me.”  Stark’s icy retort resounded in the air. Then quickly curtailing his fury, he hissed: “I am aware of the far-reaching tentacles of that usurper, that villainous, self-proclaimed monarch who now sits falsely on the Celestial Throne...! How dare you be so impertinent as to question the soundness of my judgment?”

STARK

 Too choked up to continue, he abruptly rose and, with a sweep of his sleeves, left the room.

Svein was left in a most distraught state. Seated motionless in his chair, his head hung low, and his eyes stared blankly at the floor.  But his agony was not prolonged, as Stark, in an unexpected turn, re-entered the room in a more calmed state. Svein rushed to kneel before his uncle, offering his most humble apologies, “Forgive me, uncle, for speaking out of turn as I did just now!”

 “How do you suppose, in all the years of seeming isolation, I have been apprised of the most recent, pertinent developments? And where do you think most of your manuscripts that you have so diligently studied, were sourced from?” Stark drawing close whispered in Svein’s ear, same time offering a conciliatory hand, raised Svein to his feet. “Dear nephew, please do not burden yourself further with worry as it was only for a moment, that I had the lapse of judgment, before quickly rectifying it. But you are not entirely in the wrong; for as far as I can note, and His Eminence expressed the same, even in this remote segment, there have been some minor infractions, so called infiltration by the questionable, noted few. But as I understand it, they shall soon, along with their accomplices, be expunged.”

Once more seated, Stark thoughtfully stroked his beard and, after some time, added, “Meanwhile, we continue as before, only, despite all seeming appearances be more vigilant. Teuquob must be apprised of the developments also, especially, where that monk Fa, is concerned.”  Svein nodded his compliance; for Stark needed no further words to make clear his meaning.

But was it an oversight, Svein inwardly queried, why had Fa been assigned to such close quarters, to oversee their personal needs!

 “Sometimes it is better to keep those questionable beings in closer proximity, so as to steer them to the course of seemingly plausible misinformation.” Stark, anticipating this also, simply shrugged. “Regardless, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn is a discerning man, I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“As for the other matter,” Stark then strove to explain, “I am most appreciative of the tact you have demonstrated, despite your curious nature, and the way you have admirably abstained, even now, from questioning me on the supplanted name. I can therefore give you this assurance, when the timing is right, in not-too-distant future, you shall be apprised of the facts, and that is to say, your quandary shall be resolved.” However, Stark falling silent, inwardly professed, I could not leave out the first cryptic name off the list that was non-negotiable!

 “Nevertheless, “he then added in measured tone. “bear in mind that so long as I live and breathe, I was once, and still am, His Late Highness Zuronghan  Therran Valamir’s vassal and, as a son bears absolute loyalty to his father, so must every subject to their Leigh.”

He lapsed into prolonged silence thinking, “By rights, when His Royal Highness ascended into the heavens, I should have followed him there to serve him in the afterlife. But, alas, I must endure this great shame and go on living in this world of shadows a little while longer, because I was entrusted with the responsibility of caring for you, the last of your father’s line and, since I had given my most powerful oath to your father long before this great injustice to my Sovereign, I was bound by honor to keep it. But, once my obligation is fulfilled, and I am free…” Looking away, he again inwardly reiterated. “Yes, only then, can I join my beloved Sovereign and be able to carry peace and contentment in my heart.”

 Emotionally charged, thinking of his forsaken son, his eyelids just then brimmed with tears. But a long time ago Stark had dispatched orders that no action should be taken and in so doing, inevitably condemned his own flesh and blood to a lifetime of misery. The up-to-date news from Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn had again rehashed old wounds. He had hoped and prayed that his son would be spared and his life extinguished long ago. But all this time he had been kept alive, just barely, in a dungeon. Years of torment had so maimed and disfigured   Bern Teodemer Lothair, that informant had been repulsed by the gruesome image (that greeted his eyes), the prisoner more an animal than a being.

Pitying him, he had had entertained the notion of defiance and somehow effect a mercy killing.  Still kept as a decoy to draw Stark or his supporters out, Bern Teodemer Lothair had been so well guarded however, that the informant reluctantly in the end had aborted the intent.

This (fact that so little can be done) had always weighed heavily on Stark’s conscience and now even in this place all he could offer was his silent prayers of solace and perhaps a quick end to his son’s life. But that would not be (happening, transpire); he knew the extent of Zakhertan Yozdek’s barbarism.

All this while, an unspeakable sorrow had also grazed Svein’s heart, as he with shame, presently bowed his head in thoughtful silence. The grave atmosphere of the room dense with raw emotions was suddenly startled, when Teuquob just then knocked at the door and asked permission to enter.

 Before Stark, now composed, voiced his consent, he turned to Svein and mumbled, “Teuquob need not know, the entirety of the list.” 

Svein nodded his head, in understanding. He wished to say more to his uncle, but words failed him. Stark gave a placating smile as he looked sympathetically into the young man’s eyes then, remembering Teuquob at the door, called out to her, his permission to enter.

                                                                                                ~

(Stay tuned, for there’ll be more unexpected and amusing developments unfolding in the next post  of “The Trip to the Monastery” – Section 3)