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)
