LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 8

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC 

THE RESCUE - SECTION 8

Shutizan had never spoken with such vehement, passionate conviction before, though Teuquob had long ago had perceived, seen through the at times stern, restrained, rather reserved, deceptive exterior of her nanny and believed her to be a soft, caring person with gentle disposition, one who actually loved her charge as if she was her very own.

“I am now totally committed to the truth.  I made up my mind last night to give you a reason and a means to escape this terrible predicament.  Please child, do not hate me for keeping silent for so long; no, no, do not interrupt either, let me speak, before I lose my nerve.”

Then, straying in her thoughts, she interjected, “Oh, your mother was such a beautiful woman both inside and outside, as you, yourself, are growing up to be.  In fact, you are the very image of her, hence the reason for your father’s, His Majesty’s contempt.”

“Men’s vanity!” she spat on the floor, “Heaven may spare us from...” but then, getting a grip on herself, she smiled sheepishly and continued in a more even tone.  “Your mother’s name was Lueling.  She was the Fifth Princess of the Kingdom of Jenor, a peaceful, beautiful state about one-third the size of Kontu.

 It had the misfortune; however, of resting along the borders of our kingdom and possessing access to strategically important shipping ports… and for that reason, as so many others had, perished!  Of course, the existence of Jenor, by royal diktat (edict, decree), was entirely omitted from your studies, the reasons for it now, you may well comprehend.”

Then, Shutizan spoke of a turbulent time in history when the great armies under Lord Hedenko had waged incessant wars on all the neighboring countries, gaining Murong Di the territories he’d craved.  She succinctly narrated the key events and how some later campaigns, including the one against Jenor, were more directly overseen by His Majesty, who wished at the time to escape the tedious tranquility of his court.

“But what do I know of war strategies or politics...?” She smiled sheepishly then shook her head as if in self-admonition. “How I continue! Well anyhow, after the successful campaign against Jenor, His Majesty Murong Di entered the capital city leading the victorious armies and perched himself on your maternal grandfather’s conquered throne.  Then, as I have been told, he had the entire Royal family and anyone else of consequence brought before his presence, and, in front of your mother, who was made to bear witness, had them humiliated, debased then one by one slowly dismembered, sliced, eviscerated or other such, cruelly annihilated.  He had the same thirst for barbarism you see, not much different from Hedenko, he was.

King Murong Di

“Only your poor mother Princess Lueling, was made the sole exception and so her life was spared.  Why, you ask? Because your father, our present sovereign, also had an eye for beauty, and your mother was the fairest maiden he had ever seen or possessed.  As for the other palace belles who were also spared, well, they were taken away to be abased and ravaged by the subordinates or profitably sold  to brothels or  into slavery.  What use did he have for them, when he had laid claim to the most enviable prize? The ensuing week, the soldiers, on orders from His Majesty, went on a rampage of murder, destruction and wanton mayhem, reducing a once-beautiful city to cinders, before the army’s final withdrawal.”

 

“Now child, what I’m about to tell you may cause you still greater distress.” Shutizan warned as she determinedly gazed at Teuquob’, “But I must be candid with you on all accounts.  You must be made aware of your father’s inherent cruelty.

“Imagine, if you can, how your poor, dear mother must have felt being made to watch her entire beloved family after unspeakable torment, being ruthlessly butchered, one by one, in front of her.  Yes, and when she lost consciousness, she was revived and unmercifully forced to witness still more atrocities. It was a sort of game for him you see, toying with the victims’ minds, first trampling on their integrity and their honor, then in the end, with their soul in shatters and when all speck of humanity was stripped away, to have them brutally subjugated and cut down. For simple decapitation or butchery, without the tantalizing debased spirit, would not suffice. Imagine if you can the depth of agony she must have endured.  The state she must have been reduced to after all that!  Now, I ask you, what need was there of such vile acts?”  She shook her head indignantly, “What had been the point of it all... The unequivocal display of his might? To mount further satisfaction as he drove her to the brink of insanity, meanwhile, sapping all resistance of her will…?” Shutizan absorbed herself in considering this for a moment then, turning her gaze back on Teuquob, heaved a deep sigh.  Teuquob’s head was lowered, and she was quietly shedding tears.  Biting her lip to constrain her own emotions, Shutizan continued, “At the time of her capture, Princess Lueling had been betrothed to a most handsome and virtuous aristocrat scholar, what was his name?  I should remember, for it was on her lips daily...Shao...that’s right, he was called Shao.  This most handsome young man, as I understood it, was a sensitive, most gentle soul who possessed great literary genius but, unfortunately, lacked martial skills.  As the youngest son of the Prime Minister of Jenor, and a distant cousin to Princess Lueling, your mother and he had been playmates since childhood, and, as they grew into young adulthood this childhood attraction and their innocent, carefree exchange had naturally blossomed into different kind of love.

Lueling and Shao

Subsequently, the said young adults were no longer permitted to freely see each and certain restrictions for the proper decorum now had to be adhered to; however, overriding these complexities, they’d still maintained written correspondence and with it the deepest affection for each other.  Once, taking a grave chance, they had even rendezvoused secretly by the garden’s lotus pond to profess their devotion and eternal love for each other.  Within the palace walls, however, few secrets could be kept. When the princess’s father, a kindly, perceptive King, considering info, announced (pronounced in Court) his desired wish for their ‘future union in matrimony’, the two could not have been happier.

 But, alas, just a month before the Royal wedding ceremony was to take place, their country was plunged into war with Kontu, and only a brief time later their capital was besieged by Hedenko’s invading army.

“Now at the time of your mother’s capture this fact about her prior engagement was also disclosed to His Majesty Murong Di; your father had Shao therefore captured alive and had him brought before his presence.  Then, as ordered, Hedenko had Shao’s chest cruelly ripped open while the unfortunate was still alive.  Plucking the beating heart right out of the body, Hedenko (then just a field-marshal) presented it to Our Sovereign, in full view of your mother.”  At this point Shutizan cringed noticeably and her body gave an involuntary shudder.  Teuquob was too horrified to utter a sound and remained mortified, though curious, to hear the rest.

After taking a deep breath, the old nurse pushed on, “Your father looked at the bloody organ with scorn, and then remarked, “Ha, it’s but an ordinary heart!  Cast it to the dogs!”  Those were his exact words, I swear, as your mother told me.  I’m telling you all this, distasteful as it is, only because your mother once asked me to.  The night of her unfortunate demise, in fact, she made me swear an oath to only reveal this truth to you when the need arose, and not until then.  She had hoped you would be spared Murong Di’s wrath, but I think, deep down, she knew otherwise.  Now being such a time, I am bound by my oath to your mother, overriding His Majesty’s, to reveal all.  Yes, I have long since detested His Majesty, my liege, for his despicable acts.  It took me weeks to wipe away those horrible images from my mind, but I had to mask my indignation for your sake.”

Warily she looked at the door, and then moaned, “Your poor mother!  Already spent both emotionally and physically, this added atrocity proved too much for her to bear and so once more she’d collapsed, quite unconscious to the floor.  This time, however, despite their attempts, they failed to revive her.  The Imperial Physician diagnosed her state as, “Barely alive and in state of near comatose shock,” and then urged our Sovereign to have her taken to a quieter place where she could be properly tended to.  Begrudgingly, he must have agreed to it, for Princess Lueling regained consciousness several days later in his bed.

“Forgive me if this may sound cruel, but it may, perhaps, have been better had she never recovered.  For that night and nights after that Murong Di had his way with her and repeatedly violated her near senseless, limp body.  She later pleaded again and again with him to allow her to die, but he would grant her no such wish.  On the contrary, he took every precautionary measure and had her under constant surveillance to prevent any suicide attempts.”

Teuquob could not bear to hear anymore.  Her hands cupped over her face, she collapsed on the bed and sobbed uncontrollably.  Alarmed, the nurse rushed to console her, urging her to be strong.  Drying the girl’s eyes, Shutizan urged Teuquob to help her finish what she had started.

“It’s as hard for me to tell you this, as it is for you to hear.” She reasoned, “So, child, you must be stronger.  Old as I am, I’m tired already.  Now, you don’t want me worrying about your health on top of everything else too, do you?”  Teuquob pulled herself together and nodded her head.  “That’s my girl.”  The old nurse affectionately hugged her.  Then she told of how Princess Lueling was kept more like a prisoner in a high tower, under scrutiny in order to prevent her from killing herself.

“Favoring Princess Lueling, the most, your father visited her frequently.”  Scorn entered her voice, “Because your mother was the only one who had rejected his advances, remaining the only one he could not conquer, he became like a man possessed. All his other wives lost favor and his mounting infatuation, rather lust, drove him to the brink of madness. He incessantly fixated day and night on seizing (attaining) Princess Lueling’s true affections.  Despite all his efforts, however, he could never win her love; never make her forget her murdered fiancée!

“Since everything is according to the will of Heaven, not of man, you were meant to be conceived.  Pregnancy brought a definite change in your mother, and gave His Majesty renewed hope.  Thinking that, at last, he had won her over he relaxed the watch on her and looked forward to a time when he could resume his pleasures with her.

“Men!” Shutizan spat on the floor in disgust, “whether king or pauper, they are all cast from the same mold.  I’m glad I was never tainted by their filth.  I’m glad I was spared such contemptible...”  Checking her tongue, Shutizan smiled wryly and coughed.  “How I stray.  You don’t suppose I’m going senile already, do you?” she questioned the air as she walked around the room.  Then, sitting herself down once more; she resumed her say (continued), however, in a sadder tone.

“Don’t take what I say to heart dearest; not all men are the same, some are noble and good.... My hope is that you will meet one such person in future and fall in love and have the happiness that had been so cruelly denied to your poor mother….  Now, where was I?... “She closed her eyes to pick up the train of thought she’d veered from.  “Because your mother was against taking an innocent life and felt an obligation to the fetus (child) in her womb, she had resolved herself to endure her torment (to carry-it to full-term at least) until after you were born.  As for that contemptible father of yours, he looked forward to the day of your birth as well, not because he wanted or valued a child but...” Shutizan shook her head and murmured: “He craved your mother more than his kingdom, more than all the power he held.”  Once more she paused to catch her breath.  All this emotion had worn her out.

“It was after you were born,”, she finally, looked up to say, “at the time when you were no more than two weeks old, when your beautiful mother, on one peaceful fall afternoon, so tragically ended her life by throwing herself from the window of the high tower.  Ayy...”  The terrible picture just being evoked in Shutizan’s mind made her unable to continue.

 She rose hastily and walked away to stare out the window.  Tears flowed down her cheeks in defiance of her best efforts to stifle them.  “How I carry on.  I’m but an old fool, an old weakling.”  She bit her upper lip and angrily stamped her foot to constrain her emotions.  Then, quickly wiping away all evidence of tears, she sat herself down as before by bedside and added indignantly,

 “The King, your father, was outraged.  Far from admiring your mother for her virtue, he scorned her as a contemptible woman, deeming her act as most despicable and, most of all, unfair to him.

King Murong Di

 First, he claimed, she had enslaved his emotions, then cast them aside as thought they were worthless dirt.  How dare she uphold the memory of a dead man over him, forsaking and rejecting all his boundless devotion and love? 

His disappointment soon unhinged his tumultuous rage, and he acted with unheard of ferocity.  Many suffered at his hand! Blood flowed like rivers as thousands, mostly civilians, lost their lives most brutally!

“Cruel, such cruel acts many more months, ensued this mad savagery!” Shutizan shaking her head bit the corner of her lip.

“Meanwhile, on his decree your poor mother had been unceremoniously buried in an unmarked, pauper’s grave, no prayers, no sacrifices, nothing! She’d been hence forever denied the peace she’d deserved in the afterlife.  Ahh...”, again Shutizan sighed. 

“Such was her tragic end, and your mother’s cruel, most cruel fate.  To this day no ne, save for the Sovereign, knows where your mother is buried.”   

“Riled by this injustice, long ago I did make some discreet inquiries, but these yielded no result.  Your poor, dear mother!  Then, as if that was not enough, with the same stone heart he had you, a two-week-old baby, disowned, put under house arrest. The man you’ve known to date as your father was your paternal uncle-in-law. I suppose that’s right… For he’s the husband of our Sovereign’s younger sister…He took pity on you, and securing permission from the King, on condition that you’ll still be kept in similar form of confinement, formally adapted you. In this way he’d hoped to shield you from future ramifications, as well as provide you with a personal name and acceptable surname. In time however, even this became too much for the wrathful king to bear. I don’t believe it was a hunting accident that caused the early demise of your foster father…But again, my suspicions have never been proven …so I must keep my tongue.”

Then, after a thoughtful silence, the old nurse muttered, reflecting on how, with the advancing of the years the king had only become worse, on how he had only nursed his anger and hatred, and how, in punishing Teuquob in this manner, he was still seeking revenge (vengeance) on his long-dead wife, Princess Lueling.

Just then a sharp knock on the door startled them both.  The concerned Chief attendant (head chambermaid) was at once abruptly dismissed by an incensed Shutizan.  But then, on second thought, Shutizan called her back and ordered her, even though it was beneath her station, to fetch them the no:5 herb tea.  The old nurse’s throat was parched and Teuquob looked too pale.  When the tray was produced Shutizan sternly gave the order to her rival, “The young mistress needs her rest.  See to it that no one disturbs us.”

“Yes ma’am.” She begrudgingly assented; but as she was leaving, she snuck another look at Teuquob.  Observing the girl’s condition, she halted her step, contemplating suggesting that perhaps a physician be fetched to examine Teuquob.

“What are you waiting for?” Shutizan’s curt, angry voice however deterred the other; for an open confrontation with latter when she was in such a foul mood would not be advisable.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she meekly ejected and quickly left the room.  Shutizan was an old shrew that no one dared cross or disobey.

This special brand of herb tea was appropriate for times like this, for it soothed the nerves and rushed blood to their cheeks.  Placing the empty cup down the nurse now spoke with and even tone, “Dear child, I have told you all this, painful as it was, to make you understand.  Now you must set aside all propriety, I mean your filial piety towards this one who do not deserve it.  Since the King has long ago forsaken you and spared you not one ounce of parental affection or care, you do not owe him any homage, least of all obedience.  You owe it to your mother and yourself, however, to survive and not perish in this vile net of fate he has cast to ensnare you.

“Your mother’s life was tragically spent before its time, but this need not be your destiny.  You must disobey the King and get away to safety without fail.  Only then, once you are safe in another state, may you offer the prayers and proper sacrifices to her soul.  Only then may she find peace in the afterlife.  Her spirit must be released from its internment in this world and be able to find entry to the heavens above.  Her long-tormented soul must be spared from further anguish.  Only you, my child, the last surviving member of your mother’s family, can offer this solace to her.  Since the Gods are merciful, they will hear the prayers you offer, as long as it’s done through a proper religious order, regardless of creed or sect.

“Take counsel, Teuquob.  I have thought long and hard on this and have finally devised a plausible course of action whereby we may be able to free you from this entrapment.  Listen with care, therefore, to my instructions.  Tonight, we will pretend to have retired early, only...”

“You don’t look well, my dear, perhaps we should go back.”

“Go back?  No!  I can’t!”  Trembling, her throat constricting, Teuquob protested.  Then, realizing where she was, she smiled bashfully, steadied her heart and apologized.

“I quite understand.  There’s no need for explanations.” Stark with a compassionate response, withdrew his hand.  “Still, perhaps you would like to rest here a bit before our return.  We needn’t proceed to the next point.”

                                                                                       ~

 (Stay tuned for the next exciting post, the conclusion of “The Rescue”, Section 9)

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 6

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC 

THE RESCUE - SECTION 6

Life in the mountain dwelling was not an easy one, there was ample input to assimilate, ascertain, adapt or accomplish that before long several days had gone by (passed) without her knowing it. Teuquob had tried her best during her transition that encompassed serious adjustments and blending-in, not to step on any toes, impinge (encroach) or get in the way of their highly proficient and regimented lifestyle. Lately, however, she was beset with a certain inward irritability as she strove to do more than she had been allowed to do.

But how could she persuade Stark that she was an able and a willing participant, impatient to do her fair share of the demanding chores aside from the allocated light ones; desiring most of all to be incorporated into their jealously guarded, fundamental, core existence. That she would be a boon and not just an inconvenience, to be brushed aside or later redressed.

Her thoughts then reverting to Stark, she pondered on the subtle complexities of his nature (disposition) and unique character traits. Yes, all along she had received unbounded compassion, generosity, and human kindness from Stark and Svein. They had been morally, altruistically quite attentive, and most tolerant with all her deemed frivolous needs. But though Svein had readily accepted her presence there, she could not help feeling that despite all of Stark’s outward acquiescence and approbation, he vacillated in temperament, oftentimes being still perturbed and even annoyed (by) at this unexpected complication in their otherwise orderly lives.

She was perceptive enough to sense, that deep in his soul seemingly many secrets lay, some of which were quite painful to reminisce and that his resentment in part was due to the fact that she represented a forsaken element, a distraction in his life that he’d rather do without.

Set in his ways, at times Stark could be so strict, unbending in his principles, with exacting demands on himself and on Svein, yet other times, especially with her, he displayed unusual gentleness, versatility, patience, and sensitivity, even with her outlandish needs.

Despite his stern appearance and many unstinting commitments, she further suspected that deep within he might be harboring a certain covert longing, for the long since forlorn, abandoned, and derelict way of life. Nevertheless, he seemed bent on a secretive course, bound perhaps by some private oath, to maintain this sort of solitary existence in the wilderness, all the while protecting and educating his nephew with such urgency and burdening diligence, as if countless unfathomed lives depended on it.

Subsequent day, well before the respective lessons were to resume, seizing an opportunity in midst of a private conversation with Stark, she subtly reminded Stark how at the beginning when (whilst) she was so generously welcomed, she’d been urged to, during her stay with them, not act as a conventional guest, rather, be at ease and treat the place as if it were her very own home, and them as if they were her own kin. “Only then,” She then quoted Stark word for word, “with the cumbersome formalities dispensed, an easier atmosphere would prevail, for the benefit of all.” 

She could tell from Stark’s (taut face) stern expression that he was fast losing patience with her, nevertheless determined to take full advantage of his prior conciliatory mood, she then expressed, rather insistently, her desire to be allocated certain responsibilities and chores that were more laborious or challenging for the truly fair and harmonious running of the household.

It was deemed still too soon; but no amount of reasoning was able to alter or deter her from her aim.

Of course, she had no way of knowing that a seasoned warrior and once a strict field marshal, a supreme military commander, Stark had never tolerated insubordination or dealt with notable opposition, let alone, as in this case, blatant defiance to his logical dictates.

As it was, in Stark’s past existent lifestyle that had long since been forsaken- even as a married man he had shunned the responsibility of dealing with the mundane domestic or feminine concerns- deeming it to be most cumbersome task, inessential, recklessly profligate (wasteful) and prodigal feat.

As a result, the entire running of the household had been delegated determinedly to his competent wife while he continued to pursue his military passions.

But much had changed since then and wiser and much more tolerant now (mellowed), in face of this present dilemma and in dealing with the tender aged feminine gender, certain protocol applicable to disciplining generals, or any man for that matter, had to be revised or altered. Therefore, constrained to being gentler rather than harsh and indulgent of her superfluous requirements and conspicuous impatience, Stark simply stroked his beard, and again reiterated in a measured, even tone, “All in good time, my dear.  First, we must get you thoroughly familiarized with your surroundings, then, with your strength fully restored to you and you are more adept at surviving, we will assign you ergo, suitable duties.” It was not what he said, but rather the way he had said it.

I want no more reckless zeal and insubordination from you.

 Pitted against his iron will, Teuquob at this point, opted to embracing humility and wisely forsook persistence, as well, aborted the key arsenal of a typical female temperament that could have rendered the outcome in her favor, especially when it turned dramatic on a whim.

Appreciating her conciliatory act, Stark on his part went against his better judgment and, in polite compliance amended his prior resolve. By her yielding out of respect, the first and only near feud (dispute, conflict) between them had been averted. Afterwards, mutual respect paved the way towards a more amicable transition.

                                                                                 ~

Happily, a week had passed without any undue incidence, with Teuquob fitting into their rigorous routine with ease as though she’d been born to this harsher lifestyle. Meanwhile the ongoing generosity and kindness of both Stark and Svein, defying all description, was immeasurable.  Once, after learning that she was proficient in sewing, Stark had even readily presented her with four bolts of the finest quality silk for her own use. And, true to her claim, only a brief time later she had surprised them both, when she appeared in an exquisitely sewn new dress, and presented the two men each with a vest of their own. They were so delighted with her thoughtfulness they remained totally at a loss for words.

As it were, she performed all her allocated chores however arduous, exacting, onerous, prosaic or mundane: willingly and admirably well, her sincerity and keenness winning her in due course Stark’s trust and rare confidence. Then came a time when she felt long at last that Stark had accepted her presence in the ultimate sense and was now ready in earnest, without any reticence, to begin her integration into their core lifestyle, such as it was.

Living in harmony, at the conclusion of each day’s chores and their collective schooling on the linguistics, she would always retire to her room for some private time to use it as she wished- sometimes utilizing the time by either sawing, decorating, painting or reading; meanwhile, Svein would resume with his other mandatory, extensive studies pouring over the rare volumes, expounding the classics that included Wenjenkun and its border countries’ political and military history; breaking only when the time came for him to practice calligraphy.

Svein’s desk was situated at the far corner of the living room, besides the well-stacked bookshelves. Row upon row, these shelves all housed countless volumes of bound books and silken scrolls comprising rare calligraphy and the most splendid illustrations. Over to the side hung a framed war painting bearing the added verse (poem) of the legendary warrior and poet Marcos Gendor. On the far side of the desk stood some spare writing apparatus, all made from exquisitely carved, rare, and most precious of jades or jasper. Adjacent to that was the neatly displayed collection of finest quality feather pens and paint brushes with ebony wooden stems and bristles made from wolf, or horsehair. The specifically designed upright wooden cabinet with open compartments held in perfect safekeeping and displayed numerous rolls of fine, reusable writing silk. Indeed, such riches were unseen even in the finest of homes.

On this night, long after Teuquob had retired to her room and succumbed to a state of blissful sleep, Svein having finally concluded his requisite studies, quietly placed the book to one side then, routinely picked up the writing implements and begun grinding the ink. Subsequently, under the adequate candlelight, with a frequently dipped brush in hand, he began composing the night’s assigned exercise.

All through it Stark had not stirred, and in fact, for a lengthy period his attention had remained affixed to the contents of the book he had chosen to read.  After a while, he simply put the book aside and rose from his seat; he walked quietly over to his nephew to glance over and to assess the already completed work that had been placed to one side. Following his few constructive criticisms and some praises, he offered alternative options for the style and manner, then returning to his own seat, resumed with his reading.

Sometime later, Stark, having reached a disagreeable impasse in set hypothesis, momentarily halted his reading and simply glanced away from the pages to ponder and to postulate on the key concern, as well, to some degree rest his eyes. As he had absentmindedly looked at his nephew, he noted that Svein had also stopped his writing and was presently staring at the paper with a fond vapidity.

An aspect of displeasure at once registered on Stark’s face. “Stop your daydreaming!” He angrily admonished the youth.

“I am sorry, Uncle, I was just thinking.” Svein responded, shamefaced.

“I am well aware of the concern intruding into your thoughts,” Stark interjected, cutting short his nephew’s reply, “you have quite an abundant imagination and in all likelihood with your fractious mind, you’ve well exceeded the probably mundane past events pertaining to her; keep your focus in line, we’ll learn the truth about her soon enough.  Intriguing a dilemma as this may be, I strongly advise you to omit such profligate and refractory notions from your mind and affix your attention only on your studies.”

Stark’s last sentence was issued with an icy finality which made pursuing the matter futile. Apologetically Svein bowed his head and forced his attention back on his composition. Soon he was writing again but, contrary to appearances, his mind still strayed. Uncle is so discerning that he can even anticipate my thoughts, mused the youth.

Stark, as if he had read this thought of his nephew’s as well, looked away to conceal his resurgent smile. In fact, they had become so close that Stark could tell with impunity the concerns of his nephew well before voiced. Though they appeared conventional and most regimented in their daily interactions with each other, they in fact shared a deep affectionate bond more like that of father and son, than that of between uncle and nephew.

And besides, in his heart of hearts, Stark could not rightly blame the boy for his curiosity and impatience; nevertheless, it was left up to her to resolve this burdening enigma, and Stark had every confidence that one day in not-too-distant future, she would indulge them.

After his thorough assessment of Svein’s completed work, once more seated by the blazing fireplace, with a pensive air Stark had again turned his attention back on the pages of the bound book in his hand; but try as he might, this time he could not bend or concentrate his mind on the applicable complex theories.  Putting it aside, he retrieved his pipe and lit it; in full anticipation of a leisurely smoke, in a thoughtful repose he leaned back comfortably in his rocking chair and allowed his wayward thoughts to drift afar.

The assumption of Teuquob’s probable heritage, based on the disclosed surname, which at the time perturbed him slightly, had been reservedly put aside; but the land in question despite his reticence, yet again awakened in him the forgotten memories and a certain hankering for the precious epoch in time of long ago (gone by). As he puffed the smoke out of his long pipe, his mind defiantly (in defiance) once more had wandered back to a time when he was younger, before his marriage and long before his father’s death, to an era when he had once possessed an abandoned, uninhibited, adventurous, and unconstrained romantic soul.  Surprisingly at that moment, Stark was abruptly reminded of an exceptional being Zandar Kuntzu, a six feet tall warrior with shoulder-length, long flowing auburn hair, whom Stark had encountered (during one of his rebellious years seeking adventure in remote part of Korion), and after being rescued from dire circumstance, befriended. Young as he’d been, Stark could still discern that Zandar was not what he seemed, that he in fact had a noble, stringent upbringing, and more importantly, he was not native to Korion; moreover, despite his unassuming, placid (equable, tranquil) nature, he had a brilliant and discerning mind, as well, possessed incredible ( though hidden, immortal) prowess. 

Now why had Zandar so abruptly intruded into his mind? Stark inwardly querying, looked away. His mind refusing to let this matter drop however, Stark was then curiously, reminded about Zandar’s enigmatic (mysterious)  parting gift, a well-constructed puzzle-box, the contents of which he’d been asked to, read only after he’d left Korion, commit it to memory and then promptly destroy it.  Stark had also at the time, been gravely warned by Zandar, to never use this “EWBINUKO HEX” incantation/hex till, and only once, at future time (eventuality), when it would be the only thing that would deliver him from dire predicament. Being sentimental, Stark through all these years had kept the empty puzzle-box however, which now rested unobtrusively, on the small mantlepiece (bookshelf) in his bedroom.

 Zandar Kuntzu

Stark presently was baffled by these memories pertaining to Zandar which had forcefully intruded into his mind. Why now, and why him? Was he (Stark) just being nostalgic? Admittedly, Stark had infrequently (occasionally) wondered about Zandar, as the latter had had such an impression on him.

Stark a moment or two, meditatively (broodingly) smoked his long pipe; subsequently his thoughts reverting (returning) to Tekuob, his reminiscence furtively carried him forth, to the distant lands of Kontu, the very place Teuquob had sought to escape.

With absolute, vivid clarity, Stark saw before him once more in his mind’s eye (lifelike mental images of) the most beautiful girl, one not unlike Teuquob.  She was peering out with phoenix eyes from behind a silk screen depicting two cranes one in ready flight, the other hesitant, feet firmly set on the thick branch of an ancient, gnarled pine tree at the periphery, background landing itself to the stylized misty mountain scenery; and when their eyes surreptitiously met, he could still envision the bashful lowered glance and the fleeting enchanting smile on that exquisitely flushed face with rosy cheeks as she made haste to simply run away.  This was his first memory of her, and he could still recall every nuance, every minute detail of that delightful episode in time (moment). Once more her glorious countenance tantalizingly hovered before him sweeping him off to sweet reverie: the way she wore her hair, the colors of the ribbons and juxtaposed pearls adorning her tresses, the soft peach colored dress she wore embroidered with the most exquisitely detailed images of butterflies, and how the most charming of flowers that filled the room, vied unsuccessfully with her heavenly beauty and mien.

He was a dashing young man then, who captivated every girl’s fancy. However, as always, his principal interests lay elsewhere; in martial arts techniques armed combat, military, and political history, exploring or travel. The ever-present female gender seen as the source of fleeting fancy, an unwarranted distraction- he had never given them any serious thought that they otherwise truly deserved. Still, from the start he had felt differently towards this one. Something about her quite intrigued him and tugged at his heartstrings till he had lost his affections entirely to this enchanter, which had covertly reciprocated his love; but unfortunately, she’d been promised to another. Re-living, recalling his painful yearnings for her then, and the terrible agony that had mercilessly ripped through his heart and soul on that very day of her obligatory marriage to someone else- Stark uttered an involuntary sigh. Then, as if he had committed a forbidden, unlawful act, he stealthily (surreptitiously) glanced at his nephew.

 Fortunately, Svein was too engrossed (absorbed, rivetted) in his studies to have taken any notice; relieved, Stark leaned back and drew another long puff from his pipe. Before long Stark was lost in another such private revere, till that is, Svein had stopped his writing and looked up.

“Are you finished?” came, Stark’s quick query. Svein nodded in the affirmative. “Good. But before retiring,” Stark paused to clean his pipe then looked up with a conciliatory smile and added in measured tone, “I am presently disposed to hearing any questions you may wish to ask concerning our guest.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”  Maintaining his composure while concealing his delight at Stark’s unexpected change of heart, Svein quickly put away his brushes, ink, papers, and books, then quietly sat himself before Stark, and asked. “Pardon my presumption Uncle, but I dare venture to guess, that your extensive knowledge of her country of origin, stemmed from (was the result of) your privileged firsthand experience, an elongated visit, long before I was born. If you please therefore, I should like to learn all there is to know of her country and in addition, how and when you’d acquired and mastered the use of her altogether unique language. May I also inquire Uncle, of the brief summation of all the most recent developments in her Country of origin that had, been subtly acquired from your added private conversations with her?”

 “That is some tall order.” Stark smiled, in an unusual, good mood. “Very well, I shall satisfy (indulge) your curiosity but only in part, as I am not at liberty to divulge all. First, you are quite correct, nephew, in assessing that visage (facets) of her dialect’s extreme rarity. Perhaps I should begin by telling you a bit more about the historic and geographic aspects of Teuquob’s place of origin, a distant, island kingdom called Kontu. What you don’t know however is that their present capital, Sakuo has been in existence almost as long as ours, despite scant reference to it in our ancient (antediluvian) manuscripts (historic records). As you well know, any viable contact or commerce with this enormous island kingdom Kontu that lies due north-east from here, a landmass almost as big as our own peninsula, fortunately thus far- and I don’t see why it should be any different now- has been deterred, due to its impracticality and unfeasibility by the vast ocean, group of troublesome islands that were once and probably are today, populated by unruly savages or sea-fearing pirates, and let us not forget, the oftentimes perilous, tempestuous weather.”

“Here’s an addition to that prior info: Long ago, a state sponsored excavations had revealed that Kontu was indeed endowed with the reaches of earth beyond measure; nevertheless, it had always had its share of dangerous topography, volcanic and unstable landmass that is prone to infrequent but lethal (quite pernicious) earthquakes or tsunamis.  In part this aspect has curtailed or delayed its otherwise potent might. Still, quite adept at surviving and thriving, this ancient civilization formerly comprised of vastly diverse aggressive races with their varied, strange dialects- in the third century of their existence in an unprecedented feat, the entire country was unified under one rule, one language and one system of law, by a legendary, rather enlightened king and conqueror. Unfortunately, this feat (masterstroke) did not last for long. This great kingdom of Kontu, that was for its size, once far greater in might than ours, was nevertheless weakened within the last century or so of our time, by the ongoing internal strife between numerous contending indigenous warlords, many related, some by marriage to the subsequent reigning monarchs, each claiming legitimacy of cause and various entitlements.  This, and the constant state of war with their neighboring island states, has thus far spared our kingdom and this entire continent from the sure threat of invasion by their expeditionary forces. But I am digressing.”

“As I understand it, Teuquob for reasons known only to her, in the company of a respectable young man, “a dear friend” she’d addressed him as, therefore not a true relation, was on a ship bound (destined) for one of the subsidiary island states, when her voyage was interrupted by a terrible storm, perhaps even a monsoon, and they were thrown way off course.  After the total destruction of the ship and the countless inevitable loss of lives; miraculously surviving her ordeal- because of a remarkable act on the part of her companion friend that had presumably afterwards also perished at sea- for an undetermined time she’d drifted fastened on a create of sorts on the open waters of the vast ocean and came to be, by fate’s hand, cast, rather shipwrecked, on our shores.”

Then, addressing Svein’s subsequent question, he added, “The political situation, in place when I was in Kontu, and yes, well before you were born, according to Teuquob, persists to this date.  To reiterate, their history has been, more so than ours, documented in perpetual (incessant) bloodshed, with the warring states, feudal lords time and again vying for power and domination of the entire island; meanwhile, any diplomatic, political, military or commercial contact between their land and ours, for reasons enumerated earlier, has at best been rather limited, with fewer still competently transcending the barriers of language. Fortunately for us, I happened to be one such.”

“You see, in my youth during one of my adventurous exploits in (Tenkoz) border province, I had fortuitously encountered a brilliant scholar/warrior named Haixi Yuenen, who by some misfortune had been stranded in our country and forced to living in dire straits. He spoke both languages fluently enough to avoid detection but lacked the resources and necessary contacts to ensure safe passage back to his homeland. Forlorn and dejected he had drifted from town to town, doing odd jobs then wasting his scant earnings on drink. By fate’s hand, he came to my rescue when I was in a crisis, ambushed by the notorious group of local thugs that were aiming not only to rob, but to maim and murder me. Oh, what a sight that was! What courage… such ability! Single handedly in a flash he wasted a lot of them. Reminder ran, ran for their dear lives!”

Stark quickly checked his exuberance. “Nevertheless; I was not about to let such a man go! To my further delight, after the formal introduction to my discerning father, he gained my family’s patronage and became my tutor. Later still, outside of my regular studies, upon my insistence, he instructed me in his fighting style and, native language.  A deep bond grew between us during our time together, over and above the shared respect and admiration of teacher and pupil.

I carried mixed feelings of joy and dismay (devastation) on the day that my father, out of kindness and noting that my studies were at an end, acknowledged my esteemed teacher Haixi Yuenen’s homesickness and announced that he was providing the means for the scholar’s voyage back.” 

“Haixi had to pass through another territory, a friendly state called Loxugan, before gaining his safe passage home on a rare trading vessel.

My father’s sympathetic understanding and generosity of heart had of course earned him Haixi’s undying gratitude. The scholar journeyed back several years later with an impressive entourage and lavished many priceless gifts on our family and my father. He further extended this courtesy and invited my father and me to be his honored guests at his stately home in Kontu. This was made possible, for he had returned with a ship of his own.”

“My father could not oblige, but after much supplication on my part, he granted me the rare privilege of visiting this wondrous and mysterious land. I stayed for quite some time at my tutor’s well-fortified mansion that was strategically located in the far fringes of Kontu. He turned out to be someone of high birth that had, for reasons known only to him, renounced his rightful heritage and entitlements to live in self-imposed exile and relative obscurity. Highly thought of still, through his private network of connections, well-guarded, I spent a period in capital city at which time I gained broader perspective into their politics and returned to Wenjenkun with an abundant wealth of experience and knowledge. Once home, however, other events took precedence, which prevented me from giving Kontu its deserved reflection and thought until this day.”

As Svein listened, all these fantastic things had sent his head swimming in abundant wealth of imaginary fancies. He had not even seen the capital or other parts of his own country, yet his uncle now spoke of wondrous lands beyond the sea. A certain yearning awakened in him, a need to travel far, to broaden his horizons as well. All those places mentioned in passing, a mere footnote in his studies now gained a renewed prominence and he wished he could sprout wings and soar up to the sky, to visit them firsthand and experience it all in one go.  His heart was also flooded (filled) with added affection for his paternal grandfather, who had been nothing more than a name up until then.

So, he had been a wise and compassionate man, not unlike Stark, and therefore well deserving of his respect, undying devotion, and love.

Svein secretly longed to learn more of Stark’s elder brother, Svein’s own father, a parent he’d never known, as he’d been separated from him from birth and in surmised speculation knew only that his father had perished tragically in the aftermath of some catastrophic event; but remembering his promise not to pry or pester Stark on the subject, he kept his tongue (withheld his bursting queries), remaining grateful all the same to Stark, for painful as it was, divulging even this much of his past. Verily up until then, his uncle had been reticent to shed any light on the family’s determinedly tragic history, heritage, or the enigmatic reasons for the total annihilation of their entire clansmen.  On scant idle moments, his unbridled curiosity and imagination running rampant, Svein had oftentimes pondered on these haunting questions in private: What necessitated to date such extreme cautionary measures and constrained their continued dwelling and compulsory arduous lifestyle in this remotest part of the mountain, so far from any civilized settlement?  What kind of foe, enmity or reason was potent enough to propel Stark’s relentless, incessant grievance meanwhile enforcing the precept of keeping Svein in the dark until he reached the certain age of maturity, of twenty-five?

Presently, faced with this unexpected leeway, Svein stole a sideways glance at his uncle as he inwardly queried:  Was it possible that Stark had now a change of heart and was considering mending or even rescinding that rule? But Svein dared not ask this out loud. He did, however, finding his uncle in more (amicable) genial disposition, inquired, “Uncle, may I impose on you to enlighten me further on the most recent developments in Kontu?”

Stark simply looked away; with a slight displeasure, the beginnings of a frown registering on his face as he mused: “I know what it is you are after- but in the end, what purpose would it serve? The sought information will be of limited use to you since you’ll probably never gain the chance to go to Kontu. As it is, you will have other far more important matters to address.”  But withholding his retort, he responded coolly, in an even tone. “I am not sure that we can spare the time. Nevertheless, I will give this matter further consideration.”

This conciliatory reply was still preferable to an open rejection. Thus satisfied, Svein thanked his uncle for his understanding then, following Stark’s next suggestion, made ready to retire for the night.

That evening despite his fatigue, Svein had turned and tossed till finally heavy sleep overtook him. Even then his subconscious mind was beset with ongoing prolific dreams, all of it adventurous in nature, many events transpiring in that imaginary, faraway lands with him interacting freely with all kinds of Indigenous, interesting groups. 

Stark, contrastingly, greater part of the night had lain perfectly still on his back, with blank stare, eyes fixated, obsessively, on the ceiling overhead. He had remained thus, his heart laden with many concerns in conjunction with the countless burdensome thoughts, some of it imbued with pain and longing for those things he had long since forsaken.

                                                                                       ~

(More exciting developments will unfold in the next post of The Rescue- Section 7)  

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)