LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 3

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 3

Brandt   had never seen Duan use archery, yet in subsequent days, he’d witnessed the other using spare material to painstakingly fashion himself a mighty fine bow and a quiver of arrows. 

Brandt ’s curiosity and poised questions were finally answered when at dusk one day, Duan, still seated at his mount took aim at the sky and let loose the single arrow.  Brandt   could not even see the target or what it slew (shot, slain, felled). 

“So, he also excels in archery...Hmmm” Brandt   made a mental note of this and spurred his horse to catch up with Duan’s. 

Arriving at the spot tad later, Brandt   saw Duan pick up the felled falcon and retract a piece of note attached to his leg. No amount of pestering loosened Duan’s tongue however, nor did he let Brandt   see the note. He only smirked satisfactorily and informed Brandt   a short time later of the slight change in their direction.

Passing through a grueling and treacherous stretch, now at more level ground, Brandt   likewise whipped his horse into a full gallop.  The result of three full days and nights of riding at lightning   speed eventually brought them to a crossroads.

 Duan stretched his neck this way and that, holding his gaze in each direction at length and then charged resolutely westward. As Brandt   followed in silence, he queried how Duan had arrived at (attained) that conclusion with such obvious certainty.  He racked his brains to comprehend the existing clues or logic that had so mysteriously averted him.  Having reached the end of his patience with Duan's arrogance however, he cared not to place himself in the position of subservience and voiced no such inquiry.  But, once more an insidious smile related Duan’s surmised notion of what was weighing on Brandt’s mind.

 Subsequent days their path cut across still more difficult terrain; before long the deep canyon, the surrounding topography had taken on a rather sinister turn. At one point, as they passed through a particularly deep gorge, Duan’s unexpectedly alert demeanor alarmed Brandt. 

Duan now strung tighter than a bow, with his very being exuding such an air of foreboding, his intense gaze perpetually swept the looming cliffs.  Brandt’s inward queries were promptly answered however, when on several instances on Duan’s signal and nimble action, man and mount barely escaped that certain catastrophe of being buried alive, when massive amounts of dislodged rocks suddenly cascaded down on them. 

Long after, when they seemingly reached a safer passage, Duan had kept up with his vigil and pressed them hard to advance with that speed to cover still great distance.

“This isn’t your typical joyride.” He’d scoffed at Brandt’s silent protests and despite Brandt’s obvious exhaustion, refused least notion of pitching camp.  On this continuous trek they, while still in the saddle ingested some of their rather unpalatable, scant dried rations and rarely out of consideration for their mounts, had a brief repose in a crevice of sorts in this desolate (bleak) region where nothing stirred, with Duan upholding his vigilance against that phantom enemy’s assault.

Brandt   was becoming more incensed (exasperated) with each leg of the journey suspecting Duan with his spiteful nature to be conceiving (inventing) this unwarranted trouble, to further torment him, when suddenly they were under attack. 

Once the unnatural dust storm settled, all at once they’d found themselves surrounded by thirty well-armed, formidable riders completely covered in black garb, with only slits that made their eyes visible.  Brandt   had scant time to unsheathe his sword when the awesome, agile force spontaneously and in all directions, in a brilliant, lightening   maneuver, launched their murderous offensives (assault). 

Brandt   had always been quite adept at fighting but in this instance, he’d soon found himself outmatched in both skill and ability. Or had he?  For reasons known only to him, Brandt   held back and allowed Duan to demonstrate the true extent of his prowess. 

Rising to this challenge Duan with his invincible skill, quickly turned the tide in his favor. In a blinking of an eye, all assailants were vanquished, and men and mounts lay dead maimed and torn in bloody heaps.

The fortnight’s subsequent nocturnal assaults were even more lethal. Just as swiftly however, Duan bested them all; then in small hours, gathering the wounded and piling those atop the heap of torn, bloody corpses, he set them all alight. Making himself comfortable on a large flat bolder, he then watched this funeral pyre with intense perverse delight, occasionally letting out a boisterous laugh as if entertaining a private joke.

The rising smell made Brandt   retch and vomit till he was expanded from the exertion; maddeningly, this too compounded Duan’s wicked fun.

After the fourth and fifth major, deadly skirmishes, Brandt   had gained the sudden intense fear of Duan, as if just grasping the true measure of this Demon warrior’s proficiency.  Especially since all their previous adventures and exchanges had paled in comparison to these feats.  Despite his sham indifference however, the swift, shocking intensity and the near misses of the final mortal combat unequivocally rattled Brandt   to the core. Consequently, Duan was more intolerable, as he relentlessly mocked Brandt   with his contemptuous words, looks and gestures, till eventually he got tired of it. 

A few weeks later, another falcon was felled by Duan, then another sometime after that. In each instance a note was retrieved from the leg of the predatory bird, and again, Duan refused to disclose the contents to Brandt.  Infuriatingly still, any hope of a peek (stealing a look) was promptly eliminated when Duan routinely fed the contents to the hungry flames of the night’s makeshift campfire.

Then one evening   as they were about to fall asleep, “You can rest easy now; I doubt there’ll be any more messages.”  With his back to Brandt, he’d grumbled his sardonic, curt response to other’s evermore persistent inward queries.

In the subsequent month, the ongoing arduous trek had eventually led the two to another set of foothills beyond which lay a range of white capped mountains.  Descending then ascending the endless precipitous peaks and depths, they skirted ravines, gullies or cliffs, then negotiated inclines to eventually arrive at the remotest, darkest and most sinister of forests where ancient trees entirely blocked out the sky turning   night into day.

 In this twilight atmosphere they followed paths that no man before them had dared to tread.  All the while the immeasurable peril dogged their every step. Dangers abound from above and below, ahead and beyond, their mettle was tested, at times without cessation for weeks on end.  With their innate competence and stubborn resolve, they overcame each one of these hair-raising episodes and dealt effectively with the other peril from voracious, predatory beasts.

Occasionally their advance would be hindered by violent storms that erupted quite suddenly yet lasted for days.  During such times they attained shelter in nearby caves, crevices or caverns after contesting for space with the prior occupants (original inhabitants).

As they climbed (ascended) to still higher altitudes, with each leg of the journey the atmospheric temperatures became more hazardous.  With the overhead sky perpetually riddled with dark, ominous clouds that hung ponderously overhead, they trod uneasily over the precarious ground that oftentimes would be littered with intermittent pits blanketed with patches of ice or snow of varying degrees smoothing over the imperfections.

 All was not doom and gloom however, and on scant clear days, with the surrounding area and tall trees cloaked in exhilarating, blinding white, it admittedly transformed the glistening   environs into a mythological, fabled place of great beauty. The brilliance of light was so intense in fact that they advanced through this fabulous ice hinterland with only partially covered eyes, seeing only through slits.

The makeshift attire from pelts obtained from the hunted predatory beasts kept the core of their body warm. Meanwhile, (in addition to melted ice,) they drunk the blood of the game for satiating (quenching) thirst, and for sustenance, never lacking for food, Brandt   in time even grew accustomed to chomping on raw meat, or for variety, nibbled on some of the amassed, dried roots. When hiking over a particularly perilous icy terrain, man and beast (steeds) wore underfoot an ingenious contraption that Duan had appropriately devised to prevent slipping and sliding or worse, falling through the cracks/ pits in the snow and being buried alive.  Moreover, to ensure further stability, they made good use of ropes and iron pegs when their ascending path led them to tapered goat-trails hugging the sheer inclines. 

To Duan’s surprise, Brandt   had born all these hardships stoically, except for altitude sickness that is, that oftentimes plagued Brandt   when crossing a precarious, natural viaduct (overpass) over gargantuan (vast) debts or other such risky terrain with equally dizzying gradient (incline) to one side. 

On such instances Brandt   would have gladly traded places with their blindfolded mounts, to be spared the apprehension and the dire imaginings; especially since his discomfort without fail was augmented by Duan’s derisive, contemptuous remarks or his silent cold regard. 

Day after day, as though pulled by a magnet, they pushed (trudged) on relentlessly and unfailingly at top speed, superseding (overriding) countless dangers and hardships, Brandt   doing his best to keep up with Duan. 

Though they’d done what was humanly impossible and covered such a great distance in that short time, far from being pleased, at one point Duan had appeared in fact, quite irritable and somewhat dismayed.  Then one day, leaving Brandt   at a makeshift camp in an abandoned cave, Duan without so much as a word had set off alone on foot in search of a phantom path. He must have ventured far, for he’d remained hidden from sight (view) awfully long period.

 Brandt   left to fend for himself, first had prudently solidified his defenses, kept the fires going and guarded the steeds and their reserves best as he could, from the marauding, (prowling) ravenous beasts. By the fourth or fifth day, however, Brandt   had begun to get seriously peeved, for having been treated same as a groom when, late one afternoon, Duan quite unexpectedly had reappeared.  Without so much as a grunt, he plumped himself by the fire, partook of some of the skewered meat, then reclining   passed out in sound sleep. When at just before dawn he promptly awoke, he spared no effort to explain; only his words tersely directed Brandt   to follow him.

Even before the first rays of light reached the earth, Duan and Brandt   taking the lead, steered their reluctant mounts further into the densest part of the pine forest.  Previous night’s storm (blizzard) had dumped abundant snow in the vicinity forcing them to now advance with immense difficulty through the copiously covered ground and shrubbery.

They rode whenever possible, but oftentimes dismounting, they dug their way through waist deep rough patches. Their several days’ laborious advance eventually came to an abrupt halt one afternoon just before dusk, when they suddenly faced, what seemed to Brandt, a rising cliff. He watched with skepticism as Duan, veering around a huge boulder quickly alighted. A pointed look quickly brought Brandt   to his side. Stalwart duo exerting some effort in next to no time cleared a fallen tree and similar debris, pushed aside tall, seemingly impenetrable ice capped dense shrubbery to uncover an inconceivable niche that turned out to be an entrance to a pitch-dark subterranean tunnel that passed through to the other side of the mountain.

Brandt’s elation was short lived however, for the upcoming perilous journey was far more harrowing than the culminating previous encounters.  Right at the beginning   Duan had counseled him on the necessity of maintaining absolute silence.

The horses’ eyes covered, and mouths muzzled, with Duan in the lead they’d steadfastly advanced in darkness, connected by a rope, Duan periodically (now and again) slashing the air with his blade to dispatch the persistent dangers. 

They must have trudged incessantly for days in that grueling, subterranean labyrinth, for every tendon, every fabric of Brandt’s body throbbed with an unbearable ache.  After what it seemed to Brandt an eternity, they’d eventually emerged from this nightmarish tunnel.  Brandt   was so overjoyed at having survived this terrible ordeal that, braving Duan’s derision, he’d simply throw himself onto the ground and hugged it.

The rest of the journey, though still grueling, by comparison had passed far easier.

                                                                       ~

 (END OF SECTION 3)

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 7

Subsequent morning at first daylight and well before Teuquob awoke, as part of their daily routine, both Stark and Svein again headed straight for the wooded clearing to resume their martial exercises. With due diligence, unstintingly Stark continued to tutor his nephew on the varied martial techniques and strategies that he had mastered or utilized via the time-honored lessons learned from eminent men, illustrious generals, heroes renowned for their skill and other such distinguished fighters that had existed throughout Wenjenkun’s history.

On Svein’s insistence, another key combat style, that of Kontu’s, was now added to his already taxing, grueling (physically & mentally demanding) practice schedule. Svein’s rigorous training encompassing all had commenced from the moment he could walk. Having the boy’s best interest at heart, Stark’d tried moreover to instill in Svein the fighting spirit, the competitive edge needed to win at all costs, notwithstanding (despite) the opponent’s superior power, strength and ability. Svein was drilled and grilled, all the while propelled to becoming utterly invincible in combat and to overcoming any or all obstacles that he may later encounter.  Stark expected nothing less than perfection from his apt pupil and even though he rarely praised Svein, he was inwardly pleased with the boy’s steady progress.  Endowed with strong stamina, natural agility and superior intellect, Svein had mastered with remarkable ease all the strategies in warfare, requisite martial techniques, varied weaponry, excelling particularly in sword fighting and archery. 

“Only a little while longer and Svein would be ready.” Stark nodded his head in approval, observing the discharged swift steady stream of arrows- each powerful shot finding their precise mark on the prescribed target one after another, all perfect bulls’ eye – a target placed at such an incredible distance that it was virtually invisible/barely detectible.

Stark closed his eyes and heaved a grateful sigh. That elusive time and seemingly infeasible ambition was gradually but surely nearing at hand; soon he would have fulfilled his obligation and perhaps his greatest contribution to their cause: a conference of skill and ability that would one day with measure of certainty, ensure the boy’s future survival and success.

Postponing his certain demise, Stark had persevered through daunting challenges and adversities, with that incessant zeal in full anticipation of the day when all past criminal injustices be redressed and the fallen could long at last be properly avenged!

Meanwhile, a youth of not yet twenty, day by day Svein was beginning to look every bit the seasoned warrior, exercising in the cool of the mornings and the heat of noon, regardless of the weather.  A promise had been made to him that one day he would inherit his uncle’s heirloom sword, which he had been shown only once as a child.  This sword, encrusted with fine jewels and wrought of exquisitely crafted hard tempered steel, a metal both strong and pliable, had left such an indelible impression on the young boy’s mind that he had since tried his utmost to achieve the skill and be worthy of such an honor. 

He practiced ceaselessly each day, thence, even longer than the required time, without any show of strain or tiredness. 

Svein’s aggrandized endurance and ability, fueled by the intense, driving force of his unyielding will, augmenting his prowess as a warrior, is what encouraged and most comforted Stark. In the span of years that Stark had been Svein’s willing mentor, protectorate and friend, the bond of affection and mutual respect between these two had, as mentioned before, grown akin to that between father and son. Things had remained thus, between Stark and Svein for little over a decade (12 Years), with their daily patented, predictable routines having only minor variances or deviation from the norm and certain breaks when Svein went on hunting trips or errands into town.

                                                                             ~

As fate would have it, an unforeseen factor, namely Teuquob, had now been integrated into their equable (unvarying) equation.  Reticent at first, Stark had gradually, successfully incorporated this variant modification- a necessary social aspect/ phase of Svein’s more thorough education- into their daily routine with hopeful portent for the future.

Moreover, as Teuquob’d assumed, on her insistence, more and more of the household chores, it’d allowed Svein more time to fully concentrate on his pedantic studies and martial practices.

Teuquob was such a good help that it also provided Stark with the opportunity to now oversee previously neglected or postponed lesser concerns.  Another boon being that, finding spare time now, Stark became well disposed to taking extended, contemplative walks with Teuquob, presumably to appreciate the exquisite mountain scenery; but contrary to appearances and mindful of her future, during many of these jaunts Stark strove with his subtle tutoring to instill in her the requisite skills needed to be more adept at surviving in extreme wilderness.

Be that as it may, often on these excursions they would stay within the deemed safe circumference and whenever possible followed nature’s veins to reach their destination. In this lush environment however, even the previously cleared pathways would oftentimes in fortnight be invaded by lush green rank vegetation and serpentine vines therefore hindering any advance or transposing it altogether to perilous state.  Hence, Stark with his machete led the way, at the same time affording them the added protection against chance encounters with the predatory animals.  If the avenue was not too congested but only slightly obstructed, Stark simply stirred the ground ahead with the blunt side of the tip to drive away any crawling creatures or coiled serpents from the undergrowth that might cause Teuquob unwarranted fright.

Eventually, during respite Stark and Teuquob would converse, oftentimes at length, pursuing varied yet always impersonal concerns; via secret understanding, each limited themselves to educational or to mundanely innocuous, present topics.  Consequently, for a very long time Stark did not ascertain the reason or reasons that had compelled Teuquob to undertake such a perilous journey.  His restraint and due discretion meanwhile being very much appreciated by Teuquob, growing daily in respect and affection for Stark- in time she came to wish she could openly confess her burdensome past (tribulation) to him.  Only her reluctance born out of her inner fear that Stark with his traditional views, strict morality and unbending principles on filial piety might not be so forgiving once he’d learned of her disobedient act towards her father- was what deterred her thus far from revealing her secret.

All the same, barring this impediment, day by day Teuquob and Stark had grown closer in heart; in the interim Svein felt somewhat excluded, especially since he had to rely on his uncle’s discretion, disposition and good graces to receive synopsis of their private conversations.  Oftentimes left on the sidelines, he would periodically steal glimpses in her direction, his attention distracted from his studies by her delightful mannerisms or by her sweet, melodious voice.  Though the budding feelings of love had already taken root and in defiance of his will presently were burgeoning and blossoming in his heart, ambiguous about her feelings, after a careful consideration, he’d wisely or unwisely perhaps, opted to relinquishing any attempt or outward show of communicating this to her.

Unknown to Svein his affections were in fact, surreptitiously reciprocated by Teuquob.  His very presence stirred warmth and excitement in her bosom, and whenever he was in proximity, her heart palpitated wildly, and she felt short of breath.  Oftentimes, she felt flustered, and her cheeks burned during their linguistic studies together, especially when their eyes happened to mutely meet, or their hands accidentally touched.  Still, she guarded her secret with utmost diligence and masked these unavoidable outward telltale signs so masterfully that Svein came to believe it was arduous, exacting studies (lessons) that brought on such display and that she bore no such interest in him and at best tolerated him.  In some ways, when it came to deciphering feminine temperaments, Svein in his tender years, was unfortunately still quite naïve. 

Of course, this added complication, the supposedly covert, burgeoning attraction between Svein and Teuquob did not escape the worldly/discerning Stark- only he chose to remain, albeit temporarily, mute on the subject.  Since both had impeccable morality and irreproachable integrity, there was no immediate, warranted reason for concern, or any possibility of a future impropriety or misconduct; meanwhile, Svein’s studies or his training had not suffered in the least from this distraction, far from it, it seemed to further galvanize Svein’s resolve.

Over time, as Stark oftentimes sat (across) between their eye’s paths, mindful of the irresistible attraction and evident, mounting intensity of it, he could not help but be perturbed, surmising the complexities of a looming probability of the certain future union. His mind beset with worries, he would hence, stroke his beard rather distractedly as he pondered on the alternative…

“Hmmm…. Besides, since their own portended future most likely be embroiled in great danger and uncertainty, how could he, in good conscience draw Teuquob into this rather risky, hazardous sphere?”  Yet, instinctively Stark knew, that it was already too late, that perhaps preordained, she’d already permeated their respective lives.  “That, conceivably, their fate was meant to be intermingled with hers; for who could truly fathom the course of fate?”

                                                                                       ~

As more time elapsed, the heat and splendor of summer gradually gave way to the cool temperatures and the glorious colors of fall.  Presently, golden, red-brown leaves, twigs and brambles of all sorts wove an incredible tapestry over the ground as far as the eye could see.  The intoxicating, picturesque scenery naturally drew both Stark and Teuquob to outdoors with more frequency.  One such fine day, bathing under the checkered golden rays of the sun they had initiated an advance towards their favorite destination- all the while managing the at times winding, difficult paths or periodically pausing to admire and be absorbed by the full-splendor of nature.  Delightfully, the brisk mountain air filled their sleeves, puffed their lapels and gently caressed their faces, urging them to go on.  Then quite suddenly, the cool breeze would pick up force, whipping about the heads of the weak vegetation and the golden branches, dotting the air with a flurry of fall colors, as ancient pines, resilient to the wind, stood defiantly erect and proud, spreading their canopy of green over them and the subordinate trees or the ominous, grotesque rocks. Trailing Stark, Teuquob casually cast her vacant gaze on the falling leaves, following their wavering descent to the ground; suddenly however, the decayed matter being trampled underfoot came to resemble the fallen, spent lives and her heart suddenly was gripped with an inexplicable anguish.

In vain she fought to resist the tears welling up in her eyes but the onslaught of vivid images from the past defiantly still crowded her memory, obliterating what scant, and remnant serenity of her previous mood.

                                                                                            ~

Transported in mind to that precise time and place that had started it all, she envisioned herself on her thirteenth birthday receiving, at the crack of dawn, the long-anticipated summons from the Court, to present herself before His Majesty, the King. Amidst the flurry of activity readying her for proper presentation, “Could this be the end of my unfair incarceration?” she’d thought, rather hoped, at the time. 

As it were, from the moment of her mother’s death, when Teuquob was barely one month old, she had been confined to the cold and desolate Northern Pavilion, a secluded place far removed from everything and everyone.  Tucked away, as though an unwanted criminal, she had been reared there with none of the privileges or affection of her other presumed siblings.  Forbidden to set foot outside of her gilded cage, this captive fledgling with a highly inquisitive and imaginative mind, had grown up with no interaction, formally or otherwise, with the other members of her paternal or maternal family, and with only the vaguest notion that she even had a father. 

Teuquob’s deprivation was such that she was not even permitted to visit the family cemetery to pay her respects to her ancestors as it was required (customary) on the set most auspicious days. The rare exchange between her and her evasive father had always been formal and rather contrite to say the least. It was as though it pained him to spend any amount of time with her. Being a discerning soul, she would at times pick up on his curious soup of emotions: pity, kindness, righteous indignation, fear and something else she could not rightly say. She had obtained some solace from the notion however which Shutizan sometime prior had defiantly, put into her head: that the reason for his cold indifference was because Teuquob herself bore uncanny resemblance to her much beloved, deceased mother.

“He had to have loved her very much; and though re-married and fostered other children; he still could not forsake or forget his former wife.” Quite the romantic at heart, this notion therefore, from hence had carried her through the rough spots and made her privation in life more bearable.

Teuquob

Even in the aftermath of her presumed sole benefactor father’s untimely death, on his Majesty’s bidding, little else being invariable, Teuquob had continued with her enforced, sequestered lifestyle and restrictive, tedious private education from string of obdurate, mulish, close-minded and rather grim resident tutors. Despite the constricting sterile environment however, it’d still failed to stifle her creativity or inborn talents and so, by the age of twelve, her brilliance of mind had shown in her essays, dissertations, prose and lyric poems, rivaling the finest academics of her time.

                                                                                                 ~

 

When she was summoned by His Royal Highness Murong Di, deeming this the Heavenly favor that she’d long since prayed for that she was perhaps being finally recognized for her talents: with bursting, enthusiastic joy of someone about to be set free, she’d entered the closed carriage drawn by eight ebony thoroughbreds (pedigreed horses) that had been sent from the palace stables in ready anticipation of her compliance. 

Upon her presentation at court, this enchanting belle that had no equal, had at once transfixed all eyes and captivated all hearts. Many felt blessed, envisioning her to being an exquisite fairy descended directly from the Heavens. She had moved all except for one that is... His Royal Highness with a heart of granite, after scrutinizing her with his scornful, derisive, icy stare, had it formally proclaimed in an unconscionably cruel edict that in two weeks’ time she was to be wed to Lord Deng Hedenko. 

When the designated suitor’s name Hedenko, who was in absentia, was loudly pronounced- the resulting great shock, an undisguised cold shudder had at once permeated the tense atmosphere and rippled through the assembled body of obsequious ministers, Lords and courtiers alike, in Court.  In that all pervasive eerie silence, none daring to appeal on her behalf against this inhumane edict, they had instead with bowed heads exchanged covert, questioning sidelong glances, and then stole pitying glimpses at Teuquob.

In contrast to her outward submission and perfect composure however, inwardly, the flames of anguish and pain had in fact torn through her emotional defenses to sear Teuquob’s heart to cinders- for even she, sheltered as she’d been from the world, knew what that name stood for.  Even she knew of the pernicious and cruel exploits of this much dreaded and feared warlord! 

Lord Hedenko, a stout, belligerent man of thirty-four, was infinitely the most influential, most powerful man in the kingdom, second only to His Highness.  His ferocious appetite for blood could not be assuaged despite the countless savage, exceedingly barbaric exploits or truculent military campaigns during his unsurpassed, admittedly brilliant, meteoric rise in power and affluence. Even as a pre-teen young man he’d enjoyed the distinction of being notorious for his pugnacious disposition and unscrupulous, oftentimes spiteful acts of brutality in the traditional, championship games; and in general, during his life, indiscriminate abuse of both genders (men or women).   

DENG HEDENKO

Manipulative and devoid of the least compassion, Deng Hedenko had married more than nine times for financial and political gain only, fostering more than ten sons and two daughters by his many wives.  But only three of his wives had survived thus far, and they, if left sane at all, were rumored to be living in unenviable, under most wretched conditions.  Disposed to sudden bursts of temper oftentimes over the most unpredictable, trivial things, last year alone he had maliciously tortured and murdered two of his sons and a daughter on a whim. When his temper rose, and his pupils shone with that vicious gleam, then his intended victim, as good as dead, did not ask for clemency, but rather prayed for a swift and a merciful end.  Consequently, none envied any woman he’d elected to have as his bride, despite his enormous wealth and power.  Yet, this was exactly the fate His Royal Highness had opted for the fair maiden Teuquob, of whom covertly, through the palace grapevine, they had heard so much about, but only now laid eyes on.  In the grips of such a tyrant she could not be expected to last out the year. This was tantamount to, if not worse than the cruelest death sentence.

Upon hearing the dictum, rather verdict, “Why am I being so unjustly punished?” she’d asked in silence, holding back her tears.  “Why am I condemned to suffer such a horrible end?  What great crimes have I, or my father, committed to warrant such disdain from the king?”   Outwardly, however, with trembling breath and a lowered head Teuquob had voiced her obedience to His Royal Highness and as was required, thanked His Majesty for his regard and due benevolence.

                                                                                       ~

Even before her dismissal from court, the news about her had spread like wildfire within the Northern Pavilion.  All who felt the least compassion for her lamented her fate and sighed continuously or shook their heads in utter disbelief, some shedding sorrowful tears quietly on the side!

“How unlucky she is; hapless, ill-fated and ill-starred; what kind of deplorable curse is upon her!” She heard them bemoan and exclaim in wave upon wave amidst sighs and whispers behind her back as she’d willed her unsteady limbs to climb the steps to her private chamber.  “She is so beautiful, yet fated to such an untimely, tragic end.”

Her nanny Shutizan who had always been there to console her in her times of dire need, this time around, being way overcome with emotion and grief to be of any use, had hastily ran off to hide her tears from Teuquob.  Others at a loss to how best to console her, on some pretext or other, had also made themselves scarce. It was then that her courage had failed her!  Having nowhere to turn to, on that wretched, long, woeful evening, feeling forlorn and utterly alone, in bed Teuquob lamenting her fate had wept ceaselessly, soaking (dampening) her pillow with her streaming, bitter  tears till overcome with exhaustion, she’d drifted into a deep, disturbed sleep.  Then with her captive soul cruelly in the throngs of evil, she’d tossed and turned, assailed by the persistent, recurring nightmares that oftentimes drenched her in a cold sweat and startled her into wakefulness, denying her much needed respite.

 Each nightmare ended the same way, with Hedenko’s hands wrapped around her slender neck, ready to snap it into two like a dry twig while she gasped and struggled despondently for the life’s precious breath (air).

 

When Shutizan, called on Teuquob at sunrise the following morning she had had quite a fright at the sight of Teuquob’s condition.  Aroused to fury, she’d lamented bitterly her own folly, then lashing out at the already distraught attendants, she had roundly abused them all one by one for their negligence, even though she knew in her heart of hearts that they too had been rendered, by her own admission to Teuquob, as helpless in this matter as she!  Still, after she’d scolded the last one away, Shutizan had tended to frail Teuquob herself until at last her pallid face and sallow cheeks had reclaimed some of their normal pigment.

Cradling her in her arms and rocking her gently, the old nurse then confessed, “My dear child, you mustn’t think that I had forsaken you last night, far from it! Yes, I was way overcome with grief at first to be of much use and not wishing to frighten you further, I opted for solitude till I could compose myself and be restored to my senses; now I’m fully resolved to fighting this!”  At this point she abruptly stopped and, rising, went to listen at the door.  Ensured that no one had been eavesdropping, she returned and sat facing Teuquob on the edge of the latter’s bed.

“Listen carefully child, after an agonizingly long period of contemplation, faced with such dire circumstance, I’ve decided on the only, albeit disobedient recourse.” She announced with firm conviction in her voice.  “But I no longer care about fealty or my moral obligation to my Sovereign; nor am I afraid of the consequences, so incensed I am by this latent injustice and his unending cruelty!”  She shook her head, “Was it not enough that he ruined your poor mother’s happiness and drove her to an early grave?  Must he now also utterly ruin your life too?”

“Whatever do you mean, dear Nana?  How could His Majesty have anything to do with my mother’s tragic and early demise?  My father himself told me that she’d died shortly after I was born, because of an untreatable malady!” Teuquob sat upright, (somewhat) perturbed. Her heart palpitated wildly (as her pulse mounted) with the encroaching doubt and the ensuing wayward thoughts presently imbuing her brain. “My mother had a (coronary) stroke that ….”

nanny Shutizan

“You don’t understand, dear child.” Shutizan interrupted her with an abrupt gesture of her hand. “You have not been told the …. Oh, chuck it….! His Majesty is your real father!” Shutizan suddenly blurted it out.

“How can that be?” Teuquob eventually overcoming her shock reached out to cup her nana’s face and raised it, forcing a direct eye contact with her.

Shutizan suddenly left speechless, her eyes brimming with tears, all she could manage was an earnest nod of the head.  

“I do not believe it. No…You are deliberately trying to confuse me!” Teuquob vehemently shook her head, in utter disbelief. For embracing this fact would also mean that the truth, all past experiences, what she believed in, loved and cherished, even her scant relationships, in short, the foundations of her existence, for what’s worth, would have all been based on fabrication…Lies mounted on lies!!!

Averting her eyes, Shutizan, nodded. “I’m sorry dear, but as Heaven is my witness, it’s the truth. So many times, I wanted to tell you this: that His Majesty is your very own flesh and blood father; but I was bound by an oath that entrapped me in an unjust conspiracy of silence.  Oh, blessed, precious child...” Nodding her head she promised. “Regardless, I’m now resolved in disclosing, yes… disclosing all the enigmatic, missing facts, bits and pieces of personal history that had been kept from you that all the same you’ve been yearning to know.  Henceforth I shall withhold nothing. Finally, the time has come for the unequivocal unveiling of, though offensive as it may be, the ugly truth.  It’s only right that you should be informed!” She dropped her head and with her downcast gaze focused (pinned) on the floor, she mumbled, “Then, perhaps, you will comply, accede to my subsequent proposal (plan).” 

The rest of her words barely audibly, were uttered as if in self-assertion.  “Though it may be a slim chance, one never knows…? We may still beat the insurmountable odds to eventually succeed!” The ray of hope that had brushed her face had swiftly disappeared, at the same time Shutizan’s forehead creased with her mind anew beset with the onrush of countless pressing concerns.

“But never mind that now.”  Defiantly, she wiped the perspiration from her face and leaned forward to take the confused, distraught Teuquob’s hand in hers. Unclenching it, she stroked her palm and raising it to her lips affectionately kissed it repeatedly. In the aftermath of it, looking into the Teuquob’s eyes, Shutizan spoke with a slight tremble in her voice, “For years now I have stood by and watched helplessly how you, an innocent child was forced to suffer psychic, emotional depredation, a cruel intentional abuse from that biological, Royal father of yours.”  She shook her head, then swallowing her spit; in a barely audible voice she mumbled her suspicions. “Even your foster father, a victim in his own right, could do little in curbing, let alone amending the injustices…In the end as he, having genuine affections for you, became more and more indignant…well, maybe that’s what’d cost him his life…?” She bit her lip, then looking up, she confessed: “But only now, driven by desperation, I’m ashamed to admit it, have I found the courage to defy His Majesty.  Still, I’ve nursed you from birth to adulthood; I’ll be damned, pardon the profanity, if I let them ruin it all and throw my precious jewel so callously (into the pit) away!”

                                                                                                   ~

(New and exciting developments will continue in the next post of The Rescue- Section 8)