LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 4

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

 THE RESCUE- SECTION 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                    ~

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

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

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

                                                                                  ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                               ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                   ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This new development both unsettled and irked him.

                                                                                   ~

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

 

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

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 3

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE RESCUE- SECTION 3

                                                    

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                  ~ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                 ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What had she gotten herself into?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                            ~

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