LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 1

It seemed as if an immeasurable time had passed, since Nevetsecnuac had forged ahead towards Lord Shonne Gulbrand's province that lay on route to the Capital. 

All through his travels and encounters Nevetsecnuac noted the prevailing and encompassing currents of fear and despair that emanated from the perpetual clampdown on the population.  It was heart wrenching to observe the already ravaged individuals striving to survive under the tyrannical rule of the oppressive bureaucrats and their minions, who imposed impossibly burdensome taxes, conscript labor and military service on all.

 What was worse was the disheartening lack of backbone, never mind the least hope for a spark of rebellion or the smallest inkling of any insurgency rising from the piled ashes of these enslaved masses. 

The option of capitulating, however, was not in Nevetsecnuac’s vocabulary…. And could not be so! Resolutely therefore Nevetsecnuac had consoled himself through it all, reflecting on the indomitable spirit of the Wenjenkun nation and the invincible fabric that had once forged this great nation, hoping against hope that it will do so yet again under the right circumstance and leadership, perhaps in five if not in eight year’s time.

                                                                            ~

Alas, Heng Erling, by his action of luring Nevetsecnuac prematurely from his safe mountain abode had irrevocably altered the course of Wenjenkun’s History.

                                                                              ~

It so happens that bad weather particularly downpours have their own surprising advantages. One of which is, when torrential rains ruthlessly pelt the inhabitants no one, including heavily armed guards manning the gates at border provinces, be in any mood to be fastidious or vigilant.  And so, on such a dismal afternoon, Nevetsecnuac properly disguised, blended right in with a returning group of merchants and their servants leading their heavily laden carts with varied goods, passing right through, without least trouble, the first two checkpoints.

The long caravan (Nevetsecnuec was in) later still halted before the iron gates and waited for the prompt dispensing of the customary bribe by the group’s leader before passing unimpeded this and the final checkpoint and entered the territory of Gulbrand province.  As dusk was quickly approaching, the group picked up momentum and hastened along the dirt road towards the nearest habitation.

Nevetsecnuac inconspicuously separating (at this point) from the pack, arrived at a modest inn at the outskirts of the village. Checking into a room and ordering simple fare, he made discreet inquiries about the state of affairs in Moulon.

The fact that Gulbrand’s name was shunned, however, confirmed Nevetsecnuac’s worst fears about the Lord’s fate. To his added dismay he learned that the province’s current ruling tyrant bore the name Shouzi Yozdek.

On the third day there was finally a welcome reprieve from the persistent deluge.  Settling his account, Nevetsecnuac quickly retrieved his horse from the stables and led him by the reins to negotiate the winding, narrow gravel path that eventually led to the outlying fields. The mid-day sun’s golden rays, streaming from the cerulean sky free of any clouds, now bathed the fields with the last remnants of a harvest resting in haystacks.  It should have been a heartwarming scene but here as well, Nevetsecnuac noted the bitter oppression that seemed permanently etched on the solemn, miserable faces of the peasants bending over toiling the land which they will do from sunup to sunset. 

A few days later when Nevetsecnuac, riding his horse rounded an extended hill, he observed in a vast clearing the most surprising scene. There in the distance was a most extraordinary, fortified, affluent border town, with high, gleaming golden towers and imposing tall gates. Access to it could only be gained through a drawbridge constructed over a deep moat.  Though reason told him to bypass this provincial town, something else compelled him to urge his horse towards it.  Perhaps it was a sense of justice and duty that compelled him to find out the fate of Lord Shonne Gulbrand or at least determine where the Lord's remains now rested so that he could pay his final respects and offer sacrifices and prayers to the benevolent Lord's soul.

Eventually the narrow path he was following converged with other better traveled roads to become a major highway leading to the hub.  Just on the outskirts of the town however, before reaching the moat, some roads veered towards several inns of various sizes that were nestled in a sparsely wooded area.  From these establishments lively sounds and appetizing aromas assailed the travelers' ears and noses, inviting them inside. 

Unlike so many of his counterparts, Nevetsecnuac chose a respectable one, rented a room and entrusted his horse to the custody of the stable hands.  Foregoing his meal in his eager anticipation, he then left the premises on foot and blended in with the crowd streaming into the town through the eastern gate just before dusk. 

This being the Day of the Spirits, he found most of the streets thronging with people and carriages.  The clamor of their voices mingled with the din of the procession.  Locals, clothed in their brightly colored garments, carrying lamps and offerings to their dead were flooding into the temples, lit up like day, where invocations and prayers were being offered.

Trying to be inconspicuous, Nevetsecnuac moved to one of the less crowded temples to pay his respects to the dead.  Dispensing money in a bowl, he took some candles and offerings and placed them on the altar of the God of the underworld, Yaskur.  Kneeling, he then prayed for the souls of those long departed.

Suddenly his prayers were rudely interrupted by a rowdy bunch of eight provincial constables.  Disregarding the sanctity of the place, they had burst into the large hall and, in their inebriated state, surrounded a local merchant and began rising wild pandemonium.  The bullied merchant, trembling on his knees, with pearls of perspiration dripping from his forehead, pleaded his case as to why he was late with his promised bribe and offered to make amends to them.

"Too late for that now.” one scoffed, glowering at the poor, petrified merchant who was in the throes of explaining circumstances that had prevented the prompt delivery.

"How would it look if we made an exception?" The brute constable pinned his venomous eyes on the merchant and gnashed his teeth.

"Your crime is unpardonable!" a third bellowed, pushing his way to the front.  "Imagine, trying to hide in here!"

"Bind him.  You should be taught a lesson.” The group's leader (standing apart from the group) icily ejected his command.

"Have mercy!” the old shopkeeper pleaded with his throat constricting, shedding tears.  "This is the Night of the Spirits!  You know my word is good.  I will deliver as I’ve promised.  I will even surpass the difference; consider it a bonus for the trouble I've caused!  Honest, I wasn't going to run away!  I really, really lack the means now.  Just give me one more day…."  A furious slap just then across the merchant’s face silenced the old man.

"Shut up, squealing pig!  We've already been to your house." The deputy grabbed the merchant by the hair next, and spit into his face.

When the old priest rushed to intervene, he was shoved back so violently that he flew across the room, crashing into the far corner.

Biting his lip, Nevetsecnuac rushed to help the bruised and dizzy priest to his feet.  "Are you all right, Venerable Sir?” he whispered. 

“I’m all right, only my pride is bruised” The old priest nodded then casting a cautionary look at the other priests congregating in opposite corner. He shook his head as if to say to them, “Stay out of this and do nothing”. In response they lowered their heads and averted all eyes as they remained woodenly livid with a flush of crimson gradually overtaking their sallow cheeks.

Nevetsecnuac’s disciplined mind going against his innate response had also quickly checked his own outrage for it would not do for him, particularly at this juncture, to draw unwarranted attention by interfering.

The locals in the hall meanwhile had remained huddled together with ghostly faces and trembling in fear.  The one or two defiant young souls that strove to escape this dangerous circumstance drew instead the wrath of the irate constables.  In mid flight both were tripped, fell then were violently kicked and roundly abused. Bloodied and bruised they crawled to the safety of a dark corner.               

Another of the stout constables in the interim had taken up post in front of the door barring any possible exit. He now hollered to command attention, "No one is allowed to leave here 'till we're done.  You are all witnesses to his crime.” He pointed at the bloodied merchant that was still pinned down.   “Does he, or does he not deserve the severe hand of the law, I say a beating he’s received is not good enough!”

A forced murmur of assent reverberated in the temple, and the large hall seemed suddenly, suffocating, and small.

Nevetsecnuac's face flushed.  Unable to bear it any longer, he was about to step forward to give challenge when he felt his vest being tugged, holding him back.

Turning, he saw an elderly beggar in tattered, patched clothes flashing him a warning look from a face scored with wrinkles and scars.  Half hidden in the shadows, he whispered, "Don't be a fool!” in a pressing tone.

 Just then, another ten constables swarmed in, creating a greater panic in the temple.  The poor merchant was dragged outside, kicking and squealing like a pig being taken to the slaughterhouse.

"He's done for.", exclaimed a trembling voice beside Nevetsecnuac.

"We won't see him alive again, poor soul!” the distraught priest mournfully added as he walked away to join his fellows.

No sooner had the swarm of constables gone than the crowd in the temple hall, forsaking their purpose for being there, jostled to the door and disappeared in a flash.  The sounds outside grew quickly muted and then silence prevailed.

"What was his great crime?” Nevetsecnuac turned to ask the beggar, still crouched in the dark corner.

The beggar checked to see that they were the only souls that had remained on the scene then scoffed, "Crime?  He was only guilty of shortchanging his extortion payment.  Poor man, only yesterday he buried his wife.  He must have exhausted all his funds on her funeral."

 He rose to his feet.  Shaking his head in resignation he added, "This sort of bullying goes on unchecked all the time- best that we, too, disappear before more trouble follows."

Blocking the beggar's way, Nevetsecnuac bowed respectfully, introduced himself as "Svein" and thanked the beggar for his help in keeping him from potential disaster.  Unaccustomed to receiving kind greetings much less kind words, the beggar just shrugged off Nevetsecnuac's thanks.  But remaining on the spot the beggar squinted at Svein, curiously appraising his face and fine clothes.  Convinced of the younger man's sincerity and honesty, he then returned the greetings and introduced himself as Lu Moldan.

You must be a stranger to these parts.  Yes, you have traveled from far; Lu grasped at the truth without voicing his inner queries.

   "I don't mean to be singing my own praises but, sir; your intended action could have landed you in serious trouble.  You could have lost your life or worse, been imprisoned, severely beaten then tortured to death.  They would not have been as lenient with you as they were with Father Zuri.  We all know that these bastards travel in large groups, and that it was just a matter of time before the reinforcements showed up.  How else do you think they find the courage to carry out their lawlessness and vile acts?"

"But what of the lasting repercussions of law and order, surely there exists, some measure of accountability within the system, however corrupt?” The naïve and sanguine notion escaped Svein’s (Nevetsecnuac’s) lips before it could be curtailed.

"What law?  What order?"  Lu threw his head back with a guffaw.  "All officials, high and low are corrupt!  Where do you suppose all their illegal confiscations end up?  Are you kidding me?!!” He chortled; but then seeing Svein's flushed face, he softened, "You must have just arrived here son and that explains it."  The Beggar Lu in half disbelief (with some skepticism) studied this idealistic youth (Svein) more acutely before voicing his query, which he then quickly answered.  “You are from far, far away… the furthest rim, yes?” He nodded. "Well, this may not be the frontier, but, believe me, the situation is far worse here.  It has been that way for the last twelve, or is it fifteen, long, long excruciating years?”

“It’s been absolute hell for all who are living here… if it could be called that!  The corruption is so rampant, so imbedded in the provincial government that...  Ay!!!!” He waved a hand. “But then you must be wondering why endure such hardships, why not look for a better existence elsewhere.  Ah, but the poverty chains are so entrenched!” He shrugged.

“And so, we endure, wallow or lurch would be a more precise word, this trapped state being no better off than scavenging rats.  But you, you're a visitor and you must not linger here any longer than necessary.  Heed these words if you do not scorn my poverty: Trust no one.  Do not believe in anything you hear or see.  Conclude your business and be on your way as soon as you are able, that is if you do not wish to leave your head behind, on the executioner's block.  Of course I need not warn you about the constables."

"I'm most grateful for your concern, sir, and I will definitely heed your good counsel."  Svein (Nevetsecnuac) bowed with thanks then, after a moment's hesitation added, "As you are so kind as to trouble yourself with a mere stranger's well being, sir, may I impose further on your goodwill with a query?"

"Please do."

"Sir, my purpose in coming to this province has been to seek out Lord Shonne Gulbrand's burial place in order to pay my respects to the great Lord.  May I therefore..."

"What burial place?” the beggar snapped.  "There's no such thing."  Shaking his head in anger he laughed coldly and walked away a few steps.  Then he stopped, turned and scrutinized Svein's face.  He wanted very much to ask why one as young as Svein and an obvious stranger should be so concerned with the late Lord’s eventual resting place.  Instead, he said indignantly, "Your search would be in vain.  Even Lord Shonne Gulbrand's Centuries old ancestral burial plots, after surviving the ravages of time, had been vilely desecrated and obliterated into heaps of dust.  Nothing, nothing at all remains of his legacy, his family or his name.  Even his wife, sister to the emperor, has perished long, long time ago.  They are all gone, all without exception."

06- LU MOLDAN

Lu abruptly paused. Though he knew he was alone with Svein, his eyes still fearfully scanned the immediate perimeter before resuming in a hushed voice, "If that's your only purpose in coming here, son, you had best be on your way."  Lowering his grim face, he turned once more to go but, on reflection he stopped and, looking back, imparted his last words of advice to Svein, "Besides, it’s far too dangerous for you to be asking such questions around here, even after this length of time.  Now, leave well enough alone and be gone from this misbegotten province."  He clasped his stomach as pangs of hunger had stabbed at him just then.  Subsequently distracted, he turned quickly and hurried away.

"Oh, blasted hunger!” Nevetsecnuac faintly heard Lu swear to himself as he was drifting into the shadows. 

“What sacrilege!” Nevetsecnuac fumed thinking of Lord Shonne Gulbrand’s fate.  Then his thoughts turned to the beggar Lu, “An intriguing individual!” He mused.  “I'm certain he knows far more than he's letting on.  I wonder what relationship he bore to the late Lord to warrant such enduring loyalty.” Nevetsecnuac inwardly queried next, mindful of the heart’s fiery passion that the beggar’s tone could not conceal. 

 

Nevetsecnuac then quickly made up his mind. "Please wait up, sir!"  He rushed after Lu.

 For an old man the beggar had moved with the agility of a wildcat and, within seconds, had disappeared from view.  Veering round the corner Nevetsecnuac with his prowess quickly caught up with the beggar in a deserted alleyway. 

Laying a gentle hand on Lu's shoulder, he said, "Sir, I would be most honored if you would consent to dine with me.  I have not eaten a meal for quite some time; furthermore, I would be most appreciative of good company."

Tears of gratitude pricked Lu's eyes once he overcame his surprise, for he had not been treated with such kindness, such respect since the time when...it was so long ago he could barely recollect.  Averse to leaving this region, he had taken various odd jobs that others found too detestable or too hard to do.  With these skimpy earnings he had managed to carve out a meager existence in the past but, of late, he had found no such opportunities.  There were more desperate and fit workers than there were jobs.

His gaze shamefully fell on his own tattered and soiled clothes.  If the truth be known, his Lips had not touched a single grain of rice or even millet for the last three days, but he was too righteous to steal or beg.  Not that it would have done any good. Because of the recent set of adversities, even the pious that streamed into town at this festival period, had remained tight pursed.  

 Today of all days his despondency had finally driven him into the temple with the purpose of borrowing some of the offerings but, once there, he had relented on his planned sacrilege and had, just moments before the disturbance occurred, quietly resigned himself to death from starvation.  An invitation to dinner was a good fortune he had not dreamt of, although he understood well enough Svein's motive in wanting his company. 

Still, for the price of a small bowl of gruel, what Svein wanted could be given freely; there was no need for such generosity.

Could this be a ruse to entrap him? He mused.  Spies were planted everywhere as a rule, sending scores to the gallows every month.  But why would they bother with him after all this time and on such a night? He pondered.

 It might have been different once, but not now. He was too old and feeble to merit any fuss let alone the expense of a trial.  Assassins abound, they would have simply snuffed out his miserable Life long ago in some dark alley and be done with him.

A Dinner, well then with his Life so burdened with hardships, why should he fear death any longer? Besides this being the Spirits night, in this late an hour many would be too terrified of repercussions from avenging ghosts wondering about, to venture outside of the safety of their confines.  Hmm that also presented another difficulty, as many eating establishments would have long since been closed.  All except that one place at the outskirts of the …… Hm… So resolved Lu met Svein's eyes and nodded, "Sir, I would be most happy to oblige but, in all fairness, I must ask you to consider carefully what you are proposing."

Svein was adamant.

"Very well then, I will take us to a place where even Lord Yozdek's Militia would not dare show their faces.  Still, it may be a trifle costly.” Lu added, hemming and hawing.

"You are shaming me, sir, with such talk of money.” Svein responded.  "Let us be on our way without further ado."

 

(END OF SECTION 1)

                                                                                      ~

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE WEDDING - SECTION 3

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC 

THE WEDDING - SECTION 3

On approaching the thatched farmhouse which Yagu Dorka called home, Svein’s attention was at once drawn to the two fresh mounds of earth beside an older one on the east side.

“Oh, I could not even afford a proper burial coffin for them.” suddenly Yagu Dorka exclaimed in a sorrowful voice filled with remorse.  “God forgive me, but that was all I could do.  I had to bury them in their straw mats and offer prayers without the benefit of priests.  How could I wait, in this heat, and what hope did I have of getting extra money?  I had to think of the living.  I had to think of my grandson Kevin, sweet, sweet boy.”  This last was said in an incomprehensible mumble as he lapsed into brooding.

“What wretched souls!” Svein silently reflected.  His heart ached in sympathy for the old man.  He wished he could, in some way, have prevented this tragedy.

Nearing the partially decomposing outer structure (wood, thicket walls), Svein observed several large, gaping holes, some of which were covered by straw matting, while one or two, left untouched, allowed an advanced view to the interior.

“Yes, they did all that.” nodding, the old man reaffirmed Svein’s silent inquiry. 

“The back wall on the other side is still worse, that room is half exposed.  Half the roof, with no remaining support, has collapsed in on itself.”  A brief silence ensued as Yagu Dorka tightened his lips and shook his head.  “This place is now in ruins.  I was meaning to fix it up.  Still, what do I care about it now?  Thanks to you, son I will be leaving it at the first available opportunity.  Yes, the very moment I get my grandson; I will be gone, gone from this cursed place.”

The old man, in his eagerness to demonstrate the damage caused by the ruffians, had led Svein to the front in a roundabout way.  In contrast, the front looked remarkably intact and, upon entry, Svein saw the front room and kitchen were spared from damage, with only a few minor gaping holes. 

“The other rooms are not safe to stay in.”, Yagu Dorka explained, as he motioned to a mended chair for Svein to sit on.  “I’ve moved whatever was salvageable into these two rooms.”

 When the earth became mantled in darkness both men retired.  Svein refusing to take the old man’s brick bed took the uncomfortable straw mat on the dirt floor instead.  As he lay on it motionless, he brooded over various concerns.  What if the bandits do not keep their word?  How long should I wait for them?  Can I really spare the time?

 He knew he must tell none of this to his uncle, who had strictly forbidden him to interfere in stranger’s affairs.  Up until now without exception he had heeded (followed, obeyed) this rule.  Pangs of guilt, for this defiance, stabbed at his heart. 

But how could he do otherwise. His eyes darted over to the old man that had fallen asleep instantly the moment his head hit the straw pillow. But try as he might sleep had averted Svein. On top, there was this unbearable heat.  It would have been better for him to sleep outside; the air was stifling inside.  Only the occasional wind that streaked through the room from the cracks offered him some relief.

Swat!  Swat!  He slapped his cheek, then his arm to kill those menacing insects that were (feasting) gorging on his blood.  Blasted nuisance! He swore under his breath, his cheek still stinging from the hit.  What did they exist for, anyway, if not to make man’s life miserable? For a moment his thoughts reverted to the poor girl, reduced to living under such conditions.

Had she really been happy? Possibly yes, as she had not known any better. Swat!  Again, he landed his heavy hand over his nose, killing the culprit that dared to bite him there.  As if for proof, the droning of the insects both inside and out, grew in intensity as the night advanced.  Compounding this, the loud snoring of the old man, his larynx reverberating and gurgling with punctuated whistling, was enough to keep anyone from slumber.  Off to the side, the dim light of the lamp revealed the few hanging strips of dried vegetables that were now dotted densely with black insects.  Moths, dancing toward the light, carelessly burned their wings, adhering to the cracked, hot cover and expired. 

Though he craved more than anything to go sleep outside, in the end he resigned himself to enduring these most uncomfortable settings of hospitality. He quickly blew the light out and turned to his side now to hug the wall, but from the aperture at the base of the wall a pair of shiny eyes greeted him brazenly.

 “Shoo, go away!” but when it did not, to deter his aim, Svein after groping, picked up a piece of dried mud brick from the floor and forcefully wedged it into the crack.  Hours passed, as he turned and tossed.

“It’s no use, I’ll never get any sleep,” so saying, he sat up in the dark and leaning his back against the mud wall, he again mulled over some concerns.

 A parading string of pictures, each more gruesome than the other, flashed before his mind’s eye; then gradually succumbing to fatigue, his eyelids drooped and as he sat, he fell into a deep, disturbed slumber.  Barely was the first daylight manifest, when the churning hooves, belonging to several horses, were heard at the outside.

At once Svein sprang to his feet and peered through the hairline gap in the wall.  Recognizing some of them, his face grew dark (stern) and he seethed.  I had let them off too lightly, he hissed, if only I had known. Fortunately, only a small number of the group had responded to this raid, as the expected proceeds were comparatively too miniscule and too trivial to warrant more men.

Meanwhile the old man, hailed to, “Come outside with the money!” by the bandits, had hurried to dress himself.  Barely decent, Yagu Dorka, not daring to delay any further and clutching the allotted sum (of ransom money) to his chest, darted across the room and were about to open the door to rush outside, when Svein in lightning speed hastened to bar (obstruct) his way.

  “Sir, I must insist that you do not, as yet, go outside.”

Great beads of perspiration broke out on Yagu Dorka’s forehead and he hurriedly stammered, “Oh blessed sir, have you changed your mind about the money?”  Then, without giving Svein a chance to explain, he pleaded, “Please, oh please have pity on me and my grandson sir; don’t encumber (impede) me, I implore you to let me pass!”

“No elder, it is not a question of money.  All I ask is that you delay your response just long enough to peer through this hole in the wall and first make sure that your grandson is with them.”

 Something about Svein’s tone greatly alarmed Yagu Dorka.  His heart palpitating in fright, he rushed to the gap Svein had pointed to and looked through it with eager eyes.  His gaze panned not only the mounted bandit riders but also the surrounding area that was visible from the opening.  Sure enough, his grandson was nowhere to be seen.  The absence of Kevin could only mean... he could not bring himself to finish that thought.

With his worst fears realized, Yagu grew ghostly pale in the face, all strength drained from his body and his knees gave way.  Deep despair searing his heart, his body like a sack of potatoes, sunk to the ground. His blank stare affixed at the pouch containing money in his palms, he said nothing, did nothing. He cared little whether his life hung in the balance or that he was in peril. He cared not for the curses and threats issued at him from outside. 

His state of mind (present condition) greatly alarmed Svein.  “Forgive me, elder; please get a grip on yourself.  Things might not be as hopeless as they look.  Perhaps he is all right, but is kept elsewhere, to extort more money from you.” Svein hastened to reason with Yagu Dorka, but his words of encouragement did little to reassure now totally numbed Yagu Dorka.  One solitary fact reasserted itself over and over in Yagu Dorka’s mind. Since his grandson Kevin was not with them, it meant only one thing!

“Pull yourself together Elder and do as I say!” Svein’s stern, commanding voice suddenly snapped latter from his trance.

“Call out to them that you are too ill to get out from your bed, and ask them instead, to come in and get the money. Tell them you have it with you by your bedside.”

 “Why, why should I bother to…?”

“No time to explain, please do as I ask.” Svein grasping his shoulders shook some sense into Yagu Dorka.

Half convinced; the old man parroted out Svein’s words.

Hail of curses from outside showered heavily on the old man ordering him, threatening him, to quit playing games and show himself at once if he ever wished to see his grandson alive again.  Then one called Yari, showing impatience, dismounted from his horse and was heard saying, “Why waste your breath, brother?  Let me go get the money and finish off the old geezer.  Besides, I could do with a bit of fun.”  Yari, brandishing his sword, then kicked the door open and stepped inside.

YARI

Instantly the door was slammed shut behind him and he turned to face Svein.  Before he had a chance to utter a cry of surprise or launch an attack, he was knocked unconscious to the floor, so swift was Svein’s strike of the hand aimed at its mark.  That instant, the old man, finding courage and strength, snatched the fallen sword from the floor and began hacking indiscriminately at the bandit’s face, chest and throat.  Blood from the severed arteries spurted into the air, some of which heavily stained the old man’s face and clothes.  He looked at a gruesome sight as he donned a strange, mad glimmer of light in his eyes.

Svein, checking his surprise and horror, rushed to put a stop to the old man’s madness.

 “Let me go!” Yagu Dorka now whimpered in his half sane state.  “He was the one who raped Misa, the one who brought this on us!  I must avenge her death!”  This Yagu Dorka had time to say before another one named Koji sent on by their leader, not trusting the first one not to pocket some of the money, came through the door.  Again, Svein’s extraordinary speed and skill slammed the door shut and rendered this other one unconscious on the floor also.

With murder in his pupils, the old man launched at him now, to slice him open, to shed still more blood, but hastily Svein put a stop to it (stopped him) and asked, “Has he wronged you also?”

“No, I haven’t seen him before now.”

“Then, spare his life.” Svein reasoned, restraining (pinning down) the old man’s hand that gripped the bloodstained sword poised to strike.  “We need him alive for questioning if we are to learn of your grandson’s whereabouts.”

“So, you really think that there is a chance that he could still be alive?” Yagu Dorka, teary eyed, gawked at Svein.

Bellowed inquiry from the outside just then however, interrupted Svein’s cautious reply.

 The leader of the group was now demanding an explanation for the unreasonable delay as he agitatedly reared his horse.

KOJI

 Svein, taking some hemp ropes, quickly bound and gagged the prisoner then, applying his thumb and forefinger on the bandit’s nerve, he revived him.  The instant the bandit Koji regained consciousness, his response had been violent, with rage thrusting and kicking, trying to free himself from his restrictive ropes; his reaction quickly transformed to sheer terror however, when he noted the other bloodied body tugged at the far corner and fully comprehended his own dire predicament.  His grumbled curses and any cries for mercy or help, was effectively stifled by the well secured strip of cloth that ran across his mouth and knotted in back.  The man’s fear mounted when he suddenly recognized Svein.  His face grew ghostly pale and his body involuntarily convulsed.

 “So, you do remember me, after all.” Svein said to him with a mischievous grin.  The old man cast a surprise look at Svein. 

“This was one of the ones that’d tried to assault me on the road yesterday morning.” Without taking his eyes of the brigand Koji, Svein briefly explained.

 What’s this?  This remarkable youth singlehandedly had survived their attack prior.

Yagu Dorka’s mouth hung, in utter amazement; consequently, he grew more confident of Svein’s abilities.

The bound bandit, meanwhile, trembling much like a leaf in a fierce storm, with a muffled whimper, which was all he could manage, urged Svein to free his mouth, as he had something to say.

“First, give me your word, you won’t shout?”

When Koji nodded eagerly in earnest, Svein untied the narrow band. True to his word the ruffian Koji did not cry out, rather, stripped of his previous courage and poise, he now begged Svein to show him mercy and spare his life.

 “I’ll do anything you ask of me,” Koji promised, “just spare my life.”

“Sure,” Yagu Dorka hissed skeptically, “how the wretch now sings.  I suppose you would take arms against your own kind as well if he asked you to. Don’t listen to him.” He then urged Svein, “for the very moment your back is turned, or he got the upper hand, he’ll skin you alive.”

“May I rot in hell if I am trying to deceive you, sir.” Koji ignoring Yagu Dorka, responded.  “Please pay no heed to this senile old man’s words.  I’m in earnest.  I’ll do whatever you ask of me, just spare my life.”

“Senile old man eh, you, contemptuous rot?” infuriated, Yagu Dorka landed his clenched fist in the bandit’s face, breaking the other’s lip.  Blood trickled down his chin.

 If it weren’t for Svein’s timely intervention, grabbing hold of Yagu Dorka’s again striking fist in midstream, Koji’s face would have been pulverized to a pulp, under such wrathful blows.

 Just then the hollered impatient inquiry outside drew both their attention.  The neighing of horses and the restless hooves churning the soil in response to their masters’ growing unease anew (cast) flew Yagu Dorka into sheer panic; but this outcome also had been anticipated by Svein and it fell well within the bounds of his already conceived plan of action.

 It was, of course, imperative that those at the outside should not be prematurely alerted; it would not bode well if one was to flee (take off) with the purpose of fetching reinforcements.  For the certainty of success, the outlaws had to be lured into the hut one at a time.

“We are nearly done.  The old geezer has hidden the money, but we are giving him a good lesson he soon won’t forget!” the bound bandit Koji, now shouted in accordance with Svein’s instructions.

“Never mind about the lesson, just hurry up and finish him off!  We haven’t got all day.” bellowed the impatient leader outside.  This timely exchange had halted the other about to alight and go forth to investigate, but though they waited, and waited still no one emerged from the hut.

“Now what the devil are they up to?” The infuriated leader, Seno, questioned the air with his growing suspicion.  “Wonder what they are cooking on the sly?”

SENO

“Roux, watch our mount.”, so ordering, Seno, on his signal, both he and Nuor dismounted.

As Nuor stealthily went round the back, Seno, brandishing his sword, rushed in simultaneously from the front. But Svein was ready for them both.  In a swift strike, Nuor was cut down at once. Seno meanwhile upon entry in that split second sizing up the situation, with his agility had successfully deflected the deadly blow and jumping back with his solid stance now, confronted Svein.  “So, it’s you!” His broad sardonic smile showed a few rotten teeth up front.

 “And I see… You have come back for more, have you?  But, ha, I won’t go so easy on you this time.”, so promising, he launched his deadly assault on Svein.

 Seno was a seasoned, competent fighter and wielded his sword with consummate skill.  Having had more than his fair share of victories, he’d deemed it an unlucky fluke that he’d been unable to best Svein at his earlier brush with him.  He grinned with sure confidence, noting the sword Svein was wielding now; and true enough, with his next preemptive strike he decimated it, shattering the blade in two.  But, in lighting speed, Svein, freeing the other sword from Nuor’s frozen grasp, parried Seno’s deadly strike and subsequent repeated blows; and even managed to strike back with equal equanimity, agility and force notwithstanding his inferior blade.  The small, thatched shack shook from its foundation, battered by the expended energy arising from the earth-shaking combat.

Just then Svein, finding an opening, landed on the other a powerful, swift kick that hurled the enormous body of Seno to the corner of the room.  Seno, though dizzied, ignoring his pain, sprung to his feet unhampered, then with a maddening craze in his eyes, thrust his leveled sword straight at Svein’s chest.  “Ha!  Take that!”  But, again, Svein parried the sword and affected on the other a strike of his own. 

This time Seno had narrowly escaped with his life after Svein’s sword grazed his chest, right across, in a good, clean line.  From the shallow wound the oozing blood stained his light-colored garments.  As Seno had jumped back to safety, his murderous eyes affixed on Svein, with a deliberate slowness he now dipped his index finger to his wound, and then, raising it to his lips he licked it clean.  With a scowling face, he threw his head back and laughed uproariously.

“Not bad, not bad at all. “Then, seizing a sly moment he swung his sword around to again strike at Svein.

Svein, matching the speed, warded off this blow as well, as at the same time, diverted the momentum of the other’s force to throw Seno of balance and ultimately off his feet.  This Svein had done as he shouted, “I’d like to oblige you with a lengthier fight, but, perhaps at some other time.”

 Seno now properly ticked off, somersaulted (cartwheeled) a precise maneuver to terminate this pest; instead, he barely escaped the lightning strike from Svein only to have the back of his head hit, with force, the solid projection on the wall, and end up pinned to the wall, his dangling body twitching owing to severe brain injury and a cracked skull.

Just then the one called Roux- alarmed by the sounds of the fighting within cabin, after haphazardly tethering the horses- brandishing his sword violently kicked open the door and burst in.  As the younger brother to Seno, seeing his brother in such a state, Rou now with wrathful rage launched his deadly onslaught on Svein. His ceaseless attacks were all fast and furious! As he also excelled in arms and being quite nimble, the mortal combat between the two shook the dilapidated hut from its foundation yet again.

ROUX

 Roux at one point having successfully averted Svein’s retaliatory blows, in about turn delivered one of his most lethal offensives on Svein; only by a hair’s breadth, had Svein escaped certain death!

As the two clashed swords violently, they fought more than ten rounds before the fighting spilled over to the outside.  Now the bandit, in part demoralized by Svein’s consummate skill, sought to escape this futile situation to get help.

“Stop running and fight, you coward!” Svein shouted after Roux as he chased him towards the horses.  In fury, the bandit veered to meet his adversary’s challenge, since the last of the spooked horses had already broken free and ran out of his reach.

“You’re talking to me, you worm?” Roux bellowed back and with curses on his breath, he pounced on Svein.  Dodging each strike, Svein using his sword’s handle landed Roux one of his own successful hits (blow) right between the brows which almost rendered the bandit senseless.  Roux back flipped (sprung back) to land with his feet apart, in safe distance, shook his head to gain his focus, and then with renewed vigor he again lunged at the opponent.  But having lost the momentum, each of his deadly offensives was rendered ineffectual and he was being manhandled in such a way that he looked the very fool. 

As his fury mounted, the bandit’s escalated tackle and heightened deadly strikes grew still more reckless (rash, careless).  Had he been in on the previous morning’s assault on Svein he would have known just what he was up against. As it were, little by little he (his energy and skill) was being spent, while the opponent showed no sign of tiring or slowing down.

Meanwhile back at the hut, as consequence of the previous scuffle, a dislodged red-hot coal from the cooking stove had rolled across the floor to be arrested beside the edge of the straw mat and unfortunately some other scattered inflammable debris. By the time Yagu Dorka, who’d momentarily been distracted by the deadly fray outside wizened to this, in that dry heat the instigator of fire (trigger) had already burst into an unmanageable inferno and began consuming everything in its path.  Yagu Dorka’s frantic efforts all in vain (to no avail), the billowing smoke began pouring out from the orifices of the hut. 

This added a new urgency for Svein to finalize the combat and go lend a hand to those that might still be trapped inside. Immediately Svein left the bested, unconscious Roux where he lay and hastened to the inside; right away the fractional wall of fire stung his eyes, obscuring his vision and constricting his lungs. Undeterred, again he called out to Yagu Dorka; receiving no answer, he then with the covered head and shielding his tearing eyes, dived straight through the coiling, haze of fire and smoke that was well on its way to spreading to the adjacent rooms.  Quick search revealed that Yagu Dorka was nowhere to be seen; meanwhile, a faint stir came from the far corner where the bound Koji, barely conscious, lay.  Svein pulled him to safety (to outside) just in nick of time before the ceiling collapsed in and the whole room engulfed by the searing flames turned into a deathtrap.  A dreadful stench reached the outside as the bandits’ corpses were committed to the flames.  Leaping flames raged and crackled, with fiery tongues licking, consuming the scant remaining structures.

Being prevented from another entry, Svein then had circled the hut to the rear, with the intention of searching the back rooms from there.  The gruesome sight that greeted him there stunned his senses even more.  In horror, Svein rushed to put a stop to the savagery.

“Old man, why?”, angrily he then demanded as he held back Yagu Dorka’s bloodied hand, still grasping the heart of decapitated Seno, while forcing the other hand of Yagu Dorka from Seno’s chest cavity as it groped for still more fresh organs.

 “Have you gone mad?  Let go of it!” he shouted at Yagu Dorka, trying to shake some sense into him.  “How could you do such a barbaric thing?”

But Svein’s words were not heard by the old man who, bearing a strange expression on his face and a fiendish gleam in his eyes, stared stupidly at Svein.  Then his gaze turned to the torn heart in his grasp.  He stared blankly at it while his lips parted in a sinister smile.  After a spell of time, he suddenly gave out a piercing shriek that rose above the roar of the flames and, with fright, tossed the organ from his hand.  Collapsing on the ground, he began to sob uncontrollably, with rippling tremors going through his body.

Svein tried to constrain his ill-feelings towards the old man, not at all convinced of the other’s sincerity of remorse, so he turned his head away and spared no words of solace.  Mindful of the bandits he had left outside (at front), one especially, unconscious but unbound; he then went to tend to that chore. 

When he returned, he found that Yagu Dorka had stopped crying, but his face carried a somber, almost angry, expression, a thing which he tried to conceal from Svein.

Yagu Dorka, somewhat ashamed, now tried to explain, “My poor son, I had to avenge him, only then could his soul find rest in the underworld.  His assailant had to pay!”  Then, cupping his face once more, he began to weep and wail, “My poor son.  Why did you have to be lost to me in the prime of your life?  How can I go on without you?”

 When Svein responded only in silence, Yagu Dorka raised his teary face and pitifully investigated Svein’s eyes for absolution.

 “I had to do it.  You can see that, can’t you?  How else could I free my son from his bondage of shame?”

Swallowing his resentment, Svein now moved to console the old man, making a pretense of understanding the other’s point of view.  But, once more they differed when Svein wanted to give burial to Seno’s decapitated corpse.  The old man raised strong objection, “Why can’t we just throw the bastard into the fires?  What use is it without a head anyway and I will not...”  Not completing his statement, he, with the certain agility of a young man, grabbed the discarded heart and rushing over, hurled it into the fire, invoking his son’s name for him to reclaim it.

“There, no head, no heart, go ahead bury the bastard, for all the good it will do!” He then defiantly growled at Svein.

Svein was thoroughly disgusted by this unrepentant, stark (show) display of inhumanity.  As a young man in his mid-teens, he carried an idealistic heart and believed that all men by nature were born good and noble.  Only the circumstances of their lives molded them to exercise evil and harm others.  Brought up to show patience, tolerance, and dispense justice, even to the lowest forms of life, he could not understand the old man’s cruel ways that bordered on savagery.

 In time with age and experience, he would (of course) lose this naïve outlook; at the moment however, being left with no other option, with reluctance he carried the remains of Seno into the future path of the fire.

When Svein again went to look in on the now conscious bound prisoners Ko and Rou, and questioned them they, in fear of their lives, and upon Svein’s promise to spare them if they talked, readily volunteered all the pertinent information Svein needed to recover the grandson of Yagu Dorka; the identity and exact whereabouts of the farmer to whom the boy had been sold to as a slave, via an agent innkeeper.

“Now, elder, I have given them my word, therefore, it’s imperative that no harm comes to them.” Svein ejected with a resolute, stern tone. “They are secure and can remain there by that tree, till later, for the proper authorities to handle. To win us the advantage I shall go and capture that white steed that is still hanging about.  See, by that tree?”  With that he gestured, pointing directly to the far edge of the rocky terrain.

 Though Yagu Dorka was aged, his eyesight was keen as ever and at once he spotted the animal happily grazing beside an ancient tree.

“Why that’s the leader, Seno’s horse.” Yagu Dorka nodded with approval, pretending to know about horses when, in fact, he had never even ridden one.  “He is a fine horse.  He could carry us both with ease, and cover great distances, too.  It would really be nice, if you could catch him.”

“When I return with this steed,” Svein overlooking the old man’s skepticism, resumed. “We must embark on this journey at once and liberate your grandson; notwithstanding this, I am rather sorry you have lost all your possessions in that fire.”

“Never mind about that, I still have with me all that I need.” Yagu Dorka gratefully produced the money purse.

“Very well” Svein strode forward. “Now elder, remember they must not be harmed!” Some ways off, half turning, he shouted back, and then hastened towards his goal.

With reluctance, the old man had voiced his assent after Svein, “All right, son.  They don’t deserve to live but, since you insist.”

Then giving his back to Svein, he’d glared in the direction of the captives as he voiced his dissent. “In a pig’s eye, I will! …it’s all (very proper) well and good for   him to be so compassionate, so generous, but he is still too young to know any better. He does not yet know all the evil ways of men.”

 

(END OF SECTION 3)