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 TRIP TO THE MONASTERY - SECTION 2

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

 THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY

SECTION 2

 

 Anticipating tad spare time before their so-called admittance to the grounds, Stark, dawning a patient, placating smile, succinctly and in measured tone next imparted to Teuquob of the fierce struggle that had lasted for more than two hundred years of Wenjenkun’s history between some eighteen religious sects- with the resultant, subsequent fortifications. “Regrettably,” he then reiterated, “at the conclusion of this bloody, turbulent era, thirteen sects with their ritualistic practices, had ceased to exist and their places of worship, along with untold, ancient books bearing incalculable wisdom, rare works of art, had all been incinerated or razed to dust. “

The subsisting five, adopting cautionary measures, had consequently sought to gain the patronage of the reigning monarchs and their overlords. Having succeeded in this aim, these religious orders had for a time enjoyed exemptions from all levies, conscript labor, and further boon, became the recipient beneficiaries of abounding lush tariffs and precious offerings. Naturally, they had flourished in both power and opulence, with their resounding vast religious spheres of influence lasting for decades. When the last sovereign faced the danger of usurpation from Field Marshall Zuronghan and once more the entire country was cast into turmoil by the warfare (skirmishing) between loyalists and supporters of the Field Marshall, these five sects had remained in aloof obscurity, claiming vacillating, irresolute allegiances, pending of course on the outcome of latent battle- to the portended victor.  As a result, they had been spared but only just, from the wrath and the subsequent bloodletting that had ravaged the country from then eventual, victorious Zuronghan, in the wake of his irrevocable ascent to the throne. 

Kept under a watchful eye, the small number of temples belonging to these five sects, scattered throughout, in remote, high altitude, inaccessible settings, were allowed to persevere with their precarious existence. Heaven’s Gate Spiritual Temple being one such, only the most devout, well-endowed pilgrims undertook such a daunting task of the trek to here, during the short summer months, as this also happened to be the safest time. Gone were the days when mass amounts of pilgrims, despite the distance and grueling aspects of travel to such heights, still made the journey required for their soul’s eternal salvation. Then also in those bygone days, the steady streams of rich carriages, mounted gentry and ordinary folk on foot, beasts of burden laden with bribes, gifts, and offerings - all contended for space on these narrow stairways leading up to the Temple.

According to each pilgrim’s means- typically sometimes these important guests staying the entire two months - certain provisions would be made within the temple grounds for their suitable accommodation. Private apartments, set in enclosures within the high walls, affording them both privacy and comfort, each with countless rooms complete with kitchen and courtyard, during high season these would be thronged with incessant, beehive activity as most influential guests came equipped with their large entourage of wives, children, stewards, servants, and slaves.

These compounds stood vacant for the ten remaining months of the year; but during high season these and the rest of temple grounds came alive liken to the sleeping giant being awakened. Days were filled with the most elaborate set of ceremonies of worship, whether it is for the sake of the ancestors, or for specific deities, or for other sacrifices. The nights were reserved for modest vegetarian feasting sometimes lasting till dawn, in the wake of charged spiritual lectures, and grueling nocturnal sacred rituals that invigorated the appetite.

At appointed times during the week the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, aged 89 years and who, like his predecessors, laid claim to immortality, presided over the grandest of ceremonies. At this time, acting as host (emcee), His Eminence, through his silent prayers, directly communicated the requests of his guests to the appropriate God in charge.  For all this, privilege the guests paid handsomely.

Indeed, with those days long gone, some aspects remaining the same, the Temple welcomed the devout, affluent few during the summer months; whilst for the remainder, the inaccessible Sanctuary banned ingress to all supplicates. During such isolation, The Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, Prior Sckeno, Precentor Steran, Sacrist Yun, Hosteller Ruwo, Almoner Qure, Celarer Wou, Infirmarian Wuno were proficient in their various tasks. In addition, they and the junior priests along with the novices devoted their time to highly regiment cleansing rituals, prayers and other such cultivation of their souls. Each had to partake in grueling martial exercises, to strengthen the body as well. For humility, no task being too minuscule, they took turns in overseeing certain necessary chores such as working in the kitchens, dormitory, granary, lavatory, infirmary, as grounds’ keeper, work on building repair and so forth. They would cultivate gardens medicinal or otherwise, copy ancient manuscripts, practice art and calligraphy, meditate, and do mental exercises to keep in top physical and mental form.

Notwithstanding, for the purposes of security, Stark had deliberately chosen this particular period, of early spring, to gain admittance to the temple grounds.

The guards at the outposts, positioned in accordance with the four directions of the earth, had already forwarded notice of their approach to the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn. On His Holinesses’ explicit orders, no contradictory action had been taken to dissuade or impede their progress; nevertheless, as added precaution the party had still been detained at the gate house for a spell whilst pertinent things were sorted out.

Most intrigued, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, carefully observing the said object, to ascertain its validity, inwardly questioned, why would latter take such a risk, what indeed propelled him for this dangerous precedence? Then after some moments of thoughtful deliberation, shrugged, He would learn of the reasons soon enough.

His Holiness then gave his consent for their admittance and issued the orders to his subordinates accordingly. All inconvenienced, the monks hurried the novices to open apartments and make ready the necessary rooms to receive the guests.  Meanwhile Stark, Svein and Teuquob were directed to the waiting hall where, with great courtesy, they were shown to their seats and promptly served some fragrant, herbal tea. The horse had already been led away to the stables to be properly looked after there.

 No sooner had the guests finished their hot tea and the cups had been cleared away, then a priest calling himself Lucon, accompanied by subordinate monks, came forth to make official introductions and to extend prescribed greetings and felicitations.

LUKON

 It was then that prudent Stark, deciding on the spur of the moment, had introduced Teuquob and Svein as his offspring.

 Looking at them askew, Stark presently concluded, that the two were indeed most believable as siblings, so, none would question the validity of his claim.

 As the subordinate monks stood to the side, prudish Lucon acting in capacity as the spokesperson for the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, promptly relayed next his superior’s formal greetings, offered proper apologies and gave succinct reasons as to why his superior was presently indisposed to receiving them in person.  

Stark in keeping with this façade, with humble, yet grave demeanor, consistent with protocol- satisfied latter’s subsequent, circumspect inquiries, by offering his apologies in conjunction with his pseudo reasons for their inconvenient (ill-timed), yet compulsory intrusion.

Svein a quick study, had followed suit and played along his part admirably.

For even in this House of Gods, there might dwell unseen eyes and ears of a mole, a conduit for the sweeping tentacles of the reigning monarch that was known for his mistrustful nature.

Allegedly much in demand, Lucon, professing his apologies, had then regrettably entrusted his guests to a disciple Lu and took his leave.

Disciple Lu armed with a bound book and writing implements, first dipped his brush in ink and then promptly, with apt efficiency registered in shorthand script form, all the pertinent facts concerning their visit, their immediate and long-term requirements, the planned length of their stay and so forth. After thanking Stark and extending his assurance of speedy compliance with all the noted requirements, he also took his leave.

 Senior Monk named Fayet subsequently coming forth to introduce himself; he then announced that he was entrusted with the task of overseeing to all their personal requirements and needs during the length of their stay.

After their luggage was assiduously carried away by minion novices, portentous Fayet then ushered the honored guests to their hastily prepared quarters. On the way he apologized profusely for the lack of a welcoming committee, and later still, for the inaptness of their rooms, hinting, with brazen audacity, that more appropriate quarters could have been duly arranged had they only abided by the rules and came at the allocated time. Expressing astonishment cloaked in genuine concern, he then blabbed on endlessly about prior patrons that had sought the same but had been typically denied entry and in one or two such instances with the resultant, totally unwarranted reprisals/retaliation, which had been to their person.

SENIOR MONK FAYET

Lost in his own head, he continued mumbling to himself in audible form and venturing a guess that,  surely Stark’s manner of speech that had marked him as a man of great learning and of high position, and that his company also being seemingly significant personages- again deviating from norm of the prescribed rules of their order- they had been exempted from the forthright inquiry into their ability to meet the anticipated expenses.

Though annoyed, Stark kept his temper in check with this inconsistent monk, who with his persistent, not so subtle prying, sought to gain certain insights as to their person and endeavor.

After Stark, Svein and Teuquob were settled in their adjacent quarters they were left to refresh (clean up), have a change of clothing and take some well-earned rest.

The following day they received the expected invitation from the Prior to call on Abbot Boqast   Tizanzenn. Their visit to him, though brief, was still most informative and harmonious.

ABBOT BOQAST TIZANZENN

 Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn brilliant, quite discerning, and wise, was a most spontaneous, charming, unassuming and unconventional priest.  Despite his advanced age of over eighty (89), he was charged with energy and talked and moved with the vitality of a young man. His high office gave him no superior airs and he carried the humblest view of life.

 From the first, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn had pretended and so treated Stark as though a new acquaintance, mere stranger; nevertheless, an influential person of means and a potential benefactor, decidedly one held in favor with the present Sovereign and so well deserving of deferential treatment.  This had been enough, though not entirely, to dissuade many resident monks, from unwarranted questions and interest.

 The next evening, according to protocol, the second invite had followed, requesting Stark, his son Svein and daughter Teuquob’s presence at a small ceremonial dinner in the secluded Jade and Gold Harmony Hall.  At this informal gathering the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, coming forward to greet Stark personally, had first inquired after the other’s health and comfort then escorted Stark to the place of honor, on the podium, to seat right next to him. 

Carefully selected small, combined group of covert loyalists, trustworthy associates and other such notable priests that were present, in response to this well calculated feat; expectantly, with their curiosity peaked, they strained their eyes and sharpened their wits, and so easily ingested, regurgitated, the ensued, so-called vital info pertaining to their guests. An accomplished mean, those suspect spies rested easy in mind, that Stark had to have been an influential personage in covert service of reigning monarch, and therefore, one not to be further prod, to be crossed, (to be trifled with,) or informed upon.

All through dinner, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, endowed with a special gift of the gab, chatted amicably, cryptically with Stark, with nonbeing the wiser; and both in turn was apprised of the most recent developments, in that assumed role of honored guest and host. 

Also deceived, Svein took delight in the animated ease with which two brilliant minds Stark and His Holiness, conversed, in contrast to Stark’s usual reserved air. The contagious sincerity of delightful smiles and harmonious chatter permeated throughout the night, as they partook in that simple, yet most enjoyable fare.

Subsequent morning Stark received the customary request to provide the list of names for which he wished prayers to be offered to, by His Holiness. Stark quickly overcoming the slight mishap, completed the unusual list on the offertory paper provided, in Svein’s presence, so that he too will be in the know. After placing the information in a sealed envelope which had been courteously provided to ensure the guests a certain measure of privacy, Stark then summoned Fayet and handed it over, to be delivered to the hand of the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn himself.

All during, owing to his training, Svein had most admirably masked his surprise, conducting himself with certain decorum. The instant Fayet and the attendant novices had cleared the room, Stark turning his attention back on Svein, his face bearing the strangest of expressions and forcing a half smile to his lips, he then said, “I am disposed to answer any questions you may wish to pose regarding the list, Svein.”

This unexpected turn threw Svein into a quandary. True, it was his wish to learn who the third name on the list had been, “Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon” that of which his uncle had inadvertently, what it seemed to have been a moment’s lapsed judgment, had in encrypted form written it down, but then quickly, most meticulously taken the pains to permanently erase all traces of it, and supplanting it with “Furen  Bevrad ”.  First, he had ever seen of it, Svein had been rather perplexed by this presumably mystery relation or clansman bearing the surname Zhon?  More pressingly however, he wanted to know why had Stark, forgoing precaution, had written first on the list, albeit in encrypted form, the late Sovereigns name?

But, abandoning his curiosity of the first issue for the sake of the second and the disquiet it entailed, he replied, “Uncle, please forgive my audacity, but I must question the prudence…. umm, the first name on the list.….? Sir, I meant to say, how you can be ascertained of His Holiness’s….?”” Svein abruptly fell silent, noting Stark’s sudden stern expression, liken to gathering storm, as all color drained from latter’s face.

Now he’s s gone and done it; his uncle was furious with him! 

But, before Svein could explain, “Svein, by your words you have disgraced His Eminence and me.”  Stark’s icy retort resounded in the air. Then quickly curtailing his fury, he hissed: “I am aware of the far-reaching tentacles of that usurper, that villainous, self-proclaimed monarch who now sits falsely on the Celestial Throne...! How dare you be so impertinent as to question the soundness of my judgment?”

STARK

 Too choked up to continue, he abruptly rose and, with a sweep of his sleeves, left the room.

Svein was left in a most distraught state. Seated motionless in his chair, his head hung low, and his eyes stared blankly at the floor.  But his agony was not prolonged, as Stark, in an unexpected turn, re-entered the room in a more calmed state. Svein rushed to kneel before his uncle, offering his most humble apologies, “Forgive me, uncle, for speaking out of turn as I did just now!”

 “How do you suppose, in all the years of seeming isolation, I have been apprised of the most recent, pertinent developments? And where do you think most of your manuscripts that you have so diligently studied, were sourced from?” Stark drawing close whispered in Svein’s ear, same time offering a conciliatory hand, raised Svein to his feet. “Dear nephew, please do not burden yourself further with worry as it was only for a moment, that I had the lapse of judgment, before quickly rectifying it. But you are not entirely in the wrong; for as far as I can note, and His Eminence expressed the same, even in this remote segment, there have been some minor infractions, so called infiltration by the questionable, noted few. But as I understand it, they shall soon, along with their accomplices, be expunged.”

Once more seated, Stark thoughtfully stroked his beard and, after some time, added, “Meanwhile, we continue as before, only, despite all seeming appearances be more vigilant. Teuquob must be apprised of the developments also, especially, where that monk Fa, is concerned.”  Svein nodded his compliance; for Stark needed no further words to make clear his meaning.

But was it an oversight, Svein inwardly queried, why had Fa been assigned to such close quarters, to oversee their personal needs!

 “Sometimes it is better to keep those questionable beings in closer proximity, so as to steer them to the course of seemingly plausible misinformation.” Stark, anticipating this also, simply shrugged. “Regardless, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn is a discerning man, I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“As for the other matter,” Stark then strove to explain, “I am most appreciative of the tact you have demonstrated, despite your curious nature, and the way you have admirably abstained, even now, from questioning me on the supplanted name. I can therefore give you this assurance, when the timing is right, in not-too-distant future, you shall be apprised of the facts, and that is to say, your quandary shall be resolved.” However, Stark falling silent, inwardly professed, I could not leave out the first cryptic name off the list that was non-negotiable!

 “Nevertheless, “he then added in measured tone. “bear in mind that so long as I live and breathe, I was once, and still am, His Late Highness Zuronghan  Therran Valamir’s vassal and, as a son bears absolute loyalty to his father, so must every subject to their Leigh.”

He lapsed into prolonged silence thinking, “By rights, when His Royal Highness ascended into the heavens, I should have followed him there to serve him in the afterlife. But, alas, I must endure this great shame and go on living in this world of shadows a little while longer, because I was entrusted with the responsibility of caring for you, the last of your father’s line and, since I had given my most powerful oath to your father long before this great injustice to my Sovereign, I was bound by honor to keep it. But, once my obligation is fulfilled, and I am free…” Looking away, he again inwardly reiterated. “Yes, only then, can I join my beloved Sovereign and be able to carry peace and contentment in my heart.”

 Emotionally charged, thinking of his forsaken son, his eyelids just then brimmed with tears. But a long time ago Stark had dispatched orders that no action should be taken and in so doing, inevitably condemned his own flesh and blood to a lifetime of misery. The up-to-date news from Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn had again rehashed old wounds. He had hoped and prayed that his son would be spared and his life extinguished long ago. But all this time he had been kept alive, just barely, in a dungeon. Years of torment had so maimed and disfigured   Bern Teodemer Lothair, that informant had been repulsed by the gruesome image (that greeted his eyes), the prisoner more an animal than a being.

Pitying him, he had had entertained the notion of defiance and somehow effect a mercy killing.  Still kept as a decoy to draw Stark or his supporters out, Bern Teodemer Lothair had been so well guarded however, that the informant reluctantly in the end had aborted the intent.

This (fact that so little can be done) had always weighed heavily on Stark’s conscience and now even in this place all he could offer was his silent prayers of solace and perhaps a quick end to his son’s life. But that would not be (happening, transpire); he knew the extent of Zakhertan Yozdek’s barbarism.

All this while, an unspeakable sorrow had also grazed Svein’s heart, as he with shame, presently bowed his head in thoughtful silence. The grave atmosphere of the room dense with raw emotions was suddenly startled, when Teuquob just then knocked at the door and asked permission to enter.

 Before Stark, now composed, voiced his consent, he turned to Svein and mumbled, “Teuquob need not know, the entirety of the list.” 

Svein nodded his head, in understanding. He wished to say more to his uncle, but words failed him. Stark gave a placating smile as he looked sympathetically into the young man’s eyes then, remembering Teuquob at the door, called out to her, his permission to enter.

                                                                                                ~

(Stay tuned, for there’ll be more unexpected and amusing developments unfolding in the next post  of “The Trip to the Monastery” – Section 3)