ETERNAL LOVE OF THE BLUE MOON DRAGON

(An Original Dragon Love Story by BoSt- Also, a revised version with AI pics, of the Blue Moon Dragon)

Once upon a time on an enchanted island far, far away there was a mighty Blue Dragon, the last of his kind, who inhabited a majestic mountain cave.

 Long before he was born a meteorite crashed into this Planet and devastated the entire island, causing a massive extinction of many species including the antediluvian Dragon Kingdom.  The Dragon Queen, with her gift of premonition, foresaw this cataclysm.  When her warning fell on deaf ears, she arranged to have both of her precious blue and green eggs stored with the necessary provisions deep in the caverns of a mighty mountain. 

No one could have imagined that the scale of devastation and upheaval would be so catastrophic and far-reaching; hence they all perished leaving the land barren for many centuries to come. Meanwhile of the two eggs carefully stored in the depths of the mighty cave only one had survived to hatch. The blue dragon therefore was born into a lonely existence and grew up fending for himself.  Eventually the land recovered and other life-forms began to thrive in this rich, pristine environment.

The blue dragon, now grown larger still, with his giant wings often soared through the skies in search of food, longing to find evidence of other dragons.

During his searches when earthquakes, landslides or other such catastrophes unearthed the remnants of the ancient Dragon civilization he discovered vast stores of knowledge that revealed the cosmic secrets of the universe and the gateway to the many other worlds that lay beyond the mystical sea surrounding his world. Unfortunately he also came to realize that he was alone, and would be alone forever, as the Age of Dragons had come to an end.   Rage and sorrow took hold of him and the explosive energy he unleashed very nearly destroyed the island once again.

He regained his senses just in time.  Coming to grips with reality, he settled down and searched the surviving stores of knowledge, assimilating this vast information in gradual segments.  Meanwhile he’d already learned purely by accident that close proximity to the sun always helped to regenerate him. Proximity to the moon pacified his senses and, by the same token, he discovered the joys of meditative serenity.

As he grew in maturity, possessing more knowledge now, he ventured through the doorways to other existing worlds. On these many excursions, he discovered other lands over the mystic seas, realms that were populated by strange flora and creatures.  Further and further he went searching for adventure or, perhaps, a likely companion.  He was innately precautious and concealed his presence well.  By this time he’d acquired many mystical powers. Beside that of concealment, he was now able to shape-shift into other living forms, however large or small.  This made him bolder as he integrated into still stranger circumstances, such as those of the two-legged human creatures. 

He mingled among them learning their complex structures of dialogue, barter, social etiquettes and their varied rules of governance.  He found that, with practice, he could maintain his disguise for longer and longer periods, but never longer than a span of one night. His concealment was also more effective at night, for sunshine was too invigorating for him to constrain his powers.

                                                                                          ~

Once at dusk while flying over a well fortified powerful kingdom a strange sound wafted to his ears and, looking down, he spotted well manicured lawns and gardens with carefully structured pools and bridges. He’d never seen so fine a garden and so he swooped silently down and, as soon as his feet touched a branch, he transformed himself into a songbird.

It was a fine summer’s twilight with a light breeze that invited all beings into the outdoors.  A group of people were laughing and chattering, advancing towards the tree he was perched on.  He withdrew to the cover of thicker foliage to observe unheeded the small entourage now setting up a picnic down below.

 The one among them standing to the side was particularly appealing.  For one thing she had flawless white porcelain skin and was finely dressed. Her cascading golden hair was carefully managed with brilliant gems that gleamed like many stars in the full moonlight. She held a bouquet of flowers to her bosom so fragrant that it wooed his senses. The others, like flittering butterflies, rallied around her attempting to make her jovial and content. This somewhat amused the Dragon, and he watched their behaviour and hers without tiring of it for the entire length of their gathering.

 When they prepared to leave, he at once made himself invisible and followed after.  His curiosity led him all the way back to her quarters but, seeing that they all went to bed, he reluctantly took his leave, flying out the open window.  But at least he knew where this interesting creature dwelled, and he promised himself to return the next nightfall.

At first he was content watching her from afar in disguise but, bit by bit, he became smitten with her strange but sweet ways.  By then he understood more of the ways of humans and how he might win her affections.  Fortunately, she valued her time alone and often would send her attendants away on some fool’s errand just to gain some solitary, quiet moments by herself. Often she managed to sneak away at the conclusion of dinner to spend a tranquil period in the library. At other times she contrived to spend a few moments outside among the beds of flowers, leaning her back to a tree in contemplative repose. It was on one such occasion when the Blue Dragon decided at long last to approach her.

Desiring not to frighten her and wishing for a favorable response, he first transformed himself into a human male. He’d seen certain illustrations in poetry books, specific figures that she expressed some interest in, therefore he fashioned himself into a mixture of those features she liked best:  a youth of similar age, rather handsome and dressed in fineries.  He even picked a name for himself:  Maviaku Brug, which translates as, ‘Blue Moon Dragon’.  

He knew enough of the rules of propriety not to manifest and accost her in her private quarters, so he waited for an opportunity when she retreated into the garden seeking some solitude. Their first meeting was somewhat awkward and, regrettably still caused her a fright. But he soon talked his way out of it and won her confidence with his charm and wit.

 In time, during many more clandestine encounters, as they discovered they had the same zest for life and innocent fondness for adventure, they grew much more attached to each other.  Of course all during the exchange they’d maintained the strictest propriety and observed proper decorum, thus nothing untoward or improper transpired between the two. This platonic love however had grown from bud to blossom soon possessing both their heart and soul.  Eventually when Maviaku Brug revealed his true form to her, he was delighted to find it made no difference at all.  Meanwhile he was now free to not only share his innermost qualms but also, on the plus side, the multitude of advantages and joys that come with being a dragon.

Often, on her insistence, she was whisked away into the clouds riding on his back to view the world in a new thrilling way, an elation she could never have experienced without him.  She was so happy then, that all else, all mundane earthly matters simply vanished in a puff.  Hours spent with him simply melted away but when he was absent her heart pained with that unbearable longing for his company.

One fine evening, while resting on a strange high meadow by a spring, he reached forward and gently clasped her hand and looked questioningly deep into her eyes. No words were necessary, she simply nodded her assent and from that moment on they were bonded forever.

With a shy smile he drew a small packet from his robe, wrapped in a blue cloth that shimmered as if with the light of many stars. When she opened it she saw it was a figurine of a songbird.

Looking lovingly into her eyes Maviaku explained its meaning, “It is made from the stones of the Moon, where I stay when I want to be close to you, and it is shaped like the songbird I became when I observed you and your attendants in the courtyard that first evening. Keep it to remind yourself of me, and my eternal love for you.”

“I shall cherish it forever. “She kissed the bird’s beak then reached forward to lovingly hold his hand.

                                                                                                ~

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.  One stormy night their closely guarded secret was discovered by a jealous attendant and, when promptly brought to the attention of His Majesty, his fury knew no bounds.  He had three sons but only one daughter and now his darling daughter had being sullied by this, this dastardly intruder.

Immediately, a trap was devised to capture this brazen interloper.  When the opportunity struck armed guards descended on him.  Maviaku Brug could have transformed himself into his true form and incinerated them all, but he was far too concerned for the Princess’ well being, so he allowed himself be captured and brought in chains before his Majesty.

The King was in a murderous mood and could not be reasoned with.  Despite severe beating and torture the truth could not be attained, yet a most heinous, ruthless punishment was pronounced upon the presumed culprit.   Badly bruised, bleeding profusely with many ribs and bones broken (for in this form he was as vulnerable as any human was) Maviaku was dragged outside by his chains for the administration of his harsh punishment.  As soon as he was outside of the audience hall he was able to use his skills and simply vanished into thin air.

The poor guards unfortunately were made to suffer for their failure. Meanwhile the Princess was confined to new quarters high up in a tower and this time, placed under close scrutiny. She was watched day and night as the general consensus was that she was under the spell of a malevolent sorcerer.    

For the good part of the year she was a virtual prisoner, never allowed a moment’s peace in all that time, nor was she left alone for a single moment.  Day after day, month after month, the attending Priests and palace doctors had came to and fro, at first keeping her heavily sedated then gradually endowing her with small portions of added liberties.

She was eventually allowed to return to her more luxurious former quarters after she pretended she had been cured from the paranormal malady. Despite all their persuasive methods and medicinal concoctions they forced to ingest, however, deep within her soul and heart she’d maintained the seeds of affection for her beloved Maviaku. When things grew unbearable she drew strength from her memories of times shared with him.  This source of happiness, the like of which she’d never known, was, after all, inexhaustible.  So long as she drew breath she knew she could never forsake him for he, her first true love, was already an inseparable part of her being.

                                                                                ~

Three nights hence would be the second full moon of the last month of the year, also known as a Blue Moon.  Theirs was a superstitious nation, so many candles were lit and the residual smoke from the burning of incense imbued with scent crafted to scare away evil, permeated the air till dawn. Meanwhile, the Priests beat drums and held prayer sessions and sacrifices to appease the wandering evil spirits of the Blue Moon.

As soon as dusk fell, confident in their measures to rid the Palace of the least evil, exhausted from vigorous day’s activities, all denizens of the Palace and city had fallen into deep slumber peacefully tucked under warm quilts in their beds.  Complete silence prevailed throughout the Palace and the land.

At stroke of midnight the Princess suddenly awoke with a start.  She had sensed movement in the room. True enough there he was, the handsome young man was now turning away from the window to smile at her.

How fortunate that she had left the window ajar.

 “Please do not be frightened?” He approached her hesitantly. “I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you. “ He bit the corner of his lip to constrain the bursting emotions of rage and sorrow.  “You’ve endured such hardship on my account…I meant to come earlier, but…”

“It is I who should beg your forgiveness.” She interjected and, eyes brimming with tears, she shook her head in dismay. “They’ve treated you so abominably. And I, oh I felt so helpless to do anything about it!”

In truth, she’d done her best to sway them.  In the beginning she’d even secured her mother’s help by appealing to her compassion and when that yielded no result, enlisted her brothers’ help to reason with a father hell bent on revenge.  But it was all to no avail. Instead, all her efforts had further convinced His Majesty of her possession by the evil sorcerer (otherwise known as the Blue Moon entity), as well as necessitating harsher measures and her prolonged incarceration.

“It grieves me to say this, but I’ve come to bid you farewell. I will not forget you, ever.” Maviaku turned to hide the emerging tears.

Rushing over she grabbed his arm and in a sobbing voice pleaded, “Please don’t go.  But, if you must, I want to go with you, wherever that may be!”

He smiled and, cupping her face, looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve come to love you so very much. “ He leaned over and gently planted a kiss on her forehead.  “Know this, regardless of any future outcome; you are now and forever will be my one and only mate.”

His face grew grim and he nodded. “However, I should have known there was so little, perhaps no chance at all, for us. I’m sorry; this is the way it must be for now. “He turned to go, then stopped, and after a thoughtful pause, drew from his finger a ring. He then took off his shiny blue cloak and presented both of them to her.

“One thing I have learned is that there are infinite possibilities to this universe and that nothing in it can be deemed impossible.  Out of my deep regard and affection for you, I offer you the freedom to choose. Conceal this ring well and guard our shared secret.  Wear this garment when the Blue Moon manifests and remember that I love you from afar.  If, at the conclusion of your life span, you still have same affections for me, put on this ring on your forefinger and don the blue cloak.  On that night I give you my solemn pledge that I will return and from that day hence, we shall be eternally together.”

He then transformed into a song-bird and flew out the window.

Wiping her tears, she folded the garment carefully and placed it in the drawer of her night table but she sought a more secure location to hide the ring. As it so happened there was a stone encased in loose mortar in a dark corner of the room behind some furniture.  She’d discovered it when she was a child and concealed her most prized possessions there. It also contained the moon rock he had sculpted to resemble a bird.  Opening this niche she placed the ring alongside her other prized possessions. Then, though overcome with fatigue, when she went back to her bed and lay down, she was too emotionally overwrought to sleep. 

                                                                                               ~

She woke up feeling listless and somewhat disoriented when the sun’s brilliant rays streamed into the room.  She lay still with her eyes closed and lent half an ear to the bustling feet and muted but excited conversations of the attendants’ eager anticipation of the day’s events. They were bustling about, carefully selecting and rearranging the formal garments she would wear that day.  After the family breakfast in the main hall, there was to be a prayer session that would be presided over by His Eminence, that old coot, in the Grand Chapel.   In truth, hoping but doubting the validity of last night’s series of events and her brief encounter with her beloved Maviaku, she maintained the farce of sleep as long as possible  so as to carefully mull over the facts.

The day‘s tedious ceremonies and events seemed to last forever, but as soon as she could, she seized the first available opportunity  and snuck into her room, locked the door then proceeded to check the drawer. True enough, in there a strange blue garment was folded, but it was not gleaming or as extraordinary as she recalled. A moment later she fetched the ring from its hiding place and carefully examined it; running her fingers absently over the strange inscription underneath.  She next brought out the moonstone bird and, caressing it, kissed its beak before placing it back. 

The garment, despite its apparent simplicity, was secretly treasured by her. Thereon, after each Blue moon when everyone retired for the night she would, without fail, quietly don the blue garment and sit by the window waiting for her beloved to return. But he never did. As a small consolation she would feel his presence and warm embrace however, as she sat while the garment, basking under the moon’s rays, brilliantly glistened and came to life with countless dancing stars.

She was eventually forced to marry a Prince whose kingdom’s alliance was a political necessity. In time she bore three children. Her life in that other kingdom seemed surreal as she functioned within the parameters of acceptable behaviour for the wife of a Crown Prince who then became a King.  

During these years, she never wavered once from her initial promise to her true beloved and wore the blue cloak every Blue Moon.  She kept this secret well hidden from all, even her children.

Her warmongering husband the King eventually met his demise during one of his campaigns. After the elaborate funeral, the widowed Queen was allowed to return to the Palace in her homeland after her son, the Crown Prince, took the reins of power.

Eventually old age claimed the dowager Queen but by then her two other children had been married off to suitable diplomatic advantage and were living elsewhere. On this night of her final Blue Moon she asked her close confidant to fetch the plain blue cloak for her and help her don it. In tears the other did as she was bid and, complying with her wishes, left her Majesty alone. 

With some difficulty she retrieved the ring from its hiding place where it had lain for the many years since she had married. Finally the former Princess, now a dowager Queen, placed it on her fore-finger. Going over she sat by the window to await her beloved’s return.

This time he did come. He looked the same as before, not a day older.  Her inhibition soon melted away when he reached forward and kissed her on the mouth, gently breathing his magical dragon’s breath into her parted lips.  Instantly she was transformed into her young, vigorous, beautiful self. Better than her young self though, for she was now an immortal.

 “Are you ready?” He asked lovingly.

“I’ve been ready all my life.” She smiled back at him.

He reached his hand to hold hers and muttered a spell.

Instantly she was transformed into a colourful songbird. 

“I have so much to share, so much to teach you!”  He elatedly laughed.

And then, with Maviaku leading the way, they flew together through the open window.

The following morning, when the chief attendant entered the Dowager Queen’s quarters to awaken Her Grace, there was no trace of either Her Majesty or the blue garment.

The End.

 

THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 7

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 7

For the remainder of that morning Svein, riding alongside Fradel, had respectfully kept his silence understanding that a serious grievance was at the root of Fradel's reverie. 

Most appreciative of this quiet, Fradel struggled hard but without avail, to dispel the gruesome, vivid images forming in his mind's eye: The mound of earth, overgrown with grasses and bush, the old man sitting at its edge, perfectly motionless, the gnarled walking cane resting unused on the earth beside him; these visions still persisted in haunting his peace and try as he might, after all this time, he could not purge his heart of a dogged, all-consuming despondency and guilt.

Currently, Fradel’s mind yet again ruminated (cogitated, recollected) of that long ago, the unpleasant happenstance (twist of fate, quirk) which should have been ordinarily locked in his subconscious psyche. Fradel inhaled deeply and sullenly harked back to that time when on route to Terek  he’d, sighting a solitary seated figure some distance down the road, assumed the old man to be asleep or in a trance; but, when a shaft of sunlight suddenly peeped through the dense rain clouds, Fradel’s acute vision had then noted the glistening tears streaming down the man's pale, wrinkled, sunken cheeks.  Now ordinarily, he would have sent his stewards to make inquiries but, propelled by an unexplained, strange desire, he’d dismounted at the edge of the roadside. As he was hot, he first took off his garment’s (top) outer layer and, handing this and the reins of his stead to one of the stewards, meanwhile, (ignoring) paying no heed their strong protests, ordered them to stay put, then went forth to investigate.

 As he advanced towards the old man, he’d for a spell, experienced some trepidation but kept on with determined steps regardless, climbing the rocky, uneven hillock, till he had reached the sorrowful being.  Halting a few steps back, he'd respectfully bowed in greeting, introduced himself as gently and politely as he could, however, giving him a pseudo-name Serek Vern, which Fradel had adapted wishing to be anonymous during his travels, and then, inquired about the old man's health and possible needs.

The old man appearing oblivious to it all, had at first, remained perfectly still. 

Fradel (Serek), nevertheless, being reluctant to leave him in that state, he’d advanced ever so slightly closer and was about to accost him anew when the old man sharply raising his head, seething, glared at this bothersome, pesky stranger.

Dokurek, which Fradel Rurik Korvald later came to know his name, had initially acted with uncalled-for hostility.  His cold, gray eyes had burrowed fiercely, contemptuously into Fradel's and lingered there, scrutinizing him, for a long spell. 

At the time, the icy, hateful gaze, like a frozen blade, had stabbed at Fradel’s empathetic heart!

Even after some elapsed time, while Fradel had assumed he was making inroads with Dokurek, the old man, with obstinate hardness, had retained his original skepticism of Serek’s (Fradel's) ignorance of the common facts, of his naiveté and his motives.  But, gradually, bit by bit drawn out of his shell, he’d thawed, then eventually entrusted Serek (Fradel) with the truthful accounts and factual answers to his persistent inquiries. 

It turned out that Dokurek's two promising scholar sons had been buried alive beneath that nearby mound along with some three hundred and twelve other literati.

This revelation shook Fradel, then and to date, to the core of his being. He’d never been the same since.

"And, make no mistake about it,” Dokurek had nodded gravely, pointing a bony finger, "this mound is but one of many.  Yes, many, many, more, most containing even more corpses than this, exist scattered throughout this great country of ours."

 Dokurek, moreover, added with such bitterness in his voice: “They even built roads over some, so tread carefully young man, the next time your path crosses one of these.  They have no respect for the living, why should they have any for the dead?"  Inclining his head downwards again, he'd scoffed contemptuously, as hot tears once more glistened in his eyes, but he’d bit his lip angrily to stem them.

Noting disbelief in Serek’s (Fradel’s) eyes, he’d swallowed hard, then grinding his teeth, announced sourly, "And secretly, ever so secretly, it's still going on!" His face was contorted with pain and anger, yet he could not stop now.  "When the scholars suffered such a fate, you might ask, what became of their families?"  He shook his head vehemently, "I'll tell you what!  Some were banished to the frontier where they were sold into slavery, some into forced labor or killed outright and all, without exception, had their property confiscated.  And why the hell not…There is great profit to be had in this sort of vile undertaking by the greedy, grasping patricians (nobles, aristocrats).  In many instances they fabricated charges to fill their coffers and to construct a powerbase.   In these dark times, justice is always trampled underfoot by the selfsame rapacious bureaucrats.  A slander without proof in the ears of the right person would be sufficient for a court of law to proscribe the victim.  On pain of death, who would dare mount a defense or champion the righteous cause?”

It became clear to Fradel that the old man was speaking from bitter personal experience; and that he, too, had fallen prey to the greed of akin official.

"And I thought he was a close friend!"

 Fradel raised his eyes from the old man's clenched fist to see him staring once more in the direction of the mound. 

"And to think my son held him in such high esteem!  Bah!” Dokurek turned angrily to spit on the ground.  "Curse you, and a curse be upon your whole family!  May you and your descendants be cursed forever in Hell?"  Dokurek's chest rapidly rose and fell in fury, until he finally grew a bit calmer.

"The reason for these atrocities...  How is it possible, you may ask?  Ah!” he fixed his dubious, pained, angry pupils above his deep-set, gaunt(boney) cheeks on Serek Vern (Fradel Rurik Korvald).

 "Have you had no knowledge of these sort of vile deeds at all, none?  What about the foul happenstance (coincidence) that had reportedly claimed Taok Therkan’s life?” Dokurek asked skeptically.

"Taok Therkan?” Fradel furrowed his brow, and then confessed to, in his remote dwelling having scant news of the famed scholar, save for once, being lucky enough, to have come across one of Taok’s brilliant essays. Impressed, he’d sought to procure more, with no result; meanwhile, the mystery, the silence surrounding the scholar Taok Therkan had never been satisfactorily explained to Serek Vern (Fradel) and he, at present, implored Dokurek to enlighten him on this subject.

Dokurek shook his head, "It's inconceivable to think,” he looked straight at Serek Vern, considering: “how could your family have been spared this ferocious, evil tide that has swept the nation?  I know of this from the mouths of many, that these long years have been anything but brutal to all Literati. Why should you, your family be spared? And now standing before me you lay claim to knowing nothing?  No, you're false!  Worse, you must be an informant, a spy!  Is it conceivable that you are sent by that cursed Zaur to...?”

 Dokurek looked down to hide the sudden manifest disdain from his eyes then fretfully, stealthily looked about him.

 His eyes rested on Serek Vern 's servants, then narrowed into slits.  "And why should you be bothering with the likes of me?  Why not sic one of your dogs on me and have done with me?  Or is it your delight to first toy with your prey?"

 He turned an angry, defiant gaze back at Serek Vern only to meet the scholar's somewhat indignant, perplexed face.

 Dokurek immediately regretted his suspicious outburst.

Fradel had surmised later how, at this point Dokurek was filled with a great need, a burning desire to believe in someone, anyone, while the flames of his life-force still burned in him. His past misjudgments had cost him dearly and rendered him cautious, distrusting all; now and always seeking, expecting some sinister motive behind every kind of gesture. 

For a time, the old man had remained nonplused, shaking his head and mouthing half-crazed, barely comprehensible mumblings as he turned a deaf ear to Serek Vern's gentle arguments. 

"But there is nothing to be gained in trapping me.  It was not my will, my wish that my sons were scholars.  Besides, what do I possess now?  In my heyday, sure, I had substance then. Even ten years ago I had means, holdings to be coveted.  I commanded such respect!  But now…now I have nothing, nothing of any value or use to anyone.  Nor do I have any surviving affiliates left to be targeted.”

“But then, hmm, yes, you do look the kindly, honest sort. Suppose I take a chance?  Perhaps I've been too hasty in suspecting you?  I mustn't let my paranoia cloud my judgment.”  Dokurek continued mumbling to himself as though Serek Vern (Frade)l was not there.

Fradel, in exasperation having fallen silent, threw a cursory look at his impatient men and then thoughtfully looked down; in fact, he was (considering) of a mind to leave this insane old man when, catching the last part of what he had said, convinced Fradel to persevere just a bit longer.

 “Yes, you may be my very last chance."  Dokurek suddenly ceased his mumbling and decisively looked up. His eyebrows unraveled and he made a genuine effort to smile in a friendly manner.

"Forgive my obstinate ways, sir, but you can hardly blame me.  It's all the more incredible that you are a bona fide scholar.  No doubting that.  I'd even venture a guess that you come from a long line of illustrious scholars."  Allowing Serek Vern (Fradel), no chance to agree or dispute his statement, he nodded vigorously, "Furthermore, my eyes can attest to the truth of your claim that you are a stranger to these parts and that you must have led a life of seclusion, that’s why I’ve never heard of your name, a self-imposed recluse perhaps?"

 Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) reaction confirmed this guess and reassured, Dokurek leaned back, smiling.

 "Also, your distinguished attire, your decorum and fine, polished speech makes it all too evident that you are a well–off gentleman, perhaps an aristocrat.  A recluse scholar from an undisturbed sanctuary who has managed to prosper in these volatile times, an anomaly?” the old man shook his head, amazed.

Despite the tinge of sarcasm in his tone, Fradel had read no malice in Dokurek's face.  This perplexed him more.  And what did Dokurek mean by 'very last chance'?

Dokurek cleared his throat then in a softer tone rattled on, "You are so unassuming, so patient and not the least bit arrogant.  You have a great disposition.  You are by all appearances a good man, not unlike my Kuer.  Still, all the more reason for you to beware!"  He fixed his intense gaze at Serek Vern (Fradel) and said a bit more forcefully.  "You watch yourself young man!  Guard your words, his spies are everywhere.  His policies may undergo yet another change, and quite suddenly, too.  Then you're gone.  Pouf!  In one day.  Or worse still, it may all be a hoax, a scheme to finally entrap you.  I'm curious, though, what part of the country did you say you're from?  Which remote region was it that you hid in?"

Fradel had made no such claim, but his denial was cut short by a gesture of Dokurek's hand.  "No, don't tell me.  I'd rather not know.  Such knowledge is of little use to me now, anyway.  It's enough to know that there is some small corner of this Empire that was spared, where the forces of evil could not wreak havoc."  Dokurek abruptly fell silent and looked away, his eyes resting on the two small mounds nestled under the swaying branches of a willow tree.

 After a time, Dokurek turned to face Serek Vern (Fradel) and with eyes brimming with fresh tears, reiterated his warning, "You must beware!  It's too late for my boys and it's too late for me.  I've got one foot in the grave already, but you..."  He smiled warmly at Fradel.  “I can't emphasize the importance of this enough.  He's like a jackal, a wild beast on the prowl.  His poisonous tentacles reach the four corners of the Empire, and it makes no difference what service you may have rendered him.  Disaster can befall you at the most unexpected turn. Under his rule, all manners of evil flourish and you can never, ever anticipate when the next catastrophe strikes!  So, it’s best you remain vigilant in safeguarding your life.”

Fradel was distracted just then by a debased snigger (snort, chortle) from his servants who had drawn close and were very much engaged with their heads pressed together in animated, amused mockery.  More infuriating still, Fradel’s ears picked up the steward’s disdainful ridicule, "Crazy as a Cakook!"  As if to demonstrate he then stood up, flapped his elbows, craned his neck and began drawing circles with his toes on the ground as he mimicked the bird.

 In mid twirl his eyes caught Fradel's fierce look of reprimand.  Chastised, the servant froze in his position. Similarly, the rest also cowered with stilled tongues and abjectly bowed their heads. 

When Fradel turned his eyes back to the old man, he found Dokurek keenly studying him.

"I'm right about you.  This time I'm right.  My salvation may just be at hand.” he mumbled then quickly looked away to escape Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) questioning gaze.

This time it was Fradel's turn for skepticism.  Had this all been a well-orchestrated performance, a charade on Dokurek's part?  Was he testing me?  Testing me for what?   Fradel had heard of cases where men touched by madness would slip into and out of reality, one minute sane as could be, the next, steeped in peril and precarious, imaginary fantasies.

As if surmising this, Dokurek looked up at Serek Vern (Fradel) and smiled wryly, "I wish it were so but, alas, my penance is to remain completely sane, mindful of all my past wrongdoings.”

“All right, I will tell you everything.  I've kept my silence long enough…but not here, not within earshot."  He indicated Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) servants with a wary look and a point of his chin.

 He rose and Fradel, signaling his men to stay put, followed the old man to a distant spot.

 

(END OF SECTION 7)

 

THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 6

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 6

Svein (Nevetsecnuac) and Fradel Rurik Korvald (riding on horseback) were still some distance away from any settlement or an Inn when dusk fell.  As if to multiply Fradel's misery, suddenly strong winds ushered a flotilla of dark, ominous clouds, which threatened to let loose a downpour at any time.

 Just then they sighted a thatched hut in the distance, and, in silent agreement, they both steered their horses towards it.  Obvious signs told them that the place had long been abandoned. Two lonely graves outside and a stench rising from the well attested to the tragic story of its residents.

Nevetsecnuac pushed the door open with an eerie creak and, lighting a torch quickly surveyed the dilapidated state of the interior.  The lit torch at once caused the infestation of rodents, lizards and insects to scurry away.

Nevetsecnuac brushed away the cobwebs then pushed the broken furniture and debris to one side to clear out a corner.  Inviting Fradel to rest there, he went back outside to secure the horses and meet their requirements for food and water.  When he returned Nevetsecnuac found that Fradel had made good use of this time to clear out the stove and start a small fire using kindling and charcoal chips that littered the floor.

So, he's not as helpless without servants as he claimed. Nevetsecnuac mused.  Good!

That night, sheltered from the wind and rain, for the roof leaked in only one or two places, they shared dry rations boiled over the fire to make a stew.  Fradel, more accustomed to wine and savory dishes, consumed a good share of this food without complaint, washing it down with water.  To Nevetsecnuac’s relief, the pampered scholar had proved adaptable and, more to the point, resilient.

After they retired Fradel found it impossible to sleep.  The excitement of that day, the eerie atmosphere of the room, the pelting rain on the roof, his hard makeshift (improvised) bedding and the coarse food had all conspired to keep him awake.  As the night progressed his distress became even more acute.

Now every shadow, every sound stretched his nerves taut.  Several ugly visages leered menacingly at him from the dark corners of the room but when he sat up and stubbornly fixed them with his stare they reverted back to ordinary objects.  Again, he shot occasional glances in Svein's direction and seeing him in deep slumber, suppressed an urge to grunt a would-be protest, “For Heaven’s sake, how can you sleep so soundly?”

Exhausted, Fradel reclined once more, then becoming aware of someone else's presence, he jumped up. This time, however, the apparition (ghost, phantom) was outside of the window.  As the window had no covering, he walked towards it and at the same time strained his eyes to see through the dark, the just then manifest, vacillating (fluctuating) iridescent specter.   The form drawn to closer proximity, become clearer, and he could now make out the tragic countenance of an elderly woman, which presently stretched out her arms in supplication and sobbed: “Save me, sir!  Save me!” 

Fradel was about to respond when, suddenly, out of the pitch darkness, three fearsome black wolves materializing (emerging), leapt upon her and sank their long fangs into her flesh; with such a voracious appetite, their prey (target) was instantaneously gone. Subsequently, crunching the last remanence of bones and lapping up the victim's blood, the trio of wolves licked their fur clean, thence, all three menacingly directed their attention on Fradel. They pivoted their blazing eyes on Fradel and began advancing towards him with deliberate slowness, with their tongues lolling, drooling at the mouth, as they panted.

Fradel, recoiling in terror, could not move a muscle, especially since one of the black wolves suddenly appeared inside and right beside him.

Fradel, resigned to his fate, held his breath and closed his eyes, expecting to be mauled, disemboweled and eaten to the last morsel by the rapacious wolves; unexpectedly however, the beasts simply vanished, when Sven just then stirred and, without turning to face him, asked: "What is it?”

"Nothing, nothing at all; it was just a bad dream (nightmare).  I'm sorry to have awakened you."

 Of course, Fradel's disclaimer was belied by the beads of perspiration on his forehead.  He tasted their salt as they dripped onto his lips; currently back on his hard bedding, he sullenly reclined and turned his back to Svein, as if to sleep.

 My strained nerves are playing tricks on me. Fradel consoled himself.  I'd best try to get some sleep.  With determination he closed his eyes tight but, just as he was about to drift off into the dream world, a rustling sound piqued his curiosity, and he once more lifted his eyelids to investigate.

This time his eyes beheld, in the center of the room, an enchanting, most beautiful fairy maiden’s apparition. Furthermore, smiling most alluringly at Fradel, she beckoned to him.  As he sat upright to acknowledge her, she suddenly turned into Cobarkek who, gritting his teeth, glowered at Fradel.

The scholar was seized with an inexplicable terror, recalling the bandit chief's last words to him, “I will deal with you later.”

He was about to call out to Svein when Cobarkek's head detached itself from his body, floated upwards and began to spin.  When it stopped, just in front of Fradel, the mouth opened wide and a reptilian, double-pointed tongue lashed out and coiled itself tightly around Fradel's neck, choking him.  Fradel struggled in vain to free himself, gasping for breath.

Again, Svein stirred, and Cobarkek's head simply vanished.

 Fradel found the culprit to be nothing more than the loosened strips of his head bandage that had fallen down around his neck.  Just as he was about to laugh at his own folly, Cobarkek's ghost reappeared.  Once more the scholar recoiled in terror as he watched the phantom metamorphosis into a frightful demon with grizzled red hair, blue face, glittering eyes, a saw-toothed razor-sharp grin and a blood red flickering tongue.  With green slime oozing from its four nostrils and its six arms flailing it advanced towards Fradel.  Paralyzed from the neck down, Fradel opened his mouth to cry for help, but no sound was issued forth.

As the scholar was struggling to scream, Svein suddenly sprang to his feet and hacked the demon into two halves with one blow.  Both halves toppled to the floor, motionless, giving off a dense bluish vapor that settled into a putrid mass which oozed under the floorboards.

Svein turned to smile reassuringly at Fradel, "It's all over now, go back to sleep."  Then, quite unruffled, he lay down once more, facing the wall, to fall asleep.

Fradel leaned over to ask, in amazement, "Aren't you afraid?"

"I used to be", Svein confessed.  "When I was younger, but now I know there is nothing to be afraid of."  He shrugged his shoulders under his blanket.

 "This is to be expected.  All abandoned places have their share of ghosts and demons, but they can only harm us if we let them."

Fradel nodded and also reclined in order to sleep once more.  He was very comforted by Svein's presence and, gradually, his heartbeat returned to normal.  Drawing closer, he whispered his thanks to Svein but the other just let out a disquieting laugh and, when Svein turned around to face Fradel, he wore Cobarkek's face.

With a start Fradel awoke and sat up, a crazy gleam playing in his eyes.  When he steadied his heart once more, he realized that all of it had been a dream.  But was it really?  He had an eerie feeling about it all.

At the far corner a huge rat was gnawing at an empty flour bag as it flashed its red eyes at him.  Standing up, Fradel strolled to the window and peered outside.  It was just before dawn and he saw Svein harnessing the horses, anxious to be on the road again.

Before they left, on Fradel's insistence, they dug a new grave and fished the corpse out of the well.  Despite the decayed condition of the body, Fradel at once recognized the old lady in his dream.  Giving her a proper burial next to the other two mounds, they allowed the poor woman to find lasting peace in the afterlife with her husband and daughter.

Svein then mounted his horse and urged Fradel Rurik Korvald to follow suit.

 Looking back on the three small mounds, another painful memory intruded into Fradel's thoughts.  In a deep silence he hung his head; his face was long and drawn as he reflected over this past, tragic episode.  Absentmindedly he pivoted his mount around and let it follow Fiery Comet onto the open road. 

(END OF SECTION 6)

 

STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 5

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 5

 After a day’s riding Nevetsecnuac, wishing for a break chiefly out of concern for his mount steered his horse off the beaten path. Reaching a remote section well hidden behind a small rocky hill, he dismounted. 

He removed the saddle and let his horse free to cool off and forage on the scant grass by the stream. He splashed some water over his face to dispel the fatigue then, having something more urgent to do; he went over and sat down bracing his back against the thick truck of an ancient tree. At once he began cutting some strips of leather then carefully bound the hilt and sheath of the sword to conceal its identifying marks.  Task completed, only then did he become aware of the hunger clawing at his stomach and so consumed some dry rations. He closed his eyes for a brief respite, with his mind however, still reeling with concerns for the old man.

                                                                               ~

 Nevetsecnuac’s ensuing endless trek lasting several months took him over expansive rivers, vast lakes, soaring mountains, rolling hills and deep valleys.  Varied (diverse) temperatures (microclimate, weather) came and went as he traversed several provinces.  Then, still some distance from the Capital at dawn one day, he arrived at the periphery of the Wantherran Province.

Perhaps a lucky happenstance in life or a quirk of fate, a distinguished scholar named Fradel Rurik Korvald had also happened to be an-route to the Capital and had entered Wantherran province at the very same period as Nevetsecnuac.

The illustrious literati Fradel Rurik Korvald, the only son of Zukan Rurik Korvald, came from a long line of scholars in Birgershing District.  Fradel’s brilliance had shown at the early age of eight when his famed poem entitled 'Flight of Dawn’ reached the four corners of the Empire.  After the death of his beloved father, Zukan Rurik Korvald, Fradel had elected to live the life of a recluse in his mountain retreat. His works, his remarkable abilities had nevertheless spread among the elite classes in the Capital, winning him well deserved national acclaim as one of the poetic geniuses of the realm.

 Now, Zakhertan Yozdek, a military ruler, had never been particularly fond of poetry or even prose, nor had he been an ardent admirer or supporter of scholars. Far from it, he secretly despised them and used many cruel and ingenious means to underhandedly suppress them.  Age-old traditions are hard to break, however, and so six months prior a Royal summons had come from the Court ordering Fradel Rurik Korvald’s attendance at a landmark celebration at the Palace, thereby forcing the scholar out of seclusion. 

During the grueling months spent on the route to the Capital City, Fradel Rurik Korvald had traveled on horseback accompanied by his two manservants and a porter to carry his luggage. Fradel and his small entourage had, whenever possible, stayed at modest inns. Opting however for anonymity, they always registered under an assumed identity.

 At the last Inn Fradel had been warned by the kindly innkeeper to be on the lookout for bandits who plagued the area.

 After half a day's cautious advance, when they had encountered no danger, their apprehension gradually abated and, seeing a wooded area up ahead, Fradel now considered taking shelter for a brief respite from the midday heat.  Though it was early autumn, his heavy garments which he wore, in the absence of wind and clouds in the sky, had made this day, in particular, unbearably hot for him.

He was about to give an order to stop when he observed a stirring in the thick foliage up ahead.  "Watch out, there may be bandits over there!" Fradel had just finished yelling his warning to the servant up ahead when suddenly the very servant’s anguished scream pierced the air.  Next instant the servant wheeled around revealing an arrow buried (imbedded) deep in his chest and thud, dropped (from his horse) dead to the ground.  At that juncture another arrow whistled past the other servant’s ear to graze Fradel's arm.  Then all at once a large body of mounted men in a cloud of dust surged out of the woods to encircle them.

Terrified, Fradel Rurik Korvald veered his horse around in a desperate attempt to flee from this disastrous predicament as his other manservant, specially chosen for his skill in arms, brandishing his sword bravely stood his ground to obstruct the bandits’ charge towards his master. 

The porter, like the manservant, had at once abandoned the baggage and picked up his staff to join the fray.  Though they were both competent fighters, they proved no match for these seasoned warriors turned outlaw who cut them down effortlessly.

 Next instant, surrounded on all sides Fradel was pulled from his saddle by a hook and thrown face down on the ground.

While he remained pinned where he lay by some of the bandits’ staff and spears threateningly pricking his skin, some others were quickly dispatched by a shout to collect the scattered horses and baggage.

 The scar ridden, robust leader, Cobarkek, wishing to toy with his new prey, slowly alighted from his horse and came over to roughly turn Fradel over with his foot.  His boot now squarely planted on Fradel's chest and the blade firmly pressed against Fradel's neck, he grabbed at Fradel’s collar and shouted for him to produce his money and credentials which he assumed would be on his person. That is, if he wished to live.

 Fradel fought the instinct to gag with the latter’s foul breath on him and instead glared back defiantly.   The murderous intent in the bandit's eyes, his own demise of a foregone conclusion, had struck a stubborn chord in Fradel.  He next cursed the bandit leader and spat in his eye.  A fierce blow across his face with the hilt of the sword cut open Fradel's cheek and bloodied his handsome, fine features.  A second blow to the head rendered (made) Fradel almost unconscious.  As he was about to receive the third, and fatal blow a fierce cry from the distance froze the blood in the bandit chief's veins and stopped his arm in mid-swing.   All heads turned in the direction of this challenge to spot a solitary rider on a magnificent steed galloping towards them at lightning speed.

"Another fool comes to die!” the bandit chief, Cobarkek scoffed. 

The rest of the brigands, each vying to secure the mount for themselves, had surged forward in response to engage the foe without waiting for the leader's order.

"I will deal with you later.” Cobarkek spat at Fradel as he delivered another vicious blow right across Fradel’s head then, vaulting onto his horse, he broke into a headlong gallop to catch up to his men.

 Fradel lay there, his head swimming, eyes blurred, barely conscious and unable to move a limb; all the while writhing in agonizing pain.

"Leave the devil to me!” the Cobarkek shouted after the group, but the rest were already engaged in a fierce struggle with the newcomer.

"Are you tired of living?” one jibed with scorn as he swung his sword at the stranger’s neck but missed.

"No. Nor am I tired of purging (relieving) the earth of vermin like you!"  The stranger dodged the ensuing lightning strike.

The infuriated bandit gaped in surprise as his sword was knocked to the ground with his hand still attached. As the sword fell, the second in command, a huge, stout fellow, shouted, “I’ll teach you to talk so big!”, while he mounted a deadly assault from the opposite side.  Deftly blocking the powerful blow aimed at his head, the stranger at once reversed the attacker's momentum against him and same time inflicted a deep, mortal wound across the bandit’s chest.  As the spooked horse vaulted then galloped (dashed)in lightening speed through the encirclement of the bandits, the expired body of the bandit, meanwhile, had slipped down face down onto the dust.  The incredible agility with which the newcomer had dispatched these two formidable attackers struck fear in the rest of the bandit’s hearts but the superiority of their numbers and arms still gave them the bravado to foolishly keep on fighting.

Cobarkek growing impatient with his men’s inability to subdue this warrior, shouted his command for the rest to (abort fray) stand down and leave this foe for him to deal with alone.

"Meddling fool!” The leader Cobarkek’s face more crimson than a blazing coal, he spat on the ground.  "You'll regret the day you were born by the time I'm through with you!"

"You talk so grand,” the stranger smiled as he continued fighting. "Let's see if your skill is any match of your narcissistic boasts!"

The ensuing contest of arms between these two shook Heaven and Earth as the band of thieves lined the wayside to watch with respect and awe this stranger who could not be bested.  Others, however competent or formidable, had never survived more than one round with Cobarkek, but the stranger far outlasted the five deadly rounds and further, in a blink of an eye, forced Cobarkek on the defensive. 

Many of the spectators could not help recalling Cobarkek’s past: how a reckless outburst resulting in the murder of an influential, high official had forced their leader to flee his post as an arms instructor in the Imperial Army.  Later Cobarkek had gathered this band of skilled fighters to start a reign of terror in this far off District.  Under his training the marauding band had become a formidable force, invincible in combat. They had from then on, unobstructed, robbed travelers on this highway, burned and pillaged nearby villages, and extorted money from the wealthy citizens and officials of the neighboring towns. 

The Provincial government had been repeatedly rendered ineffective in suppressing this bane, let alone in bringing them to justice. 

Meanwhile, Cobarkek's savagery defied description.  Believing in magical powers and his own invincibility, he practiced primitive rituals where, at certain times, a selected victim's heart was consumed in a stew.

Besides coveting the stranger’s magnificent steed, Cobarkek now hungered after the power he would attain from devouring the stranger's heart and driven by this goal, fought harder still. But, after another five rounds with no advantage gained, he began to worry and signaled his men to join the fray.

 Confident in their numbers, each, determined to prove his worth, struck fiercely at the stranger from all sides. 

To their dismay however, they found those numbers rapidly dwindling and realized that, even if there were scores more like them, the stranger would not be subdued let alone bested.  In a short time, many forfeited their lives while the remainder soon realized that their leader, Cobarkek, was the one who was being toyed with.  The formidable warrior (no older than 20 years) fought with unequaled skill and strength.

 Finally, taking advantage of atypical break in Cobarkek’s defenses, the stranger dealt their leader the mortal blow: the blade of opponent’s exceptional sword cutting through the armour as if it was a tender shoot, it cleaved (slashed) a deep wound (injury) from shoulder to chest.  The bandit leader Cobarkek’s tendons (ligaments) of the sword-arm thus severely incapacitated, it lost its grip of the sword, meanwhile, Cobarkek loosing consciousness, his body with a thud fell off to the ground. The spooked war steed at that moment bolted and his hoofs clawing the air, next, trampling some underfoot, galloped straight through (scattering) the cordon of mounted men. 

The few daring bandits that had stayed, with dread gripping their souls, now also sought to escape this sure calamity; they therefore, scampered (darted) for their lives in all directions like panicking rats running from a fire.

The stranger did not pursue the fleeing unlawful (felonious) bunch; instead, he turned his steed around and secured the brown mare (stallion) belonging to the scholar Fradel which had not wandered too far off. He then rode over to the scholar, and reining his (mount) horse to a halt, leaped to the ground beside Fradel.

 Having regained consciousness a few minutes prior to Cobarkek's death, Fradel had forced himself to sit up to witness (his savior’s) the stranger’s brilliant feats of arms.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"I am, thanks to your benevolence, sir.” came Fradel's hearty reply.  As he struggled to his feet, he felt the stranger’s strong grip on his arm steadying him.

 Bowing ceremoniously, he expressed deep gratitude for other’s aid and profound admiration for his skill before formally introducing himself as Fradel Rurik Korvald. 

Seeing that his name stirred no reaction in the stranger, he asked, "I am indebted to my benefactor for saving my worthless life by your timely intervention.  May I know of your respected name, sir, so as to henceforth express my boundless gratitude?"

"You exalt me unnecessarily with this talk of gratitude.” The stranger dispersed his obligation with a gesture of his hand.

 "All I did was to extend meager assistance to a fellow traveler in dire straits." 

Nevetsecnuac bowed respectfully and introduced himself as Svein Therran (instead of Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir) then, noting the strain with which the scholar stood upright, offered to lend a hand where Fradel Rurik Korvald could reach the periphery of the woods for a prolonged rest in the shade.

"If you don't think me too presumptuous, may I ask where you hail from, sir?”

Fradel looked up as he sat comfortably under an ancient tree. 

When Svein showed no eagerness to reply, Fradel continued insistently, "Forgive my impudence, but I am very much moved by your gallantry, sir.”

“Another, however able or competent, would not have been so eager to rush into trouble for the sake of a mere stranger.  Alas,” the scholar sighed, "in these desperate and selfish times such acts of merit are confined only to the classical writings of old."

"I'll fetch some ointment to heal those cuts and bruises.” Nevetsecnuac rather impatiently started for his horse.  “Timely applied, it should leave no residue, marks, or scars on your face."  Reaching into a bundle secured to the saddle, he removed a small, blue bottle.  Returning to Fradel's side, he cut some strips and dabbed them with the poultice.

"Please excuse my rudeness,” Nevetsecnuac apologized holding out the strips, "but I am not at liberty to discuss details of my journey, not at this time."  Then in response to Fradel’s affirmative nod, quickly applied the strips to the face wounds.

"I quite understand.” Fradel winced as the medicine touched the open flesh.

 "Please forgive my inquisitiveness."  He then thanked Svein (Nevetsecnuac) for his troubles.

Just then the din of the carrion birds already crowded around the corpses and fighting among themselves as they tore strips off the dead flesh, drew both Fradel's and Nevetsecnuac 's attention.  The sight so distressed the scholar that, forgetting his own pain, he struggled to rise to his feet, to shoo them off.

"You're in no condition, sir.” Nevetsecnuac gently placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising.  "Please conserve your strength.  I'll attend their proper burial.  You may wish to say a few words afterwards before their graves."

"You are most kind, sir,” Fradel protested, "but they are my servants, and I would not dream of shunning my responsibility and imposing on you in this way."  Still, it was obvious that Fradel was in no condition to carry out his intention and, letting himself finally be persuaded, he leaned his back against the tree trunk.

 From this vantage point he observed with appreciation how competently Svein undertook his servant's burial, and then also took pains to cover the bodies of the bandits with rocks, earth and branches in order to spare them from being mauled by the disgruntled vultures (carryon-birds, crows) circling overhead. 

When the burial and prayer was over, Svein (Nevetsecnuac) counseled a quick departure to a more secure camp, in case the fleeing bandits returned with reinforcements. 

They gathered up the scholar's scattered luggage into a single bundle, which they slung onto Fradel's horse.  Since Fradel was recovered enough by now to ride, they lost no time in mounting up and quickly rode away.

 (END OF SECTION 5)