THE WEDDING - SECTION 3

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE WEDDING - SECTION 3

SENO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Why, why should I bother to…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I haven’t seen him before now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

(END OF SECTION 3)