THE RESCUE - SECTION 5

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 5 

Before dawn, leaving the morning’s mundane chores for Svein to complete, Stark made ready with the prescribed protocol and the requisite implements for the purification ceremony. As it was a pressing matter, the age-old ritual could be done without the other participants. All he needed were some personal items of theirs, such as lock of hair, or a piece of clothing. In solitude he would move expeditiously and potently perform, the necessary prayers, incantations and offerings to cleanse the entire premise anew, as well capping the area under protected dome, from any portended, harmful apparitions.

                                                                                ~

Shortly after daybreak (sunrise), when the golden rays basked the room with their warm glow, she awoke with her head somewhat clouded, a derivative-effect of the ingested drug of the night before. At the start with her eyes only ajar, she had incomprehensibly scanned, perused the room, then recollecting the terrible fright of the previous night, she’d set up with a start.  As she rubbed her eyes and then her temples, gradually other facts came to mind. Too fantastic to believe, inwardly she questioned their validity, painstakingly going over in her mind all the pertinent details.

Had she articulated her fright in her native tongue and had Stark, truly, responded to her in kind?  Could she have dreamt or imagined it all- perhaps it was a feat born out of intense desire? 

After a period of soul-searching, the unlikeness of it all had in the end erased any such notions or hope from her heart, replacing it instead with sadness and deep dismay.

Then she noted the absence of her original garments; as she sought the explanation for their whereabouts, her attention just then was drawn to the gentle knock at the door.

Upon her verbal consent, Stark dressed in an embroidered formal silk robe and bearing a gift of change of suitable apparel for her, entered the room and greeted her politely. Going over, he gently placed them on the chest then turned to squarely face her.

 Extraordinary circumstances beget extraordinary measures; therefore, Stark deeming the time to be appropriate, with a courteous bow of the head, he now properly in her own language addressed her. “Please accept this attire in place of your old ones. When ready, you may join me in the next room.”

Not waiting for a response, he then promptly left the premise.

Hearing him speak such, boundless joy had all at once filled her heart.

 “So, it was true after all; she hadn’t imagined it.” She could not help smiling; a big wide smile adorned her face for long at last she’d be at liberty to, without hindrance articulate!  No more of past stiflingly restrictive, oftentimes annoying muted attempts at communication- as time and again she’d faced with the mind boggling, incomprehensible, different dialects of foreign languages since her departure from home- whether it be the exchanged, somewhat secretive dialects between merchants, the coarse, at times vulgar verbal intercourse of (sailors) shipmates on board the seafaring vessel, or the odd interchange between the fisherman that had rescued her, his family and friends.

But she mustn’t let her hopes get too high! She quickly checked her exuberance, for what if he only knew a few words, enough to get by?   There was one sure way to find out; and so, she expeditiously washed her face, hands then donned the attire and footwear that Stark had generously provided (left behind). Incredibly, they were both a perfect fit. When she caught sight of her rather unbecoming (indecorous) flushed face in the mounted metal disc that served as a mirror however, she forced the necessary restraint on her emotions again and sat quietly by the bedside till her breath was regulated and her pulse steadied. Then aptly composed, raising to her feet she quietly exited the room.

She found Stark seated by the fire and in a deep contemplative state smoking his pipe. Svein was noticeably absent, (perhaps) by design.

Before she could address him however, Stark, aware of her presence, calmly rose from his seat and put aside his pipe; facing her squarely then, with a slight bow of the head, he promptly, formally in her language, introduced himself as Stark Therran and politely asked after her true name.  He spoke with an eloquent tone, in a manner most gentle and refined, but she could only discern part of what was being said as he was tad out of practice and she was too emotionally struck, rather choked up, for an apt response, same time felt ecstatic as boundless joy had again surreptitiously (flooded) filled her heart- hearing him speak with her native tongue!

Despite Stark’s outward tactful patience, he was (somewhat) miffed and same time his curiosity mounted, seeing the girl’s slight hesitation after her initial joy, her ensued reticence in disclosing her surname.

She, eventually realizing that there was no polite way out of it, other than shamefully lying to this fine gentlemen that had been infinitely so kind to her- now courteously bowed and after her (relayed) sincere apologies for the improper silence, pronounced in clear intonation her given name, Teuquob then formal family name, Yuenen- one she’d been known for most of her life; hence, in righteous indignation forsook her true lineage, her flesh and blood father who had abominably rejected her.  Intriguingly enough, Stark’s suppressed reaction, the slight blinking of an eye, revealed to her that he possessed the knowledge of, or at least drawn certain apt connection to this professed surname; nevertheless, Stark neither dwelt on it nor made any further inquiries to ascertain what he must have known.  Instead, he politely indicated her to a seat with the understanding that they’ll resume with the rest of their exchange (thereon), in a more relaxed, informal setting. She was also invited to partake some of the steeped tea, cupful of which had thoughtfully already been placed on a small end-table by the seat.

Though she was bursting with innumerable questions and needed to know, “what probable connection?” his reserved taciturn manner and obvious reticence, forced restraint on her, and as well, discouraged her from her objective. Instead, she bid her time, enjoying the exquisite brew.

As it were, all she knew of her foster father’s lineage, a summary, was that he was the third son, who had inherited his title after the eldest (Haixi Yuenen) for some furtive reason forwent it. The latter for a time had been lost at sea and even after his remarkable, almost miraculous safe return, still opted to, living the reminder of his life in self-imposed exile. Meanwhile the second in line had lost his life in an ambush during one of the worst historically disastrous campaigns against an ancient race, that since then had been wiped out from the face of the Earth, thanks to Hendenko.

After his inheriting of the coveted title, her foster father’s position was further secured when he aligned himself through a propitious marriage, with the royal family.

 “Surely this tactful and cultured a gentleman before her had at some point in time visited Kontu and arbitrarily perhaps, came to know of her father or at least, of the family.”  She still could not help but formulate in silence; her feelings now doused with greater admiration of Stark.

At any rate, bound by gratitude she broke the uneasy silence between them by readily volunteering the subsequent, less intrusive information: How, once, seemingly long time prior, she’d been a passenger on a merchant ship that had encountered unexpected severe weather, veered off-course and consequently been lost at sea. The tragic episodes relived once more, despite her initial intent, she'd then uncharacteristically rattled on. When she became aware of this default, she tried to remedy it with succinct summation.

 “A presumed sole survivor, I ended up cast near the shores of this land…. Rescued from certain death by a kindly old fisherman and his wife, I remained with them for a time, as I’d felt obligated to repay their kindness.”  At this point her voice faltered, as she was lost as to how best to continue. 

She had purposefully omitted the facts concerning the odd circumstance under which she had left Kaimu and his wife Ensa; for in truth, she was not entirely clear of the reasons herself, for the premature secretive flight. Furthermore, there was the obvious lapse in her memory, when she’d suddenly found herself without a mount, dressed in a different, though pleasanter attire, cast amid a clearly higher altitude forest, without any recollection as to how she’d got there.

“We will at later time perhaps indulge in a more extensive conversation- after you’ve sorted out the complex details within your mind- and received answers to obviously many enigmatic questions.” Stark, noting her dilemma, had politely, with apt sensitivity, at this point interjected.  For in this case, he could afford to be patient; any interested party from the fishing habitat, if there were any, would have quickly abandoned any hope of pursuit, on the premise that she would be perished long before she’d reached the foothills, let alone the mountain.

Lightened at heart, she nodded in grateful concurrence her ready assent.

“We shall in due course however, as your initial aim had been thwarted, explore all plausible options where which to again afford you a passage at sea for the purposes of restoring you back to your family in the Country of your origin.” Stark in a thoughtful air re-lighting his pipe, deliberately mumbled. Through subtle design, he aimed hence, to resolving the other more prevalent concern: in determining whether she was a willing participant or not- in other words, had she left her home voluntarily or barring unforeseen circumstances, was she forced to flee; or altogether different, had she been a resultant victim of an economic, political or conspiratorial abduction that was botched, because of the unexpected disaster at sea? 

Subsequently, he’d also hoped to have gently, without too much prying (persuade) coaxed her to reveal her true intentions/objective for the future, in order that he may act in accordance with it.

Her elicited response wasn’t altogether unexpected, especially when her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears and with a sorrowful look, she then professed in a tragic, definitive tone that she had no family at all to go back to in her native land. 

 “That’s highly improbable.” Stark mused, now rightly intrigued; nevertheless, he forwent persistence, leaving it for her to, later perhaps, when she would be more willing, unfold the rest of her life’s story. At which time she may also profess to the true reasons for her flight. In the interim he was (somewhat) relieved, as it removed the urgency of contact with the outside world, a dangerous precedence that they would have otherwise had been obliged to undertake, risking during it, perhaps their unwarranted disclosure.

As it were, for quite some time now, as long as Svein had been alive, they had dwelt in solitude, far removed from any civilized centers of human habitation.  Only rare, exceptional instances or justified occasions constrained Svein to visit the nearby town, to procure some very necessary supplies (or items). 

This was the lifestyle Stark had elected for them both, and Svein to present knowing no other, had quietly adhered to it.

“Nevertheless,” Stark in an unusual tolerant mood, waved a dismissive hand. “Please excuse me for I am guilty of gross negligence as your host; I should not have been so presumptuously inquisitive, especially with subjects that are clearly injurious to you…Hmm,” after a thoughtful repose, he all the same reluctantly added, “though it is of vital importance, for the time being I shall also refrain from inquiring as to how you’d come by your prior, determinedly supernatural garments; unless of course, you care to elaborate on it succinctly?…” He paused and waited for her apt response.

Once more the bafflement on her face, however, told him all he needed to know. Nodding, he spoke with solemnity: “Fortunately you were spared a third time from a dire danger; shortly after your encounter with the apparition last night, as I was pondering on the concern, I happened to witness the sudden evanescence of your garb and footwear into thin air. Though it might be incongruous, under the circumstances, I was able to procure you on such short notice, a somewhat suitable wear. At a subsequent time, we can perhaps arrange to provide you with far more befitting ones.”

“Please sir,” Teuquob bashfully uttered (voiced). “As troublesome a burden as I have been until now, do not trouble yourself any further on my account, as this is more than adequate, a fine, considerate gift; moreover, I am eternally grateful and feel indebted to you and your nephew for all the protection, saving my life, and kindness you’ve both lavished on me thus …”

It was Stark’s turn to interrupt; he cut her short with a stay of his hand.

 “You needn’t be so obliged, for anyone else would have done the same under the circumstances; and please do not talk of being an inconvenience.” he added in mock anger. “You are a guest in our humble abode; any such talk shames me, declaring me a bad host. You are more than welcome to…”

At this precise moment Svein had returned. Seeing her up and about and conversing in a seemingly comprehensive dialogue with his uncle, he was both delighted and amazed; all the same, he nodded his head in greeting to both.

 Stark at once forgoing the rest of his intent and rising from his seat, addressed Teuquob resolutely: “Now if you be so kind as to return to your room, while I have few words with my nephew in private and appraise him of the recent developments; unfortunately he is not schooled in your dialect and that would (put) render him at a certain disadvantage”.

Before her dismissal however, he also added. “We shall call on you at the earliest convenience, preferably when the table for breakfast is set, unless of course, you’d prefer to have it in your room, this once more?”

“Being the full beneficiary of your competent, conscientious care, I feel perfectly fine and would be delighted to join the esteemed company when summoned.” She hastily responded, as she same time stole a shy glimpse in Svein’s direction, before her blushing, swift exit.

Stark with a wry smile nodded his approval then turned to address his nephew that bore on his face an unconcealed, somewhat astonished, stymied look.

                                                                               ~

All cleaned up, informed of the recent developments, the table for breakfast fully set, ready as Svein was, he could not conceal his bursting inner joy when later that morning Teuquob emerged at the outside again, looking every bit as lovely, radiant and precious.

Coming forward, she duly bowed first to Stark then Svein, her endearing patrons, in proper greeting.

 “Let us forgo (dispense with) the superfluous, inessential formalities.”  Stark decidedly (ejected) addressed her in her native tongue.

Be that as it may, he then properly introduced her to his nephew Svein, with the utmost subtlety, acting as a go-between and translating to each, the spoken responses; then dismissing further protocol, he invited her to a designated seat at the table.

She’d delightedly cooperated; but then noting her inner quandary during the course of the meal and anticipating her ensued thoughts, Stark felt obliged to intercede and fully explained to her that, since there’d been no need up until then, Svein had not been schooled on her native dialect; however, because the present circumstances had necessitated it, Stark would thenceforth set aside some time to instruct both, in the other’s oral (verbal) language. Svein will be taught hers as she in turn shall learn theirs. As he explained this to both, each in turn expressed with heartfelt gratitude their ready assent (concurrence) to this very generous conciliatory measure.

                                                                                     ~

But keen as they were- with Svein well integrating this added study into his already taxed schedule- still it took some time for Teuquob and Svein to master the art to effectively communicate.  In the interim as it was more convenient, Stark and Teuquob freely exchanged facts and likewise experiences in numerous polite conversations.  Svein at such instances being left out of it, consequently his mood, rather state of being, more often than not graduated from being vexed, (annoyed) to miffed (offended), and to Stark’s trained eye, even became irked (peeved).

In response, Stark then purposely prolonged the interesting interchange, easing their conversation gradually to almost bandy- deeming this a good exercise, another apt lesson in remedying Svein’s otherwise impatient nature. 

She on her part was most endearing, for at such instances sensing Svein’s unease, though rather clumsily, would try to include Svein in their ongoing exchange.

                                                                                                  ~

Then there was that slight incidence sometime later, but still at the earlier stage, during one typical evening when Svein after fetching the heavy pot of brewed fragrant tea, he meant to place the just then filled cup beside her, but in that instance, Teuquob in her eagerness to help, had also reached for the same handle with a sweet smile on her lips, as she articulated the words “Thanks, please allow me.”  Comprehending her words, Svein’d smiled, but then meeting her eyes, bashfully he’d averted his and so at that precise moment of awkwardness the accidental touch (collision) of their hands had made both blush crimson. Moreover, Svein’s hand had quivered, almost causing the cup to spill its contents onto the table.

This move had been quietly observed by Stark and subsequently, a barely visible wry smile had registered (manifested) on his taut lips.  He’d looked away, musing: That boy, would he never cease to amaze me?  After all this time, he acts so timorous (shy) around a female, some warrior!  I was not that shy when I was his age.  This last thought, however, had saddened Stark, for then his memories had unwittingly trailed to a girl he had lost his heart to, when he was no older than Svein, merely sixteen years in age.

That very night, long after they’d retired to their respective rooms, as Teuquob had lain awake for a while longer thinking over the day’s events, her thoughts had reverted to that seemingly trivial incidence at suppertime. Envisioning next in her mind’s eye all the events since her rescue- her thoughts had (enumerated) contemplated on Svein’s fine features and noble bearing, his bravery, his stamina, agility and multi-talents. Clear representative of a story book reticent hero Svein was, with unstinting generosity of the heart, and handsome, good looks; he’d been most capable, yet so atypically modest- devoid of least insidious pride- gentle, tolerant, persevering and kind in his many varied ways.  A broad smile then registered on her lips and rosy hue had adorned (dawned on) her face just thinking of his most recent, bashfulness and all his other endearing qualities. Despite all her protestations and self-denial, she’d subsequently found herself strangely drawn to him more so than before, and her heart had palpitated wildly, with feelings of unusual depth. 

(There will be more exciting revelations in the next post of The Rescue, Section 6)

THE ORDEAL - SECTION 1

 THE ORDEAL 

 SECTION 1

 

Jiense, rather Teuquob (her actual name), had been directed to a much safer Reaog town by Ensa. Things might have turned out quite different and perhaps a bit mundane if the quirks of fate hadn’t interfered and altered her intended course.

As fantastic as it may seem when she’d reached the key juncture on the road a stray fox suddenly appearing on the spot out of thin air spooked the horse.

The terrified steed bolted, neighing, reared its front legs up high in the air, then after fiercely stomping them on the ground, shod like a projectile in full gallop in an entirely different direction. All during this most grueling, catapulting ride, though violently rocked and tossed about, as mark of her horsemanship, she’d stayed in the saddle by stubbornly clinging onto the horse’s bridle (mane).  The steed completely drenched in sweat had finally tempered his stride to a canter but by then Teuquob had lost all sense of direction and hadn’t a clue as to her whereabouts. Halting the beast on a hilltop and craning her neck, her eager gaze meticulously surveyed the open perimeter far and wide as her eyes sought to decipher or to mark a single identifiable landscape, an outlet perhaps that might correctly steer them back to their original course (destination). But after a disappointing period (spell), she had to concede to her present dire predicament: that she was utterly, hopelessly lost! Her heart laden with despair then, she lowered her head and shrugged. “So be it.”

Dismounting, she allowed the steed a brief respite wherewith to graze on the available grass; then overriding any persistent trepidation, back in saddle, she intrepidly embarked on the unpremeditated, variant direction.

She would have had a serious cause for concern however, had she known that this elected course was the very one that she’d been gravely warned against, and that come what may, from hereon, her fate fraught with danger, would be hanging in the balance with every leg of the advance.  The serpentine (meandering) route after a treacherous descent, traversed through the most perilous, immense wetland (marsh) to eventually terminate at the base of the towering foothills. Even if she were to be extremely fortunate enough to have survived the quagmire, she would then be faced with the ordeal of the dreaded foothills skirting the massive ridges of a gargantuan mountain.

It’s hard to say which projected the greatest risk: the grave topography or the carnivorous, feral beasts that were said to have inhabited the foothills and the subsequent mountain range?

The “Five Brothers” as these vast hills were called: rested at the outskirts of an ascending most treacherous, most precipitous mountain.  The monumental mountain with its sheer ridges, sharper than sharpest blades had its four peaks perpetually crowned with the white incandescent clouds; while its invisible summit reached so high that it penetrated the lower reaches of the azure heavens; hence, the name Tejunar, meaning “the eyes of Heaven”. Tejunar was so densely forested with centuries old ancient trees that in parts the sun’s rays were completely blotted out. The entire mountain range, meanwhile, was claimed “to have been inhabited” by many guardian mountain spirits that to date discouraged all or any trespassers. The staunch belief had come about over the span of years, as far too many hardy souls, hunters with mettle, gallant man and adventurers, mercenaries or diehards had lost their lives and in a terrible way too, during their bold undertaking (enterprise). The resulting colorful folktales embellished with supernatural accounts and phantasmal exploits of apparitions, goblins or evil entities had increasingly (further) fed the imagination. And so, for a decade now, despite the apparent abundance of game on this mountain range, no sane man had ever dared to violate the foreboding, deemed sacred ground, leaving the cohabitant wild beasts to roam at will and (to multiply into still greater numbers.) flourish in natural abundance.

                                                                                       ~

This be opined unfortunate or not, fate determining the way, at dusk she’d inadvertently bypassed the ‘last chance’ alternate route, to find herself (facing) encountering an increasingly inhospitable territory, that no one would ever dare venture into. Be that as it may, and this being no small feat- day after day she’d forged on- ridden, galloped or trudged on foot as they both- she and the beast, negotiated the difficult, oftentimes treacherous terrain, to cover a great distance. Only at the conclusion of each grueling day’s ride, as the darkness encroached to blanket (veil) the Earth, the bone chilling air compounded by the thrashing winds, would compel her to seek some semblance of shelter. But mindful of the din of howling, roaring beasts’ outside, in that opportune cove or an abandoned cave, she would oftentimes lie there in fetal position nestled to the small campfire, clutching the long knife- a generous gift of Ensa’s, hardly getting a wink. Cold and weary, her head riddled with cobwebs at the crack of dawn, while the horse satisfied his hunger on the abundant tall (lush) grass, she would quickly nibble on the portion of her scant rations; then once again rising to the challenge, she would hop back in saddle and take on the next plausible course.

On this day, after a long spell of riding, this is strange! Umm… the queerest thing! Just then becoming aware, she abruptly halted the nervous steed’s advance. Leaning forward she gently stroked his mane to steady him, then sitting upright once more; she cocked her head to one side and listened… She listened long and hard.

Hmm, still nothing!

To her growing unease, as she looked around, she further became cognizant of the stark, deathly silence surrounding her. Not a single leaf stirred, no insect buzzed, no birds chirped, there was no roar or a howl of any kind, no semblance (apparent) of animal life at all. No natural hum, thud or echo or pitch except that of her own breathing and the steady sounds of her mount as his hoofs nervously trod (trampled) on the reverberating ground akin to a (much like a) rhythmic drumbeat. Cast in this surreal, all pervasive, eerie atmosphere, she moreover could not shake the sensation of being espied upon.

“But by whom, by what?” She could not rightly, guess; nor did the subsequently traversed distance in the wake (aftermath) of the treacherous descent had in any way altered the persistent reality or diminish in the least the ongoing strong sensation of being avidly observed and studied perhaps by an omnipresent, intensely intrusive pair of unseen eyes.

The curious impression eventually did abate (ceased) when, after a long, grueling stretch, both the rider and the horse had suddenly and completely become gobbled-up by the dense thicket- for they had then unwittingly entered the dreaded quagmire! From hence the meandering path overgrown with weeds and brambles with many undulating pitfalls made their slow advance more laborious. Meanwhile the moisture laden air, restrictive and foul smelling, increasingly oppressed her bronchial passages. Gasping, straining for that precious breath, she led the reluctant horse by the bridle, treading wearily on the seemingly endless, soggy, slimy, uneven ground. Guided only by intuition, they had more than once barely avoided several well-disguised pitfalls, camouflaged quicksand and cloaked abysmal pools; meanwhile on the solid patches, the entwining shrubs or the ground runners unfailingly raced at every leg of the advance to maliciously mar or hinder their dauntless progress.

Her heart had oftentimes leaped to her mouth when she encountered creepy, crawly, scaly, slithering, long tapering cylindrical forms that just as quickly disappeared into the pools of stagnant water, underbrush, or simply vanished in the cavities of the earth or rock.

 In this nightmarish labyrinth with innumerable days blending with infinite nights, her sanity riding on the precipice, she’d been further burdened with the exertion of trying to handle the frightened, wayward steed that oftentimes strove to just run away from it all. Mercifully however, thus far they’d been spared from the most prevalent danger:  of being bitten by any number of the four indigenous poisonous reptiles- for one bite would have been sufficient to render any being or a beast in an instantaneous comatose state that eventually resulted in a most painful, lingering death. As it were, she only had a comparable herb, a sort of antidote in that bundle of hers, capable of averting catastrophes from insects or amphibians. And so, too fearful to stop, they’d for many a day endlessly ploughed on in this incubus maze. But anxiety had not been the sole driving force behind it all; in fact, advance had been partly made possible because of a very useful herb also fortuitously included in that medicinal pouch of hers. When chewed, the specific plant-leaves (seeds) had endowed (furnished) Teuquob with a strong stamina, keen reflexes and heightened threshold for the pain- enabling her hence, to go far beyond her limits. But at the intermittent times when the effects of the drug waned or altogether wore off (especially at the end when there were no more to be had): the mental and physical downturn, the withdrawal symptoms took a terrible physical and mental toll on her. In anticipation of a worst scenario, to prevent her falling off the mount, she’d already, by way of ropes, (fastened) secured (lower part of) her body at the waist to the saddle. But as the time wore on, even with the compliment of likewise ingested herbs, her endurance notwithstanding, she’d subsequently suffered the partial loss of feeling and sensation in her limbs, arms and legs. Meanwhile numbed to the core, her mind had often wondered wildly, reeling through picturesque, fantastic imagery in the atmospheric surreal dream-state.

It was no small miracle indeed, when unexpectedly one day, nearing dusk, both rider and the mount had suddenly found themselves at the periphery, and so somewhat unscathed, emerged from this dangerous trammel and deadly snare. With resurgent zeal the mount had pushed forward then, till he’d reached a safer clearing. Coming to, she’d barely managed to untie the knots and letting go, slid off the horse plump collapsing on the hard ground. After an undetermined time, she’d regained full consciousness; delighted by the refreshing change from the traversed slimy, soggy base- arms outstretched, eyes closed shut, she’d nevertheless lain there perfectly still, with only her chest cavity slightly rising and falling, as she took in a more well-earned, elongated rest under the blanket of stars. Fortunately, in all that time the noble mount (horse) had never strayed too far, grazing quietly while dutifully watching over her.

Daylight anew had brought its own variable challenges; still, nothing comparable to the ordeals just endured.

 

                                                                   ~

 

Once more back on course, with the strange sense of urgency fueling, egging them on, with the incessant riding at times in full gallop, they’d inexorably covered the inhospitable, sparsely forested and undulated steppe that seemingly had no end in sight. A mere speck on this vast landscape, this sporadically forested expanse with its intermittent gorges and valleys rising and dipping- after going over the last hump, one day she’d looked on ahead to behold the rank, forebodingly magnificent foothills. The very ones she’d been warned against! She recollected well then, Ensa’s imparted knowledge, relayed mostly by way of diagrams: How the wide band of infamous foothills skirted the eastern side of the mountain range… beyond which lay a far steeper climb.

06

She sighed, anticipating grater hardships still but fought the feeling of trepidation like a talon that had anew gripped her heart.  For what other choice did she have? After a dismissive shrug, she exhaled a deep expunging breath. Oh well, with ‘Heaven’s’ help she’d survived thus far; if it’s so ordained, notwithstanding prevalent dangers, she’ll yet again persevere!

“There’s no turning back now, hope you’re up to it old-boy!” She leaned forward and whispered into the horse’s ear as she affectionately patted the side of his neck. Besides, she’d been drawn to the majestic mountain range for an added reason:

For a long time hence, even before she’d parted from Ensa’s care, she’d nurtured an inner desire, born out of her desperate circumstance- to encounter, to chance upon a place of worship, a monastery or a lonely recluse’s hut. The dizzying heights of the summits with their proximity to the Heavens would be an ideal setting for such.  She anticipated that, there, as in her country, the mountain range would be a beacon of sorts, propelling, attracting pious beings of various religious sects or hermits, all irrespectively seeking sublime sanctuary.  Indeed, this had been at the root of her tenacity, the driving force for overcoming such incredible odds.

                                                                ~

Succeeding days, with renewed zeal, she’d relentlessly forged on through the foothills towards the gargantuan mountain range, even though the precariously hung, meandering, scantily viable (feasible) path overgrown with climbers, brambles, thorns and loose boulders, with swift flowing streams presented a daunting challenge, at times quite impossible to traverse. Meanwhile her concentration was so intently focused on the task at hand that she’d in the interim had remained deliberately oblivious to the resurgent eerie atmosphere that had for quite some time now, for lack of a better word, dogged (plagued) her.

The all-encompassing silence had of course re-surfaced (revived) shortly after she’d emerged from the quagmire, and well before she’d found herself at the periphery of the foothills. Brushing this distraction aside, she’d intentionally abstained from questioning this bizarre happenstance; for inwardly she’d deemed it a blessing from “Heaven”, especially since enveloped rather cocooned, in this somewhat protective supernatural milieu- and so spared from the worldly concerns of danger from predatory beasts- she’d been able to better advance, and be at liberty to collect water from the occasional stream, gather berries, nuts, roots and other such edible foods for sustenance.

Leaving it to the caprice of “Nature”, the only manifest difficulty meanwhile, stemmed from the tempestuous weather. For even on a relatively good day, she could suddenly become drenched with an unexpected downpour or be engulfed in precipitate murk, mist or haze; or enshrouded in dust-clouds (dust particulate matter) by the ever vigilant, gusting, thrashing winds that completely obscured all visibility. As it were the bone chilling frigid temperatures of the evenings contrasted greatly with the dampness of the morning dews and the stifling heat of the noontime- this being still the summer season. To survive the frigid temperatures of the nights she would don over her man’s attire the so-called waterproofed (waxed) jacket that Ensa had provided. But periodically when even this seemed inadequate, she would further cover herself with branches laden with leaves or moss as she huddled her body in protective corners of abandoned caves or coves. And when her footwear overtime became too threadbare, adept in ways of surviving, she’d resourcefully used strips cut from her generous portions of clothing to reinforce the soles for an added protection.  Nevertheless, in this harsh environment the cruel elements still taking their toll, her lovely hands in due course had become painfully chaffed, as did her arms and legs that now bore countless scratches and cuts. Added to this asperity was the resurgent odd feeling (a hunch) of again being watched (observed) by a pair of unseen eyes that were neither human nor beast!

Periodically, she would even perceive an acute sense of being threatened by it; but in the absence of manifest danger, gradually she’d become more curious and less fearful of the entity that of which never straying too far persistently stalked her. And so, when darkness blanketed the earth, she took solace by dwelling on this unseen constant companion and even at times outwardly conversed with it before falling asleep.

Once at midday after consuming her meager rations of food she’d been resting quietly with her back leaned against an ancient tree when just then she spotted a strange, bizarre creature crouched on an overhead rock up ahead. As she’d blinked and stirred, it’d instantaneously disappeared into thin air. Nor had this been the only such sighting of the mysterious, clearly supernatural entity… She could not rightly say whether it’d happened in a dream state or not, but on another occasion, late in the evening she’d suddenly been startled awake by a sensation of being touched or groped.  Bent on confronting this intrusive, phantom companion, on the subsequent nights she’d feigned being asleep and duly waited; and sure enough, on the fourth or fifth turn, well into the night as she’d remained dormant, something resembling a fox, a furry creature of sorts, had warily (guardedly) drawn quite near to sniff then prod her. Assuming that this was not a dangerous apparition, she was about to spring forth to grab hold, when unfortunately, just then, the ever-vigilant steed raising quite a ruckus, thwarted her aim. Nor did she ever gain another such chance, as each night thence; the moment she’d laid her head down, an unnatural (unholy) deep slumber at once overtook her.

                                                                                                     ~

 (End of Section 1)

(MORE EXCITING EVENTS WILL UNFOLD IN THE NEXT POST OF THE ORDEAL -SECTION 2)