THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 11

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- THE STATE OF THINGS- SECTION 11

Fradel, resolved to tell all, nodded and then solemnly confessed: "The venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald, in truth was my adopted father, who’d rescued me from the clutches of death and raised me as his own all these years. This fact was revealed to me on his death bed."

Svein empathetically listened to it, as Fradel gradually unfolded the threads of his confidential, distressing past:

Zukan Rurik Korvald, a celebrated scholar of his time, one faithful day on a return trip after visiting a close relative, propitiously (impulsively) requiring some respite, had had his boat moored on the banks of the river Tua, just a short distance from a bridge.  He had interrupted his journey craving also, to partake (imbibe) a particular fine wine (a special brew he’d procured from a winery), while absorbing proper appreciation of the marvelous scenery that enhanced that region. 

Subsequently inspired, he’d composed some brilliant stanzas that were later to be highly prized by the gentry; just before dusk, he’d laid down his brush and returned to his cabin to recline for a short repose (rest) when, the blowing of horns and the approaching thunder of hooves drove him back up on deck.

From afar, he had then witnessed the gruesome tragedy of two people, unfortunate enough to be caught on the bridge and, failing to clear the way, being trampled by Zakhertan Yozdek's unruly steed as he led his mounted contingent in a fearsome race over the hills, leaving a trail of dust behind. Overriding the protests of his boatmen, Zukan Rurik Korvald still sent his two trusted servants to the bridge to assess the damage and, perhaps, lend some curative help to the unfortunate victims.  As expected, their report of the couple's fate came as no surprise to anyone.  The couple had been trampled to death; however, the mother's quick action, as she'd used her body to shield her infant son from the deadly onslaught had spared the baby from a certain death.  The chief steward, not knowing what else to do, had returned with the scrawny, bawling infant in his arms.

The captain and crew put up a strong resistance to having the baby on board, arguing that this was no small matter.  Refusing to become involved, the captain had strongly advised Zukan to dispose of the infant along with his parents’ corpses into the river.

 "Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek,” he'd vehemently warned, "is not one to be trifled with.  You're a stranger to these parts; you don't know the half of it.  If you value your life, you'd best forget all you've seen today.  The law can't touch mighty Field-Marshall, so save yourself from sure future calamity.  This infant is not worth the serious trouble which it could beget, not only for you but for us all."

"Nonsense; no one is above the law!" Zukan had exploded.  Ordinarily a mild-mannered nobleman, he had regretted this outburst immediately and thus added calmly, "I'll deal with this in my own way, you will not be involved."

As a man of integrity and chivalrous character, the venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald had delayed his departure from this region thence, in order to appear before the local Magistrate, named Luoki, to demand justice for two unidentified, dead peasants.

 Magistrate Luoki and the other prominent local authorities, disgruntled atop quaking with fear, had shown reluctance, furthermore, banding together had done their best to discourage Zukan from this dangerous pursuit.  Discreetly, and unofficially, the scholar was counseled to leave well enough alone and was again told that Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek was too powerful a man to offend.

“This misdemeanor,” as they called the murder of two peasants, who were obviously also strangers to the region, “was too light a charge to even think of summoning Field Marshal Zakhertan before a rural court to give account.”

 The Magistrate had, meanwhile, wrapped up the case quickly and efficiently, after his subordinates had obtained (secured) false evidence from the boatmen and his crew, all of it substantiating the final verdict, the pronouncing of the couple's death, a deliberate act of a double suicide.   

Outnumbered, Zukan Rurik Korvald’s protests had, via other measures, been totally curtailed; he was rendered powerless to beget any justice for the innocent victims. In this way, though, local authorities and the deemed ungrateful Zukan Rurik Korvald, were shielded from the certain future wrath of Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek.

The matter thus summarily settled; the Magistrate Luoki demanded next, that the child be turned over to the authorities for his proper disposal.  Rather than surrendering, however, Zukan and his servants fled the area under cover of night.

Later Zukan had sent a trusted aide back to the region under disguise in order to make discrete investigations into the identity of the victims and about any prior (erstwhile) links (relations, possible family, contacts).  When this effort proved to be in vain, Zukan had embraced the child as his own and, since he was himself childless, named the infant Fradel Rurik Korvald.

Quite discontented with the rampant corruption under Zakhertan Yozdek's growing power, observing how the Field-Marshall’s hands gripped the nation's neck, choking tightly until the pulse ceased its flow; the indignant (aristocrat) scholar Zukon, had eventually been constrained (forced) to become a recluse.

Zukan's peaceful domain was so completely insulated that it allowed no outside infiltration at all.  Fradel had grown up perfectly schooled in literary skills and religion, cocooned in this tranquil atmosphere, oblivious to the harsh realities in the so-called civilized world outside.  The truth about his parentage was revealed to him only at Zukan's death bed.  Unfortunately, before the three years of mourning for the venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald was over and Fradel had fully explored his avenues of vengeance against Zakhertan, Fradel had been summoned to court.

Fradel at this point, falling silent, had pensively looked away beyond the curtainless window, to observe the night sky dotted with blinking stars.

"It is as I had expected,” Svein (Nevetsecnuac) just then rejoined with fire in his eyes, startling Fradel from his ephemeral brooding (ruminating).  "We share the same purpose, you and I.” Svein smiled and then nodded. “It may have started as a personal vendetta, but it has now gone far beyond that, hasn't it?"  Svein, next, answered Fradel's silent query. "Yes, my parents and all my family, too, were cruelly murdered by Zakhertan Yozdek."

Fradel gazed at Svein nonplused, realizing only then that, despite the intense and extensive interchange that led them to the brink of becoming sworn brothers, he still knew virtually nothing of Svein's background.  How far can I hinge on this blind faith?

But before Fradel could give voice to his thoughts, Svein inquired directly and with sincere concern, "Your courage and aim are both most commendable, Fradel; and I don’t wish to give offense, however, it is obvious that you lack both knowledge and skill in pertinent strategy, medicine, toxins or Martial Arts.  How do you propose to best (assassinate) this most formidable foe Zakhertan Yozdek? Lest I miss something vital, may I be permitted to learn of your plan?  Besides, I doubt that you have ever killed an animal, let alone a human being."

"You are quite correct in your supposition.” Fradel replied coolly.  "I've always been opposed to the taking of life.  I've espoused the philosophy of Zuox which holds that 'All life, its form and expression, is sacred.  They must be cherished and preserved.'  But that hardly applies to a villain like Zakhertan, a monster arrayed (clothed) in human form.  I'm well aware of the past, unsuccessful, numerous attempts on usurper Monarch's life.  Though I have comparatively little fighting ability, this inadequacy does not deter me from my noble aim.  I have the will, and I am prepared to die to attain justice for my parents and for my countrymen.  The monster must be made to atone for his crimes."  As he vehemently expressed his hatred of Zakhertan once more, he grew quite flushed, his ears burned, and his voice grew hoarse.

"You have echoed the sentiments of my own heart.” Svein responded thoughtfully when the other fell silent.  "But, Fradel, this is no small task, and it should not be taken lightly.  I, at least, was trained and conditioned since childhood for such a purpose while you were not.  Every fabric of my being stands in readiness for this fight.  Far be it that I should deter you from your just cause, but I fear that your noble attributes, exceptional courage may not be enough; why, then, should you throw your life away?”

"No.", Svein waved a dissenting hand to still the retort forming on Fradel's tongue.  "Please hear me out first.  A man can only die once.  All that I ask is that you postpone your vengeance until I have had a go at it first.  In the event that I should fail then it will be your turn.  By then, perhaps, you would have attained the necessary skill and be able to succeed where others before you have failed."

"I know that you mean well, Svein, and I will certainly take your words under advisement.” Fradel stubbornly replied.  "Still, being the least likely person to attack the Monarch, I would have the element of surprise on my side and may be more likely to inflict a mortal wound on him.  He is on his guard with formidable men (civil or military) with fine physiques, wary of fighters of all sorts (male or female), dissident scholars or any citizen with adverse views.  But he would never suspect a nature loving recluse such as I.  I’m aware of the fact that his elite security has checked me out thoroughly."  Fradel stopped and went over to his luggage and began rummaging around inside.  Finding what he sought for, he withdrew an antique-looking writing brush and presented it with a flourish.  "Besides, this provides me with the perfect means of killing him."

Suppressing a chuckle, Svein queried, "And how, may I ask, do you propose to use that?  However, genius a contraption, a concealed weapon in the form of a brush would be detected at once.”

Ignoring Svein's obvious misgivings, Fradel smiled wryly and pointed the bristles of the brush towards the headboard.  Instantly a small metal dart buried itself with a twang half-way into the wood.

 As Svein went to retrieve the dart, Fradel removed a small, wooden box from his pocket and opening it, announced, "This is no ordinary ink box.  It contains the highly noxious ink that can paralyze the heart within seconds of coming in contact with the skin.  Loading the brush for writing laces the tip of the dart and a concealed trigger launches it.  This trick should bring about Zakhertan's destruction instantly. “

“I most certainly will be searched for concealed weapons before I'm brought into his presence, but they would not take away the tools of my trade; I need these to fulfill my purpose in being summoned there.  I ask you; would anyone suspect the simple writing implement of a non-political, scholarly recluse?"

"It seems you’ve given this a lot of thought.  And admittedly it’s the most ingenious device. The barbed dart is most cleverly camouflaged as one of the bristles.  Now suppose you are fortunate enough that it does escape the meticulous scrutiny (search) of the elite security. But the target may not be such an easy one to hit.  Zakhertan Yozdek is renowned for his military prowess; he's reportedly unsurpassed in agility, strength, and cunning.  Moreover, he might be wearing under his court vestments, light metal armor (cuirass, shield); you, taking that into account, no doubt plan to aim for his neck, hand or face. Nevertheless, with his incredible reflexes he may still successfully elude the dart and what then?    Have you an alternate plan to follow in this one's wake?"

"No!” Fradel stamped his foot in vexation.  In truth, he had not configured every possibility, and, Svein’s points had certain validity.  Going against such a formidable foe he should have devised a more plausible secondary, even a tertiary plan to fall back on in order to ensure his success.  He sat down to ponder with a sinking heart.

"Do not lose heart, brother, for I shall not fail.  The monster's days are numbered."  Svein lightly tapped Fradel's shoulder in consolation.

Svein's addressing him as "brother" recalled to Fradel’s mind, his earlier resolve.  Rising to his feet, he proposed that, since there were now no obstacles, they should take the oath of brotherhood without further delay; after which they could plan at length how best he and Svein, as individuals or jointly, could best serve their cause.  But it was now Svein's turn to (hesitate) show reserve; nevertheless, in the brief silence that ensued, Svein had swiftly resolved his inner quandary.  Svein sincerely addressing Fradel, first asked forgiveness for his prior deception, and then drawing near, in a low voice revealed the name of his mentor, Lord Asger Thuxur Marrow Zhon, and subsequently, confessed to his true identity.

Overcoming his shock, Fradel was about to drop to his knees to show his proper respect, when he was swiftly, courteously, stopped by Nevetsecnuac.  “Since they were practically brothers already,” Nevetsecnuac, same time had reasoned, “such formalities were quite unwarranted.”

"But I, the orphan son of lowly peasants, am unworthy of such great honor.  I cannot hope to ever become the sworn brother of a Prince (Nevtsecnuac Alric Therrain Valamir).” Fradel protested.

"You have now offended me deeply, brother.” Nevetsecnuac frowned.  “I never figured you to be so pompous.  After all that we have shared, nothing has changed between us."

 The emotion filled speech that followed, imbued with such humility and honesty so overwhelmed Fradel that, his eyes brimming with tears, he finally acquiesced.

In the private ceremony that followed, the Prince and the Scholar both fell to their knees facing south.  Voicing their petition to the Heavenly Gods, they swore an oath before them to be brothers for life.  After a small cut was inflicted on each one’s index finger, the dripping blood was then collected in a ceramic goblet half filled with wine.  Taking the cup in both hands, Nevetsecnuac ceremoniously presented it to Fradel, calling him elder brother as Fradel was five years his senior.  Receiving the cup, Fradel drank the first sip from it then, with just as much ceremony, offered it to Nevetsecnuac, addressing him as his younger brother.  After Nevetsecnuac had obliged, the cup was hurled against the fireplace and broke into a thousand fragments, sealing the oath forever.  The (sudden) just then rising winds outside vigorously rattled the shutters as if in shared joy and approval.

Nevetsecnuac and Fradel, now as brothers sat across from each other and toasted to their future success. As they partook the wine, they reminisced about family members and dear friends that could not be there; later still, slightly inebriated, they drowned their sorrows in yet more capfuls of wine. 

During this time Fradel was told of the great deeds and sacrifices of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, Lord Shonne Gulbrand, Lu Moldan and the rest, marveling at their greatness, loyalty and scope of heroic attributes, comparing each to the legendary historical figures.

As the topic gradually veered towards the exacting of vengeance, Fradel asked Nevetsecnuac if he had on him the special ID Permit, a vital official (two-part) document essential in allowing one access to Capital Province Holger and then to Imperial city Channing.

Nevetsecnuac shook his head in the negative, then asked, "An ID Permit? This is the first time I’ve heard of such a requisite."

"Just as I suspected,” Fradel nodded thoughtfully.  "But that's to be expected."  He went on to explain that few officials, never mind influential citizens, were aware of the necessity for such a certificate, even though its use had been strictly enforced by the authorities in the Capital province, Holger, for half a year now.  He recounted how he, himself, would have been caught unawares, had it not been for the Palace Guard's explicit reminder when he'd delivered the summons from the Court.

"I'm afraid that, without it, entry to the Capital is impossible.” Fradel intoned grimly. 

"This strict measure had been put into effect after a latest, nearly successful attempt on Zakhertan's life by a small group of very competent assassins.  I have heard undisputed claims that since then, Imperial City Channing has been sealed like a fortress, allowing no entry or egress without proper authorization.”

It was most fortunate, indeed, that we talked long enough for me to recall this important detail otherwise, being caught at the gate without this official permit; you would have instantly been apprehended for questioning.  Your aim would have been frustrated very early on."

"Then I must act to secure for myself such documents,” came Nevetsecnuac's decisive response.  "Can I rely on your guidance and assistance, brother?"

"You don't understand the degree of difficulty involved.” Fradel shook his head. 

"It's not a question of my assistance, brother; I wish it was that easy.  I'm afraid that these two-part documents can only be obtained at your birthplace and are issued only by the resident Governor for a considerable fee.  You must also produce at least three other notable residents as witnesses.  Even under the best of circumstances, such a process could not be completed within a month."

Fradel drew out the documents from their protective covering of waxed parchment and pointed an explicit finger to the top left corner of one of them where, sealed under gum Arabic, a provincial court artist had drawn the poet's likeness.  Nevetsecnuac's eyes followed, with increasing misgivings and a heavier heart, the list of Fradel's identifying particulars, his physical description, parent's name, age and birthplace and finally, at the bottom, the long trail of official seals.

"Due to the urgency of summons necessitating my prompt departure, the obliging Lord and the new governor, Mojen, spared me the time and difficulty of procuring necessary documentation.  Taking me at my word, they acted as my guarantors and expediently processed the ID Permit with all due haste." Fradel, pensively(thoughtfully), meanwhile, had continued. "Of course, even if I did have the ID Documents of my deceased servants still in my possession,” Fradel interjected, "their particulars are so vastly different from yours that, I'm afraid, they still would have been of no use to you."

Having recently buried the men, Nevetsecnuac concurred with a nod of his head; meanwhile, it had become clear to Nevetsecnuac that without proper verification, he could never obtain, not at any length of time, this kind of vital documentation. 

"What is to be done, then?” he gave voice to his fret (hassle).  "How can I beat this unexpected hindrance (hurdle)?  I must seek another ingenious means to override this serious obstacle." Nevetsecnuac distractedly followed Fradel's bold strides to and for, as the scholar presently paced the room in contemplation.

"But, of course!” Nevetsecnuac jumped up in elation.  "Why didn’t I think of this before?"

Startled, Fradel grabbed Nevetsecnuac's arm.  "What is it, brother?"

"The answer to our dilemma is right before us. The problem has already been resolved by none other than you, brother." Nevetsecnuac responded with a bemused smile.

"Me? How?"

"Elder Brother, it just struck me how similar in appearance we are.  For instance, are we both relatively of the same height and bearing and share similar facial features?  Fortunately, due to haste, the hair and eye coloring were not precise. With a beard, could I not pass for twenty-five?"

"What an idea!" Fradel chortled.

 "I knew there was something about you I liked."  His eyes dwelt on Nevetsecnuac with a new intensity as he surveyed the prince’s features.  "Yes, it is possible." he had to concur.  "I must be getting muddle headed, strange how this simple solution eluded me."

"That's because, elder brother, despite all my previous reasoning you still harbor the desire to press on by yourself.  How stubborn you are."  Nevetsecnuac teased, shaking a finger at him.

Donning a long face, Fradel turned an aimless gaze to the crackling flames of the fire.  An inexplicable sadness just then, gripping his heart.

 

(END OF SECTION 11)

 

THE FISHERMAN'S PRIZE - PART 5

 

 THE FISHERMAN’S PRIZE

(PART 5)

 

By and by the green hue made its mark in this God forsaken part of Wenjenkun. Spring season, if it could be called that, for the persistent cold weather discouraged any tender shoots or wayward blossoms from emerging tall or thriving in abundance, had eventually arrived.  Presently hardy variations did their best to accommodate the scant reptile and insect habitants. The incessant rainfall, meanwhile, raced to deck the grounds and rocks in that gray greenish moss carpet.

 

On a mundane, dreary, cool dawn, (just before at daybreak,) when low lying dense fog had again obscured visibility, a silhouette of a man was seen creeping decisively towards the protective cove where Kaimu’s and Zianko’s boats had been moored. The cloaked figure visited one briefly then going over to the other, he hunched over and adroitly implemented (carried out) the carefully devised steps.

 

    By mid-morning that same day the fog had dissipated, and the rainfall had gradually tapered off to a drizzle. Soon as the weather permitted, Kaimu was seen taking his small craft out to sea on his usual run. 

Things were different for Kaimu’s neighbor Zianko. Even though Zianko’s boat had been bigger and more equipped for the job, Zianko had never solely relied on fishing for his livelihood. He’d used the boat but rarely, on occasion, whenever the mood or craving for adventure struck him.

On this day, Kaimu had been rather surprised to note (observe) Zianko’s boat missing, but then he espied him already out at sea. Minding his business nonetheless, Kaimu rode the high waves and quickly bypassed Zianko’s boat to steer his small craft further in. But halfway to his destined spot, suddenly the (undermined) planks succumbing to the strain of the violent surfs, gave way and seawater came crushing in (pouring) with absolute potency.

There had been very little time in fact for a somber reaction, let alone seeking the reason or investigating the source, for this sudden catastrophe.

Kaimu’s heart sank in despair with the certain realization that the ever-rapacious sea would soon claim his craft, his livelihood.  At that instant even his fate seemed utterly sealed. But unwilling to face death as yet- if only for Ensa’s sake- and not wishing to be sucked into a whirlpool that the sinking craft would soon manifest (create), he dived over headlong into the treacherous, chilling waters.

A strong swimmer, Kaimu had just about managed to spread some distance between him and the sinking craft, when the most improbable thing happened!

Kaimu’s competitor and ardent foe Zianko, far from standing by and enjoying Kaimu’s great misfortune and perhaps his inevitable demise, he had instead instantly by applying himself to the oars, had rushed over to Kaimu’s rescue. Halting just ahead, Kaimu was then urged by Zianko to climb aboard.

Despite his dire plight, Kaimu refused to comply and continued swimming in the direction of the shore.

“Don’t be an ass, stubborn old fool!”  Zianko bellowed, throwing him a line with floating object at the end of it. “You are too far from the shore; grab hold!” He then urged, seeing Kaimu’s persistent (stubborn) reluctance.

“Damn it man, there’s a school of sharks headed your way!”  Zianko shouted anew, this time however with definite urgency in his voice, as he’d at the same time pointed to a distant spot.

As Ensa’s face had just then flushed (appeared) in Kaimu’s mind’s eye, Kaimu relented and changing course, same time ignoring Zianko’s cast line, he swam straight for Zianko’s boat. In the nick of time, Kaimu was hauled aboard to safety, escaping hence, the impending jaws of death!

Zianko with deliberate will constrained, stifled his bursting laughter as his narrowed eyes avidly watched Kaimu’s unease now: the way latter dejectedly sat there, all drenched to the very marrow, with chilling, thrashing winds compounding his misery, no doubt squirming inside, looking the sorriest of sights!

In all that time Kaimu had braced himself for the impending ridicule and abuse now that he was in a vulnerable state and a captive audience of his heartless adversary. But far from taking advantage and delighting in latter’s misery and misfortune: in an unexpected turn (unusual move) Zianko instead showed genuine concern for Kaimu’s welfare and even went as far as to supply Kaimu with a warm blanket and a jug of fine wine for inner warmth.

Am I dreaming this? Who’s this man that has come to my aid with such generosity of the heart? Kaimu with askance stared (glared) back at Zianko, musing. Let’s hear it! Don’t prolong the suspense…Why the charade?  What is it you want?

Noting the healthy skepticism in Kaimu’s eyes, Zianko grimaced, and kept up with his solicitous care.

“Why are you being so nice to me? What are you really up to Zianko?” Kaimu finally exploded and asked blatantly in a stern tone, as he declined yet another bout from the jug of wine.

Far from being indignant, Zianko in passive tone offered a brief plausible explanation about his changed behavior and then succinctly (described) recounted the accounts of his terrible, perilous ordeals and his unexpected brush with death at the hands of highwaymen during the last, lengthy absence from home. He reasserted in the end, that upon his chance survival, he’d wowed to mend his ways from then on and if given the opportunity, to reciprocate the kindness he’d received.

“As fate would have it, Kaimu, you are the beneficiary of that oath.” He ejected humbly.

Truly he appeared to be a changed man!

By the time they’d reached the shore, Zianko had succeeded in swaying Kaimu into a state of ease.

Zianko further proposed as goodwill gesture, that Kaimu used his craft from then on, as it remained idle most of the time anyhow, in exchange for moderate portion of Kaimu’s future catches (bounties)- one third to be exact. He declared in all sincerity that this was nothing more than a neighborly gesture on his part; till Kaimu rebounded from his near tragedy and obtained or rebuilt himself another craft. Meanwhile Zianko stood to gain, from this reciprocity, a ready supply of fresh fish without much trouble. What could be better than that?

“Let us bury the old hatched once and for all.” He then proposed magnanimously in a very persuasive tone.

Kaimu pondered for a time in reluctance, disbelieving his ears. Can a man undergo this much change? What about the ulterior motive? There had to be one. What’s worse, he now owed Zianko his life!

“Well, at least think about it neighbor… Give it some thought!” Zianko meanwhile had interjected amicably.

“You needn’t give an answer right away, as I’m not going anywhere for a while.” He shouted after Kaimu, who’d turned and hastened his steps towards home, eager as he’d been to get out of (divest) his soaking garments.

That late afternoon in an emboldened move, Zianko paid a courtesy visit to Kaimu and Ensa carrying a big bundle in his hands filled with rare delicacies. He claimed it to being a peace offering for Ensa.

Despite Ensa’s misgivings, for civility’s sake, Zianko was graciously invited in. Unfortunately, Zianko from that day forth, persistently, by degrees wormed his way into the good graces of Kaimu.

More than once, Ensa had raised the subject of her suspicions and concerns regarding Zianko, to Kaimu. How this accident at sea had resulted in such an opportune circumstance for devious Zianko. But despite Kaimu’s own reserve, he had flatly rejected this notion, claiming that “his craft had been decrepit anyhow, and so, what had happened, had to have been inevitable!” Bound now by his obligation, he’d further argued the point, “that any brush with death could change people, even one as contemptible and vile as Zianko.”

Inwardly Kaimu had the same wish for their prodigal son Yoansu that somehow, wherever he might be, when they see him next that he’d be a transformed man.

As far as Ensa knew, their second son had left them some time ago, not contented to be just a fisherman, in search of better opportunities in the nearby town. Ensa knew, rather held onto firm belief that whether successful or not, their filial son not forsaking them, would one day return home, even if it was to be for a spell.  Now that they had obtained a free wife, she prayed incessantly for her son's speedy return, thinking that the boy could be enticed (with this new addition to their family) to cease his senseless wonderings. She went to bed each consecutive night harboring the fervent desire (aspiration) that the following day would be the day she’ll greet her son at the threshold of their home.

It broke Kaimu’s heart to see the incessant disappointment registering in Ensa’s face at the conclusion of each long and laborious day. Naturally, with certain reserve, he too had shared her hopes, but unlike her, he expected the worse from the boy.

In truth, he’d never really had any faith in Yoansu’s nature or his so-called abilities. All along he’d considered this son weak in moral fiber and disloyal. Kaimu did care for the boy as much as any father would, especially since he was their only surviving offspring now, but love him? That was entirely a different matter and somewhat debatable! Furthermore, it infuriated him the way his wife had always doted on this worthless son. On occasion, when drunken, Kaimu would reveal his true emotions concerning Yoansu.  Lamenting bitterly, he would turn on his absent (prodigal) son and would curse him without reserve for his abrupt departure that so pained Ensa’s heart.  “In future when my strength and stamina fail me, how can I entrust him with the burden of responsibility?  What's the good of having a disloyal son? Without so much as a word, he just packed up and left us, you, his supposed beloved mother, in search of better horizons!  And you still count on such a being? Bah! What will it take for you to accept the fact that we have a heartless deserter for a son?”  He would then turn the full blame for Yoansu’s character on his wife, accusing her of spoiling him and for filling the boy's head with such fanciful ideas. But deep down, even when drunk, he knew the real reason why their son had left them.  He knew that it was him that had driven the boy away.  Yes, he had pushed his son too hard, and allowed him no compassion, no mistakes, or human weaknesses.  When the boy fell in with the bad lot and faced that terrible predicament, as punishment he’d withheld his support, any affection or understanding, not forgiving his son for that betrayal.

 After the tragic loss of their first-born son, Kaimu had also been most reluctant to ever leave his emotions bare or his heart vulnerable. And considering what came to pass between him and his second son; well, he could not rebound so quickly or prevent the ensuing repercussions to his second son. Nevertheless, these past few months, since his accident he’d relaxed some of his rigid, moral standards, and now a transformed man, he’d been willing to let bygones be bygones. He’d grown more flexible, more tolerant in his heart towards his prodigal second son’s obvious failings and character flaws and had inwardly promised to show the latter leniency when or if he returned home. But sadly, Kaimu could not shake the indomitable feeling deep down in his gut that the boy would never, ever amount to anything good.

 If only his elder son had not perished so cruelly at Sea.  His love for him had been, still was, unending, limitless! How tragic, that a single oversight should have cost such a promising boy his life.

 Kaimu still to date blamed himself for his absence on that day. He carried the great burden of guilt with him, which weighed heavily on his conscience and heart.

                                                                                                    ~

No matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it’s still a snake. Unfortunately, since that day of Kaimu’s near tragedy at sea, to the chagrin of Ensa, Kaimu had increased the frequency of his correspondence with Zianko. The rekindled old relationship resulted in numerous arguments between husband and wife, disturbing the tranquil, placid life of their home. As it were, despite all his efforts, Zianko had miserably failed to win Ensa over. She’d stubbornly firmly had held on to the belief, that one with his vile and, sordid temperament could never ever change (or revert to good). In her view, Zianko was slick as a slimy snake even though nothing unlawful or criminal had thus far (stuck) was lawfully pinned on him; notwithstanding this, that didn’t mean that he was blameless or pristine.  She kept up with her suspicions that beneath that façade of recent uprightness, Zianko must still deal in all manners of illicit acts: forgeries, trafficking in contraband goods - Heaven knows what else?  Furthermore, she’d insisted on still holding Zianko responsible, even in absence of any proof, for her best friend’s murder and prompt disposal of the son Tizan. “Because of Zianko’s licentious nature, his terrible, explosive temper, disloyal heart and brutal nature, he could never boast of having any friends, only likewise associates.” She’d enumerated these failings, and more, to Kaimu on numerous (myriad) occasions, but Kaimu had obstinately ignored it, maintaining, albeit cautiously, liaison with Zianko. Though a good few years of Kaimu’s junior, on a rare occasion when Zianko had been invited to dinner for a home cooked meal, lacking in morals, he’d sneakily (underhandedly) and lustfully leered at this beautiful girl that was to be Kaimu’s daughter-in-law. When Zianko had finally wormed it out of Kaimu, the circumstances of the girl’s acquisition, underneath that mask of goodwill and well wishes, he’d seethed and inwardly coveted their good fortune.  Being an immoral opportunist, his head reeled with vile concoctions, as he saw endless possibilities in possessing such a ravishing beauty.  Only his fear of their son, a serious deterrent, checked his ultimate aim. Nevertheless, each time he frequented Kaimu’s humble abode, while successfully diverting Kaimu’s attention, Zianko had shamelessly let his lustful eyes graze on Jiense’s body. In his head choosing to put aside the only stumbling block, he would then entertain all sorts of vile possibilities as he licked his chops and inwardly asked (raised) the same, repetitive questions. How can I snatch this tender, savory lamb, this ambrosial morsel from Kaimu’s clutches?

 By right, she would fetch him a huge sum. But would the rival gang’s Chieftain Koerak be interested enough to provide (supply) him with apt protection from the anticipated reprisals?  He could always forgo (relinquish) part of the amount and negotiate instead certain provisions: that aside from security, he’d also be permitted from time to time, on favorable monetary terms that is (on discount), to also partake in heavenly pleasures with her in the designated brothel. 

Naturally, at the first opportunity wary Ensa had enumerated Zianko’s blatant indiscretions and his repeated improper leering, to Kaimu.  But this was nothing new to Kaimu, for Kaimu himself on the sly had noted Zianko's riveted gazes affixing on his proposed daughter-in-law. Far from taking offense however, he’d been rather amused and insidiously (underhandedly) had allowed Zianko to wallow in his self-imposed deprivation and envy.

                                                                                    ~

Then came a day when Zianko’s informants told him of the recent set of developments (current sequence of events) and the supposed secret about Kaimu’s son, the “number two boss”.  Zianko could hardly contain his joy, for this fortunate circumstance had now rendered Jiense a free agent (freed up Jiense), therefore eliminating the major hurdle in Zianko’s determined nefarious course.

 

Nevertheless, Zianko halting his solitary reverie- alone in his cabin as usual, daydreaming and talking inwardly- brusquely cautioned himself. I better tread on this carefully, and for the time being at least exercising prudence, simply lay low. Let the expected events unfold; meanwhile, I shall work on Kaimu. I shall first go see Souko and call in the debt he owes me. The fatuous, harebrained scholar owes me big, for getting him out of that last vicissitude (strife)!

When that’s settled, and all the technicalities (details) are worked out, I shall then acquaint Kaimu in one of our drinking sessions, with the particulars of my supposed opulent distant relative… A very distant cousin, whose existence that I’d supposedly only recently became aware of, during my last visit to (furthest) town. I shall give plausible details and accounts that are way above suspicion. For that I shall tell half-truths and artfully (timely) insert into the conversation the boy’s parents’ long-standing desire to wed him. How they are well disposed to doling out generous sums for the dowry, to secure a befitting wife for their sole heir. I shall of course leave out Souko’s perverse secret: his voracious homosexual tendencies. Instead, I shall give reasons of the problem being his discriminating taste, his conceit and arrogance. I could tell Kaimu, I’m in need of a wife too… But no, he would never go for that. And furthermore, his shrewd wife would never consent to it!  Hence, it must be this way. Later, when the opportunity strikes, I’ll discreetly bring up the subject of my distant cousin again. This time around, he would be more inclined (prone) to the idea, you’ll see. Ha, haaa! Zianko in happy anticipation rubbed his hands.

Since Zianko from then on at each visit provided Kaimu with a generous gift of a rare vintage, he in turn, to the chagrin (dismay) of Ensa, was frequently asked to be their guest. 

Perhaps as requisite- Zianko’s life being often in jeopardy- as well, when one factored in the age difference: Zianko surpassed Kaimu’s otherwise sturdy build, stronger constitution and stamina. What’s more damaging however was the fact that Zianko could hold his drink much better than Kaimu and being unscrupulous, often resorted to cheating to outmaneuver Kaimu at mind-games, physical sport- such as arm-wrestling matches- atop various kinds of drinking wagers. But far from being stooped, rebounding quickly at each turn, Kaimu with his uncanny wit, to the chagrin of Zianko, would deny latter the complete satisfaction and score ingenious victories of his own.  The friendly banter kept both on their toes and sharpened their zeal- flourishing each with a healthy dose of respect for the opposition.

 With the cementing of such friendship, Zianko in time grew bold and seemingly more careless with his talk. On an opportune moment one day he henceforth (therefore) spilled the beans, rather, unburdened himself to Kaimu and told latter of the particulars, a dire secret about his supposed nephew Souko.

                                                                                    

                                                                                    ~

END OF SECTION 5

 

(MORE EXCITING SET OF EVENTS WILL UNFOLD IN THE NEXT POST OF FISHERMAN’S PRIZE - SECTION 6)