11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 5

 

Zakhertan, turning his attention back on the task at hand, glowered (looked daggers) at the fourth stack of documents on his desk needing his perusal, he impatiently tapped his fingers on the desk and hissed. “Always the same… “    

Reluctant to begin, Zakhertan with disdain briefly watched the dancing flames of the brazier as Neru typically feed them, before reflecting on Lenny Sukzor’s latest submitted report on the covert and highly illegal activities of Egil Viggoaries. The slight discrepancy between Lenny’s and the subsequent information tendered by Juyin, the lovely wife of Lenny Sukzor’s, on her husband's activities, caused Zakhertan to frown.

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The two statements varied slightly on one minute detail; an irregularity so feeble that another in his stead might have entirely missed it. Should he be concerned with such a trivial contradiction (incongruity)? Was it an oversight? No! He must not leave anything, no matter how slight, to chance.    

Zakhertan’s mouth formed into a snarl as he drew another blank parchment before him and issued a set of specific orders to have the matter more thoroughly investigated.  

 “I’ll wait and see where this leads to,” Zakhertan briefly pondered, after which he quickly sealed the envelope, containing specific order, with his Imperial seal. A single logo (motif) drawn on the envelope and explicit sequence of numbers registered underneath, indicated the precise department and agent that it was to be handed to; this too was summarily put aside along with the rest in that growing pile.

Then there is still that other matter, Zakhertan Yozdek irritatedly drummed his fingers on the desk. No! There was no need to review it again. Why was he even debating that issue still?  

Such ambivalence angered him; the one thing he had always taken pride in was his decisiveness and exceptionally retentive memory. One glance at anything, any detail however insignificant or minute, and it would be permanently embedded in his mind. Now tapping that innate advantage, Zakhertan recalled with perfect clarity a certain trivial observation hidden in the report the Royal Courier had submitted upon the completion of his mission. This obtuse remark did not tally with the recently, thoroughly compiled accounts by The Shadow Brigade men on the activities of the newcomer, Fradel Rurik Korvald.    

Ordinarily such a minuscule discrepancy would not have elicited any concern from Zakhertan.  Reflecting additionally on the independent reports of Zyerne Stewor and Tizan, who had also curiously enough, raised doubts about the Scholar and considering the recent happenings, Zakhertan decided to delve deeper into the otherwise innocuous matter concerning Fradel Rurik Korvald.

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He might well have inadvertently transported trouble right to the Capital. This farfetched notion now gripped his heart anew with a certain inexplicable foreboding, for far too many had already come-in-contact with the illustrious scholar. Zakhertan imagined the wide scope this investigation would entail, the deployment of manpower it would take to, either get at the simple truth or, expose all the subversives if his hunch proved correct. As it were, the scholars had again been gaining one third measure of their former prominence and along with it, their sphere of influence had expediently grown. In any event a quick confirmation of these nagging concerns was warranted; he must question the couriers Canbir Nonng and Cais Honger further, on the one minor irregularity in their report. Zakhertan had always insisted on complete and accurate assessments and, if this was the result of incompetence, sacrificing accuracy for expedience, then the couriers would have to answer for it with their lives. Quickly he dispatched another written order, this one to order the couriers to hand over their mission to the one who would be sent in their stead and return in post haste to the Capital.   

That was the end of it. Finally, Zakhertan leaned back and stretched out his limbs.

Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund having concluded his assigned task expediently a short time earlier, had been waiting patiently for Zakhertan to finish his; he now came forward on the slight indication of Zakhertan Yozdek, to receive his verbal instructions in an ingenious code so secret that it was known only to the two.  Afterwards, Qarzten routinely picked up the order packets and, after bowing respectfully, hurried out the door to distribute them to the various department heads. All were required to work longer hours than the Sovereign.

The door quickly closed behind the Senior Grand Secretary, Zakhertan Yozdek watched with an uninterested blank stare Neru’s progress, then sat motionless in deep contemplative silence, dark clouds of thought swirling through his head and his guards only a whisper away.

    

                                                                                 ~    

    

Hastening out of the vestibule leading from the Imperial Chambers, the Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund’s head was full of the multiplicity of orders, arrangements, and duties that he must complete before the day’s session was over. So entangled was Qarzten Caimund in these thoughts that he did not see and nearly run into (collided with) a similarly distracted Crown Prince Herleif, as Prince rushed in the opposite direction armed with a stack of ancient scrolls and star charts.   

"On yet another urgent errand; are we, Master Caimund?"    

Prince Herleif’s tone, beneath that remark, grated on Qarzten Caimund’s nerves as it always did. The Senior Grand Secretary’s face tightened, and he averted his eyes for a moment, “You are such a barefaced weasel; still suckling your mother's milk after twenty-three years. Your derision is still palpable under that semblance of sarcasm.”  Qarzten Caimund looked squarely at the prince Herleif now and nodded tersely.

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"I gather His Highness is free now."  The Crown Prince, with typical arrogance, had completely ignored Qarzten's response to his barb and spoke now in the icy tone he used for the servants. "You will step aside to let me pass."    

“This hall will fit five armored guards marching abreast. Did you expect me to acknowledge this childish attempt to flaunt your authority? Let us see just how far your authority will get you.” Qarzten Caimund mocked the prince inwardly.

 

 "By all means." Qarzten smiled tightly as he half turned and shot a knowing glance towards the guards at the chamber doors, moving as slow as he could to antagonize prince Herleif.

"I would like to mention however, that this time may not be appropriate for an unannounced visit."  Qarzten Caimund informed the prince, in his even tone. "Perhaps, you should defer your objective of seeing His Highness this very evening unless, of course, it is a matter of the utmost importance." Qarzten tautly grimaced; but kept the words, “particularly the way you are clad; did you just leave one of your debauched (decadent, base) bashes?” and derisively (scathingly, sarcastically) looked away.

"Impudent wretch, how dare you treat me like an imbecile (dullard) child.” The Prince Herleif's protruding earlobes had turned beet red, as he, seething in contempt, violently shoved the Senior Grand Secretary aside. "Wait until I am your Sovereign, you arrogant dog!"  His face suffused with anger and a stream of abuse gushing off inwardly, he strode quickly forward to cross the vestibule in only a second.  

Caught unaware by this outburst of temper, the Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund had dropped one of the sealed envelopes onto the marble floor. Anger smoldered in his breast as he stooped to pick it up and his face distorted with contempt. Half-turning his head, he witnessed the Prince Herleif’s way being barred by the two stout guards who had crossed pikes in front of the door to the Imperial Chambers.  

Herleif’s face reddened by rage and pressed menacingly against the senior guard’s, the prince growled, "Are you going to announce me or not? Fine! Step aside, for I mean to walk in immediately and report your insolence myself." 

04-PRINCE HERLEIF YOZDEK (2)

“Go ahead and slither in, you miserable worm, but you won't, will you?” Qarzten Caimund drew in a breath through his teeth then, catching the guard's eye, gave him a simple nod. He had proven his point.  

"I shall inform His Highness of your presence immediately." The stone-faced guard, not in the least perturbed, responded mechanically. "Please wait here, Prince Herleif."  Turning smartly, he stepped up to the door and knocked. After receiving begrudging consent, he opened the door and abjectly entered. After crossing half of the room and bowing briskly, he announced Price Herleif’s presence outside and his request to see the Sovereign.

 "What does that fool want now?' Zakhertan Yozdek snorted impatiently, expecting no answer, and turned his back to the guard to stare out at the serene scenery.   

 Awaiting orders, the guard had stood silently at attention, while at outside, under the transitory (brief) amused gaze of the departing Qarzten Caimund, Prince Herleif had for a spell simmered at his father's disdainful words. Then, he took in a slow breath and composed himself; subsequently, his hand reached inside his pocket, withdrew a rolled-up document, and waited.

 

                                                                                            ~

 

Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek with a blank expression, meanwhile, had continued to stare outside at the placid (tranquil) garden; his stern gaze next, focusing on the oblivious bird, taking in a drink or two from the fountain. Different troubling thoughts however, grievously (incorrigibly) and unbidden, anew robbed him of the peace he sought.

“If only Qijerrik had not turned on me.”  Zakhertan’s cold eyes blinked, filled with a deep hurt as he hissed out a long breath and shook his head. “If only my firstborn had lived instead of this wretched spawn.”  The grievous loss, the events of those days long gone, rushed in to crowd his mind again, searing his heart and soul with self-recrimination and regret. When the stabbing constriction in his chest became too overwhelming, Zakhertan summoned his will to push it aside and concentrated instead, on the positive attributes of his late son.

Zakhertan recollected fondly now with perfect clarity his proudest moments of Qijerrik. From the start, he’d been an offspring worthy of his sire. Not only Prince Qijerrik was most handsome warrior, as he was tall and athletic, though bit more handsome than him; but he had also been endowed with the same temperament, the same wits, tactical brilliance, and akin (parallel) martial ability (prowess) to Zakhertan at a corresponding age.

Zakhertan had hung great many hopes on his son Qijerrik’s shoulders after noting the potential in the boy, especially after, at age fifteen Prince Qijerrik had become, under his strict tutelage (guidance), an accomplished and indomitable warrior. What was more, Prince Qijerrik thrived on dangerous military campaigns just as Zakhertan did. The more perilous the task or more challenging the combat action the greater the thrill, the deeper the sensation the young Prince would derive from it. This feeling was one only Zakhertan would understand and, they were not just father and son but kindred spirits.  

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But then cruel, capricious fate had instigated, on that fateful seventeenth’ year of his son's life, those infamous chain of events that had led up to his son’s betrayal, all of which were now permanently etched in Zakhertan 's memory by the same cursed talent that served him so well in his bureaucratic duties. Consistently every evening, as soon as he had time to himself, they had surfaced despite his best efforts to quash them and, fiercely, obsessively haunted his peace and tormented his soul.     

If only he had acted more swiftly and without qualm to stem the divergent tide earlier.    

 As it was Zakhertan had been preoccupied with obliteration of resurgent rebel forces at 

Wenjenkun’s western borders, while same time he was constrained to adopt far more severe, more brutal measures to eradicate the infestation the serious unrest by the rising literati (intellectuals or educated class) within Capital Province Holger. Unfortunately, while he was otherwise engaged, the contrary seed had been planted and had germinated in the one Zakhertan had least expected. That single oversight had cost him his firstborn son. When he became aware of this fact, of course by then he could not have altered the outcome, not in the slightest.   

Again, considering his then options in hindsight, Zakhertan shrugged with a certain resignation, admitting to himself that he could not have done otherwise for, on that cursed day when the dark flotilla of clouds congregated ominously on the horizon atop the rising sun, his beloved son Qijerrik, had insisted on, and unfortunately received, his permission to lead vanguard in the attack against the rebel scholars.  After all, Zakhertan had no reason to doubt his son's competence.     

The campaign had gone well enough, with the Imperial forces emerging victorious as expected; after which came the punitive action that wreaked total devastation on the entire populous which had aided and shielded the defiant scholars. Unfortunately, something had gone awry, something else quite unforeseen had transpired either on the battlefield or in aftermath, which had forever altered his beloved son Prince Qijerrik.      

The rebel army had fought gallantly and employed brilliant tactics right up until the bitter end, but that would not have brought about that kind of change in Qijerrik, for he had bested gallant foes before. Was it the gruesome mass suicide of the rebel forces when all hope had been lost? Or was it the subsequent events, the countrywide hunt for and the extreme persecution of the many sympathizers? Could it have been the madness of the pillaging, the extensive carnage and mass extermination of the scholar class? Or was it simply the proliferation (creation) of the earthen mounds that had contained within it, countless living bodies of men, women, and children? Could any of these or all, have been the contributing factors?

“No! Absolutely not! Qijerrik was no weakling coward. “Zakhertan once more vehemently denied that hurtful notion. It had to have been something entirely different, something inconceivable and one day he (Zakhertan) would surely pinpoint the real cause. Zakhertan yet again lied to himself. Technically that had been the day he had lost his firstborn son for, from that day forth Prince Qijerrik had undergone a drastic change in heart, mind, and character. He had become increasingly unruly and finally, downright disobedient.  

“If only my son had been a fallen casualty in war.” Zakhertan mulled over, though he surmised that, in a sense, Qijerrik had been just that.  

“Could the fault have been partly his? He should have listened to his son more?”    

“If only he’d paid more attention and timely intervened with apt measures to protect and isolate Qijerrik from those damaging influences, instead of reacting in anger and ostracizing his son for being contrary and too outspoken?” Zakhertan once more pondered on the nagging concerns, with his empty gaze affixed on the swaying trees (that seemed to be bowing obsequiously), for the wind had just then picked up in the garden.  

 “Had he been too stringent? Had he pushed his son too hard, too soon? No, that was not it either.” Zakhertan scowled. Whatever he might have done wrong, one thing was for certain: he had never been lax in Qijerrik’s upbringing or discipline. In fact, up until that time, Zakhertan had taken an active interest and taken great care in ensuring that Qijerrik had received proper, well-rounded education in both civil and military.   

“Then, how could he have failed to instill in the boy, the most important filial virtue, right alongside loyalty and honor?”  Zakhertan was angry and remained at a loss to find reasons for that drastic change in Qijerrik and the subsequent, catastrophic series of events. Searing fury rose in him anew as he recalled the distressing incident in Council when his son sharply stood up in front of all assembled, to openly oppose him. Admittedly, it was over a minor issue, but the act was still one of open, brazen defiance; a legitimate move under the law but it harbored graver undercurrents which would expose Zakhertan’s single weakness and challenge his overall authority in Imperial Court.

 Zakhertan Yozdek regretted now not using right there and then the provisions in the law which would have allowed him to exercise his option to incarcerate Qijerrik summarily. If only he had imprisoned him, indefinitely or even executed him, instead of banishing him?

Zakhertan had repeated the same haunting question thousands of times and each time the same regret, recrimination, hurt, disappointment, furious rage, and bitterness gripped his heart, in that merciless, wrenching grip. Had he done that, he would have spared himself the mortifying, wounding torment of knowing that his beloved son, his own flesh, and blood, was capable of such treachery against him and all he stood for.

There was one other in the family, his youngest sister, who had likewise betrayed him; but Zakhertan had understood and eventually forgiven her for her misplaced loyalty, for she’d from the first, been deeply infatuated (besotted) with her husband, Lord Shonne Gulbrand. But to be so betrayed by his once beloved son was something Zakhertan had never expected or imagined as a possibility. Each time that memory surfaced, the same fierce indignation and fury welled up from the depths of his soul and he suffered that akin, bittersweet sensation of bile rising to his mouth, as the day Prince Qijerrik’s war slogans had reached his ears.

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Zakhertan’s eyes had burned with intense heat from reading those seditious adages posted for all to see in the towns’ squares, which rallied the populous restive and ripe, for an all-out rebellion. Those contemptible words (like gnawing parasites) were permanently etched (engraved) in his brain. One of those had said: “Arise good people who has suffered for so long under the severity of despotic Zakhertan Yozdek's oppressive regime, time to oppose his repressive laws and demand reckoning for the wrongs that had never been redressed; unite and take up arms, for yours is the righteous cause!”    

“My son, my most beloved son; how deeply you’d injured me!”  Zakhertan’s mouth presently, creased into a grimace of pain for each one of those seditious words had been a stiletto in Zakhertan’s heart and the damage hence, had been irreparable.

Zakhertan would have judged Qijerrik more leniently, had all this been done because of high ambition, Prince wanting to seize the throne for himself; that Zakhertan could have lived with, but Qijerrik had taken on the mantle of a liberator.     

This had been unforgivable, and it had unleashed the culmination of all that unbridled fury Zakhertan Yozdek had amassed in him; consequently, he had acted swiftly and more savagely than ever before to bring about total devastation of innumerable (myriad) Wenjenkuners.

 

(END OF SECTION 5)    

 

 THE ORDEAL (SECTION 3)

 

Ensuing days traveling alongside him Teuquob felt comforted and surer in reaching her objective. There was however one characteristic foible (small idiosyncrasy) that from the beginning had undeniably perturbed her. Despite his subtle claim of being sworn celibate, his piercing, (almost licentious, hungry) impious gazes on her when he thought she was not looking, and the astute way he studied her every move, every nuance, every gesture; this, compounded with the other inconsistencies, again had disquieted (disturbed) her. At these times as his religious convictions seemed to be wavering, she’d felt inexplicably threatened; nevertheless, she’d fought to dispel her angst in the absence of any concrete, outward transgressions or willful acts of improprieties. Furthermore, as he’d continued being the most valuable companion in protecting, sustaining and entertaining her, all her reservations and inhibitions in due course again lapsed back into the deep recesses of her subconscious mind to eventually be eliminated.

At night-time when they bedded down at of course respectable distance from each other in the protective cove or a cave, overcome with sheer exhaustion she could and often did render herself in safe and happy abandon in sleep. She had no way of knowing of course that her companion, who called himself Mokak, never closed his eyes in like fashion, for he had no need of it. Instead, he would pass the night endlessly, restlessly pacing the floor to and for. Periodically, he would pause at length to size her up, to hover over her, before in abrupt haste taking off for the outside. He would always return, however, just before sunrise, with a bounty of food and wake her up.

Once, during an unusually warm, sunny day, on his initiative she’d even embarked on a whimsical adventure with him. It was an experience to be had.

By taking their cue from wild macaques that had singularly appeared on the scene, in a playful imitation they had rolled on the moss-covered ground, trounced around rocks, swung from the high branches and laughed till their lungs would burst. Then, needing sustenance, they’d indulged their appetite on the rare, exotic fruits from the tall ancient trees and experienced much to their delight, quite an extraordinary state of wellbeing and vitality. Intoxicated by the rich fare, they had then danced and made merry all day long.

She’d awakened the following morning only to realize that this delightful episode had been but a vivid dream; nevertheless, she remained grateful long after for this joyful reprieve amid the persistent harsh realities of their journey!

Things back on track, on another relatively insignificant night quite exhausted from the day’s grueling climb, in the depths of a huge cavern no sooner had she nestled to a corner and laid her head down, that typically, she’d collapsed instantaneously into a deep slumber. Same could not be said about Mokak however, who appeared intensely agitated, particularly more so than usual. For shortly after midnight the weather had taken an abrupt turn for the worse; by then howling winds having given way to thunder and lightning, it’d what seemed to be in an endless cycle of violence, persistently ripped open the skies.


He could attest to it without having to go outside that within that wide perimeter all hell was breaking loose. The raging storm, the worst kind yet, was ferociously tearing everything asunder. Nor was it hard for him to fathom that the trashing winds in conjunction with other violent forces of nature had already waylaid much of the weaker habitation to waste as it methodically uprooted young trees and tore-apart ancient trunks or branches.

Akin to his master’s temper, he could almost hear the indifferent explanation of his; it was nature’s way you see, of keeping order/ sort of housekeeping. Meanwhile the persistent downpour had been so intense that the sheets of rainwater resembling iron bars, or a saw tooth of a dreaded predator had in similar fashion, unwittingly imprisoned Mokak inside. Feeling insufferably pent up and asphyxiated, he’d therefore for quite a spell now nervously paced to and for; then going over to the far corner, he squatted down and nervously hugged his knees close to his chest. With lowered head he cursed into the air, his inexplicable fear of water that had yet again gripped his entire being in such a vice. “Blast! Nights are unbearably long as it is!” He hissed, raising his head to glance in her direction.

Look at her, how is it, she can sleep so blissfully…? But he knew the answer to it already; for placed under such a spell, nothing short of divine intervention would wake her up, till the first rays of daylight were manifest.

Oh, I’m terrified and bored… Bored beyond existence! Drat, such a waste! In his irritated mode, he chewed on his upper lip. It was all he could do from pouncing on his prey.

No, you must be patient, remember the ancient recount: ‘Perseverance Furthers.’ He shook his head. You’ve invested too much time in it already. You can’t effort to blow this opportunity; not when there’s a real good chance of it working this time! As it were, it’d been quite by chance that he’d stumbled onto this resolution, this secret; unfortunately, it was the only way of escaping his fate, what persecuted and enslaved him. He’d been luckier than the rest of his kind who stood at no chance of escaping. For centuries now they’d endured this humiliating captivity. The renegade Karn (immortal) had availed Mokak this rare opportunity. Once at the outside, he’d sought and through trickery gained his albeit temporary freedom. Time was of the essence however, requisite blending with a human, any human would give him substance and make him imperceptible to detection- evermore, if memory served him right, quite invincible! So, grinding his teeth, he again inwardly admonished himself to persevere.

Mokak after avidly watching her for a good while longer from where he was slouched, he slowly rose to his feet and with deliberate strides approached (walked right up to) her. A wry grimace donned on his features as he stood idly over her. Then again, there was another, relatively harmless way to while away the time.

He snorted: Why the heck not? She would not be the wiser. And besides, it might even give him an added insight into her guarded nature for more effective manipulation. Resolute, he sat cross-legged beside her now and touching her forehead at the temples with his extended middle-fingers, focused his mind on penetrating hers.

Though it’d held some interest at first- experiencing events from a different angle, strange point of view- he soon got tired of probing her recent escapades, thoughts and dreams.

Delving deeper still into the recesses of her subconscious part of the brain, he picked her very personal, logged memory….

Aha, there’s something more colorful for the amusement! He therefore focused on the entire event. Eyes closed; he delighted in the unfolding scene in his mind’s eye. The picture expanded till it engulfed him entirely. Now he experienced everything firsthand as if he was there. But then in actuality, he was there! His prolific (productive, fertile) senses had picked up every nuance of experience, every scent, every gradational word and richer still, everyone’s inner thoughts, fears, desires and hopes:

“Hurry up child!” The old nurse tugged at the girl’s sleeve, urging her to keep in step.

The earth was mantled in velvet darkness on this starless night, and most of the lamps had, one by one, been extinguished as many had already settled into deep slumber. Two cloaked figures quietly glided through the servants’ quarters then made their way through the gate to outside. Hugging the shadows, as they rushed down the deserted alleyways the biting, howling wind pummeled their sleeves.

“Oh, what a night to be out! “, the plaintive cry of the old lady rang out after they had reached some measure of safety.

The beautiful girl Teuquob just smiled complacently and picked up the pace. After having been cloistered in private restrictive quarters nearly all her life, everything on the outside world now seen for the first time, had flooded her senses in an inexplicable burst of rapture. She could barely contain her joyful exuberance as she with insatiable thirst assimilated (absorbed) all the strange sights, sounds and smells along the way; meanwhile, remaining quite oblivious to the throbbing pain in her delicate shins and soles cased in luxuriously plush footwear, as it trod with some difficulty or negotiated certain hindrances of the descending, uneven cobble stoned streets.

“All has been arranged.” Suddenly the old nurse’s (Shutizan’s) cautious murmur brought her out of revere to present reality. “It’s just a little way farther dear.”

Subsequently they veered around a corner and entered a quieter, more leveled street where towering, sturdy outer stone-walls and locked iron-gates of pre-eminent mansions flanking both sides discouraged any (wayward) arbitrary visitors. Stopping abruptly before the back-gate of a modest-sized compound, the old nurse lifted the door clapper to announce their arrival, but it fell with a hollow thud as the door suddenly creaked open and a young man’s face peered outside to invite them in.

Following the lead of the youth to the end of a long passageway that bypassed the servants’ quarters and the stables, they then entered a well-groomed courtyard encompassing ingenious miniature landscapes and mountains. Delightful fountains of various sizes amidst rare and exotic vegetation and monumental guardian sculptures that evoked in one both dread and awe dominated the scene.

Reluctant to leave this tranquil scene, they nevertheless followed the anxious youth through many archways and hallways to eventually end up at the private living quarters of the main household.

It was then that the two ladies entered a spacious but dimly lit room which served as the family parlor. Here they were ushered into comfortable seats close to a warm fire.

I do hope your journey here was devoid of incident, Auntie.” The young man, bowing to the old lady inquired politely, and then offered them some tea from an elaborate silver service set by the mantle.

“Yes, fortunately all went well.” The old lady, catching her breath, responded. “Now, having delivered her safely to your hands, I must return to the compound before I’m missed, so I will have to decline your kind offer of tea, son.”

Then turning to Teuquob, she managed to give an encouraging smile. “Now, child, without further ado, I would like to introduce my nephew Chenko Haken, to you. I’ve entrusted him with the responsibility of your safety and wellbeing. Young as he is, he’s unequalled in both courage and integrity. He will see to all your needs from now on.

“Chenko Haken, you may now bow to the young lady in greeting...”

“I’m your devoted servant, ma’am,” the young man slightly flushed from that unexpected high praise, in ready compliance bowed to Teuquob.

Protesting this courtesy, Teuquob stood up and bowed to return his greeting, thanked him for his kindness, then asked him to regard himself as her Elder Brother instead.

“I wouldn’t presume such an honor, my lady.” blushing, Chenko Haken again bowed to her. “I’m satisfied with just being one of your loyal servants.”

“Well spoken!” the old nurse approved, nodding her head, and then smiling warmly added, “Perhaps in the interest of expediency, however, we could dispense with such formalities. Now Chenko Haken, I hope, barring all unforeseen adversities, you will take good care of her Ladyship. And I hope by Heaven’s special favor, despite all the daunting odds that may lie ahead on your path, you will still emerge triumphant. Meanwhile I have every confidence in you my boy, that you will get her through to safety and then devote the rest of your life to serving her well!”

“As one undeserving of such high honor, I shall give you my solemn promise Auntie that I shall not fail in my responsibilities.” Chenko Haken promptly replied, “I shall guard her ladyship’s life with my own.” But then suddenly concern clouded his face and after a momentary pause he meekly injected, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful to your wishes, Auntie, but could I not persuade you to come with us? I would rest so much easier in mind if you just consented to join us on this journey!”

“No. No, that’s out of the question!” The old lady held out a restraining hand in protest. “I must go back… Go back immediately! As it is, you are taking on such an immense risk. I’m advanced in years and in my feeble condition, I’ll only hinder your escape. Besides, I can be of more use here. I’ll stall the ‘would be pursuers’ to enable you two both with bit more time to get away. So, speak no more of my joining you. My mind is made up!” With a stern stance, she adamantly pursed her lips. Catching a glimpse of Teuquob’s concerned look, “Now look how your careless talk has frightened the young lady!” Shaking an index finger, she affectionately chastised her young nephew.

“Don’t pay any heed to him, my child, I’ll be all right.” She then turned to reassure Teuquob and tenderly wiped away the girl’s tears with her handkerchief. “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. They won’t harm a hair on my head; nor will they be given the slightest chance.” Shunning the somber, questioning gaze of Chenko Haken, she reached forward and cupped Teuquob’s delicate chin into her hand; looking directly into Teuquob’s eyes, she then advised (counseled) her. “Now be mindful of all strangers, exercise due caution, for spies are plentiful and as you well know DFOCA are planted throughout. Remember well all that I’ve told you. However little a measure, the evildoings, the scourging, the afflictions of that villain must somewhat be checked. You can mourn for your mother later, there’s nothing to be gained by you sacrificing your life; it’s imperative you get away first to safety in order to make the appropriate offerings, now you owe her that.”

In obedience the girl assented. “Good child, now dry your eyes completely and preserve your strength for the task at hand; and who knows, maybe, just maybe propitious adventures may lie ahead.” After her hopeful rhetoric, the old nurse impatiently then struck her knees with her palms and stood up. “I must be off. Don’t bother to see me out Chenko Haken, just take good care of her ladyship; she is not used to the outside world, as she’s led such a sheltered life.” Choking back the tears, the old nurse quickly darted out of the room, before the girl could see her grief, and disappeared instantly into the dimly lit hallway.

In truth her heart quaked in fear for their safety. It was a long shot that they will get away… Longer still, that they will survive the hostile world! But perhaps, with Heaven’s help, the unlikely feat would come to pass. She had to try… Try to alter the course of Teuquob’s tragic fate, that of which it would surely come to pass, had she stayed there. She had to pry her from the clutches of her dire, cruel predicament so that she would not suffer her mother’s calamitous end!

How brave and selfless her young nephew was! She was forfeiting (sacrificing) him also by casting him into this perilous role. But perhaps it would not be all in vain. Miracles did happen from time to time. She had to try. Now the rest was up to Heaven.

“May Gods be merciful?” She’d murmured a soft prayer as she hastened her steps away.



(END OF SECTION 3)



(WHAT WILL BECAME OF THE BRAVE OLD NURSE SHUTIZEN? MEANWHILE, MORE ADVANTUES AWAIT HER LADYSHIP TEUQUOB AND HEROIC YOUNG NEPHEW CHENKO HAKEN IN THE NEXT POST OF THE ORDEAL -SECTION 4)