LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 7
For the remainder of that morning Svein, riding
alongside Fradel, had respectfully kept his silence understanding that a
serious grievance was at the root of Fradel's reverie.
Most appreciative of this quiet, Fradel struggled hard but without avail, to dispel the gruesome, vivid images forming in his mind's eye: The mound of earth, overgrown with grasses and bush, the old man sitting at its edge, perfectly motionless, the gnarled walking cane resting unused on the earth beside him; these visions still persisted in haunting his peace and try as he might, after all this time, he could not purge his heart of a dogged, all-consuming despondency and guilt.
Currently, Fradel’s mind yet again ruminated
(cogitated, recollected) of that long ago, the unpleasant happenstance (twist
of fate, quirk) which should have been ordinarily locked in his subconscious
psyche. Fradel inhaled deeply and sullenly harked back to that time when on
route to Terek he’d, sighting a solitary
seated figure some distance down the road, assumed the old man to be asleep or
in a trance; but, when a shaft of sunlight suddenly peeped through the dense
rain clouds, Fradel’s acute vision had then noted the glistening tears
streaming down the man's pale, wrinkled, sunken cheeks. Now ordinarily, he would have sent his
stewards to make inquiries but, propelled by an unexplained, strange desire,
he’d dismounted at the edge of the roadside. As he was hot, he first took off
his garment’s (top) outer layer and, handing this and the reins of his stead to
one of the stewards, meanwhile, (ignoring) paying no heed their strong
protests, ordered them to stay put, then went forth to investigate.
As he advanced towards the old man, he’d for a spell, experienced some trepidation but kept on with determined steps regardless, climbing the rocky, uneven hillock, till he had reached the sorrowful being. Halting a few steps back, he'd respectfully bowed in greeting, introduced himself as gently and politely as he could, however, giving him a pseudo-name Serek Vern, which Fradel had adapted wishing to be anonymous during his travels, and then, inquired about the old man's health and possible needs.
The old man appearing oblivious to it all, had at
first, remained perfectly still.
Fradel (Serek), nevertheless, being reluctant to leave
him in that state, he’d advanced ever so slightly closer and was about to
accost him anew when the old man sharply raising his head, seething, glared at
this bothersome, pesky stranger.
Dokurek, which Fradel Rurik Korvald later came to know
his name, had initially acted with uncalled-for hostility. His cold, gray eyes had burrowed fiercely,
contemptuously into Fradel's and lingered there, scrutinizing him, for a long spell.
At the time, the icy, hateful gaze, like a frozen
blade, had stabbed at Fradel’s empathetic heart!
Even after some elapsed time, while Fradel had assumed
he was making inroads with Dokurek, the old man, with obstinate hardness, had
retained his original skepticism of Serek’s (Fradel's) ignorance of the common
facts, of his naiveté and his motives.
But, gradually, bit by bit drawn out of his shell, he’d thawed, then eventually
entrusted Serek (Fradel) with the truthful accounts and factual answers to his
persistent inquiries.
It turned out that Dokurek's two promising scholar
sons had been buried alive beneath that nearby mound along with some three
hundred and twelve other literati.
This revelation shook Fradel, then and to date, to the
core of his being. He’d never been the same since.
"And, make no mistake about it,” Dokurek had nodded
gravely, pointing a bony finger, "this mound is but one of many. Yes, many, many, more, most containing even
more corpses than this, exist scattered throughout this great country of
ours."
Dokurek,
moreover, added with such bitterness in his voice: “They even built roads over
some, so tread carefully young man, the next time your path crosses one of
these. They have no respect for the
living, why should they have any for the dead?" Inclining his head downwards again, he'd
scoffed contemptuously, as hot tears once more glistened in his eyes, but he’d
bit his lip angrily to stem them.
Noting disbelief in Serek’s (Fradel’s) eyes, he’d swallowed hard, then grinding his teeth, announced sourly, "And secretly, ever so secretly, it's still going on!" His face was contorted with pain and anger, yet he could not stop now. "When the scholars suffered such a fate, you might ask, what became of their families?" He shook his head vehemently, "I'll tell you what! Some were banished to the frontier where they were sold into slavery, some into forced labor or killed outright and all, without exception, had their property confiscated. And why the hell not…There is great profit to be had in this sort of vile undertaking by the greedy, grasping patricians (nobles, aristocrats). In many instances they fabricated charges to fill their coffers and to construct a powerbase. In these dark times, justice is always trampled underfoot by the selfsame rapacious bureaucrats. A slander without proof in the ears of the right person would be sufficient for a court of law to proscribe the victim. On pain of death, who would dare mount a defense or champion the righteous cause?”
It became clear to Fradel that the old man was
speaking from bitter personal experience; and that he, too, had fallen prey to
the greed of akin official.
"And I thought he was a close friend!"
Fradel raised
his eyes from the old man's clenched fist to see him staring once more in the
direction of the mound.
"And to think my son held him in such high
esteem! Bah!” Dokurek turned angrily to
spit on the ground. "Curse you, and
a curse be upon your whole family! May
you and your descendants be cursed forever in Hell?" Dokurek's chest rapidly rose and fell in fury,
until he finally grew a bit calmer.
"The reason for these atrocities... How is it possible, you may ask? Ah!” he fixed his dubious, pained, angry
pupils above his deep-set, gaunt(boney) cheeks on Serek Vern (Fradel Rurik
Korvald).
"Have you had
no knowledge of these sort of vile deeds at all, none? What about the foul happenstance
(coincidence) that had reportedly claimed Taok Therkan’s life?” Dokurek asked
skeptically.
"Taok Therkan?” Fradel furrowed his brow, and then
confessed to, in his remote dwelling having scant news of the famed scholar,
save for once, being lucky enough, to have come across one of Taok’s brilliant
essays. Impressed, he’d sought to procure more, with no result; meanwhile, the mystery,
the silence surrounding the scholar Taok Therkan had never been satisfactorily
explained to Serek Vern (Fradel) and he, at present, implored Dokurek to
enlighten him on this subject.
Dokurek shook his head, "It's inconceivable to
think,” he looked straight at Serek Vern, considering: “how could your family
have been spared this ferocious, evil tide that has swept the nation? I know of this from the mouths of many, that
these long years have been anything but brutal to all Literati. Why should you,
your family be spared? And now standing before me you lay claim to knowing
nothing? No, you're false! Worse, you must be an informant, a spy! Is it conceivable that you are sent by that
cursed Zaur to...?”
Dokurek looked
down to hide the sudden manifest disdain from his eyes then fretfully,
stealthily looked about him.
His eyes rested
on Serek Vern 's servants, then narrowed into slits. "And why should you be bothering with
the likes of me? Why not sic one of your
dogs on me and have done with me? Or is
it your delight to first toy with your prey?"
He turned an
angry, defiant gaze back at Serek Vern only to meet the scholar's somewhat
indignant, perplexed face.
Dokurek
immediately regretted his suspicious outburst.
Fradel had surmised later how, at this point Dokurek
was filled with a great need, a burning desire to believe in someone, anyone,
while the flames of his life-force still burned in him. His past misjudgments
had cost him dearly and rendered him cautious, distrusting all; now and always
seeking, expecting some sinister motive behind every kind of gesture.
For a time, the old man had remained nonplused,
shaking his head and mouthing half-crazed, barely comprehensible mumblings as
he turned a deaf ear to Serek Vern's gentle arguments.
"But there is nothing to be gained in trapping
me. It was not my will, my wish that my
sons were scholars. Besides, what do I
possess now? In my heyday, sure, I had
substance then. Even ten years ago I had means, holdings to be coveted. I commanded such respect! But now…now I have nothing, nothing of any value
or use to anyone. Nor do I have any
surviving affiliates left to be targeted.”
“But then, hmm, yes, you do look the kindly, honest
sort. Suppose I take a chance? Perhaps
I've been too hasty in suspecting you? I
mustn't let my paranoia cloud my judgment.”
Dokurek continued mumbling to himself as though Serek Vern (Frade)l was
not there.
Fradel, in exasperation having fallen silent, threw a
cursory look at his impatient men and then thoughtfully looked down; in fact,
he was (considering) of a mind to leave this insane old man when, catching the
last part of what he had said, convinced Fradel to persevere just a bit longer.
“Yes, you may be my very last chance." Dokurek suddenly ceased his mumbling and decisively looked up. His eyebrows unraveled and he made a genuine effort to smile in a friendly manner.
"Forgive my obstinate ways, sir, but you can
hardly blame me. It's all the more
incredible that you are a bona fide scholar.
No doubting that. I'd even
venture a guess that you come from a long line of illustrious scholars." Allowing Serek Vern (Fradel), no chance to
agree or dispute his statement, he nodded vigorously, "Furthermore, my
eyes can attest to the truth of your claim that you are a stranger to these
parts and that you must have led a life of seclusion, that’s why I’ve never
heard of your name, a self-imposed recluse perhaps?"
Serek Vern’s (Fradel's)
reaction confirmed this guess and reassured, Dokurek leaned back, smiling.
"Also,
your distinguished attire, your decorum and fine, polished speech makes it all
too evident that you are a well–off gentleman, perhaps an aristocrat. A recluse scholar from an undisturbed
sanctuary who has managed to prosper in these volatile times, an anomaly?” the
old man shook his head, amazed.
Despite the tinge of sarcasm in his tone, Fradel had
read no malice in Dokurek's face. This
perplexed him more. And what did Dokurek
mean by 'very last chance'?
Dokurek cleared his throat then in a softer tone
rattled on, "You are so unassuming, so patient and not the least bit
arrogant. You have a great
disposition. You are by all appearances
a good man, not unlike my Kuer. Still,
all the more reason for you to beware!"
He fixed his intense gaze at Serek Vern (Fradel) and said a bit more
forcefully. "You watch yourself
young man! Guard your words, his spies
are everywhere. His policies may undergo
yet another change, and quite suddenly, too.
Then you're gone. Pouf! In one day.
Or worse still, it may all be a hoax, a scheme to finally entrap
you. I'm curious, though, what part of
the country did you say you're from?
Which remote region was it that you hid in?"
Fradel had made no such claim, but his denial was cut
short by a gesture of Dokurek's hand.
"No, don't tell me. I'd
rather not know. Such knowledge is of
little use to me now, anyway. It's
enough to know that there is some small corner of this Empire that was spared,
where the forces of evil could not wreak havoc." Dokurek abruptly fell silent and looked away,
his eyes resting on the two small mounds nestled under the swaying branches of
a willow tree.
After a time, Dokurek turned to face Serek Vern (Fradel) and with eyes brimming with fresh tears, reiterated his warning, "You must beware! It's too late for my boys and it's too late for me. I've got one foot in the grave already, but you..." He smiled warmly at Fradel. “I can't emphasize the importance of this enough. He's like a jackal, a wild beast on the prowl. His poisonous tentacles reach the four corners of the Empire, and it makes no difference what service you may have rendered him. Disaster can befall you at the most unexpected turn. Under his rule, all manners of evil flourish and you can never, ever anticipate when the next catastrophe strikes! So, it’s best you remain vigilant in safeguarding your life.”
Fradel was distracted just then by a debased snigger
(snort, chortle) from his servants who had drawn close and were very much
engaged with their heads pressed together in animated, amused mockery. More infuriating still, Fradel’s ears picked
up the steward’s disdainful ridicule, "Crazy as a Cakook!" As if to demonstrate he then stood up,
flapped his elbows, craned his neck and began drawing circles with his toes on the
ground as he mimicked the bird.
In mid twirl
his eyes caught Fradel's fierce look of reprimand. Chastised, the servant froze in his position.
Similarly, the rest also cowered with stilled tongues and abjectly bowed their
heads.
When Fradel turned his eyes back to the old man, he
found Dokurek keenly studying him.
"I'm right about you. This time I'm right. My salvation may just be at hand.” he mumbled
then quickly looked away to escape Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) questioning gaze.
This time it was Fradel's turn for skepticism. Had this all been a well-orchestrated
performance, a charade on Dokurek's part?
Was he testing me? Testing me for
what? Fradel had heard of cases
where men touched by madness would slip into and out of reality, one minute
sane as could be, the next, steeped in peril and precarious, imaginary
fantasies.
As if surmising this, Dokurek looked up at Serek Vern (Fradel) and smiled wryly, "I wish it were so but, alas, my penance is to remain completely sane, mindful of all my past wrongdoings.”
“All right, I will tell you everything. I've kept my silence long enough…but not
here, not within earshot." He
indicated Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) servants with a wary look and a point of his
chin.
He rose and
Fradel, signaling his men to stay put, followed the old man to a distant spot.
(END OF SECTION 7)
