THE WEDDING - SECTION 5

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE WEDDING - SECTION 5

BRANDT DUSTIN

 

The vivid recollection of that first ride’s thrill and joy to date still stirred (fired) Svein’s soul and brought prompt smile to his lips.  At present (currently) on route to town Karene, the added (bonus) excitement and delight stemming from his expected union with Teuquob bursting his heart, Svein urged Fiery Comet to equate that first time’s speed till they felt as if they were riding on air, goaded on by the wind, with the horse’s hooves hardly touching the ground.

 After several days’ ride when Svein reached Karene by mid-afternoon, he and the horse were both parched by the all-consuming heat.  Though the wind had picked up during the last hour or so and white clouds now sailed on by across the sky in speed, it still did not offer the earth any real respite.

Svein led the horse through the wind-swept streets, straight to the familiar inn, located at the far western edge of town.  The middle-aged, stout innkeeper, being notified of Svein’s approach well in advance, hurried down the steps with his hands clasped obsequiously to personally welcome Svein and invite him into the inn. 

After Svein returned his greetings with similar humility he obligingly followed alongside the innkeeper up the stairs.

Meanwhile Fiery Comet was led around to the back stables by the stable hands to be washed and fed, in short, to be well looked after.  They worked diligently, begrudging the horse nothing, knowing their efforts would be well met by a generous tip from Svein in the end.

After Svein was refreshed and had a change of clothing, he came down and was shown to a seat and promptly served a complimentary tea, the innkeeper politely inquired after his health then asked to learn of his requirements.  Once these were imparted and some funds changed hands he then rushed off at once to see to the details.  Not daring to waste any more time, Svein, forgoing lunch, left the premises and went off into the main marketplace to acquire his purchases.

In the past, keeping a low profile, Svein had always concluded his business and had departed town the following day, without any adventures to speak of.  His formidable bearing had discouraged local hooligans from accosting or assaulting him, while his quietly reserved nature had kept him from becoming the object of idle gossip among the locals who droned the gambling halls and whorehouses.  As a result, he had always wandered in and out of town without touching anyone’s lives or making a single friend or foe.  This time, however, his list was longer than usual and contained some (unusual) odd and specialty items and he could not conclude his business all in one go.

The innkeeper, with delight, had prepared for Svein’s lengthier stay upon being so informed.  Himself a respectable and quiet man, the innkeeper had curbed his curiosity all these years and had allowed Svein his right to privacy and secrecy.  Though he knew practically nothing of Svein’s background other than the false name, Audun Colden, which Svein had invented for his outside excursions, still, over the years he had developed a special fondness and respect for the youth, appreciating greatly his virtues of politeness, honesty, and the manner of speech that had marked Audun as learned literati.

After securing the day’s purchases in his room, at dusk Svein came downstairs to consume some supper.  He was led at once to a clean table in the far corner of the room, and tea and food were then punctually served to him.  It was towards the conclusion of this last course when Svein’s attention was suddenly drawn to an ornate sword handle and its sheath worn by a stranger who had just then appeared at the doorway (entrance).  By now the place was crowded by a large boisterous crowd that kept the waiters on their toes rushing to and for with orders.

From where he stood the stranger first surveyed the room, ignoring the waiter who had rushed over to invite him to an available table.  Wrinkling his nose, his narrowed eyes telling of his disdain for this place, he then somewhat reluctantly made his way over to an empty table of his own choosing by the window and sat himself down.  The stranger next impatiently threw down several gold coins onto the table and voiced his requirements. The apologetic waiter nodded, and then snatching the gold at once hurried off to fetch a jug of the best wine of the establishment, that were typically kept in the cellar, under lock and key.

As the stranger again looked contemptuously about him, his eyes full of daring suddenly fell on Svein; latter on his part not wishing to incur any undue curiosity seemingly pensive, kept his focus pinned on the plate in front of him. Subsequently the stranger’s gaze moved on to a more interesting target, the clustered heads with hushed wagging tongues that appeared to be scheming some conspiratorial, unsavory plan.

Towering well over six feet in height, with a bearing so formidable, the stranger’s intimidating presence had discouraged even the rowdy group of law enforcement officials seated next to his table from accosting him; in fact, they’d swiftly moved on further away to a new table that had just then become available.  With a continuing frown on his lips the stranger downed cup after cup of the wine, losing his temper at the slightest delay in the next supply which was kept steady to his table.  But, despite the amount of wine he had consumed, he’d remained quite unaffected and not the slightest bit inebriated.

By now most of the customers had moseyed on to elsewhere to pass the night- for no one took in sleep in this heat, leaving the dining-room half empty.  The wind had long ago subsided and had allowed the heat to increase to still greater, more intolerable levels. 

With many of the regulars (patrons) pouring outdoors for relief they crowded the streets, more so than during the daytime.  The stranger continued with his drink, his expression changing only slightly to register boredom.  He had noted Svein’s brief but interested look at his sword at the time of his entry to the premises.  Recalling that fact, he again stole a sidelong glance at Svein, who was thoughtfully sipping his tea, his void stare affixed to his cup.

“I can simply take my leave; never knowing more…Hmm. Then again, what harm is there in casual conversation…?”  When the waiter just then brought over a fresh pot of tea, Svein discreetly made his inquiries about the specific stranger.

The waiter, concealing his surprise for Svein, had never shown such interest in anyone, drawing close, imparted to Svein what little he knew about the arrogant stranger.  He told of how only twice before the stranger had wandered in to consume a meal and large quantities of their best wine, behaving with consistent haughtiness and condescension.

“Furthermore, he seemed to have an endless supply of funds, an abundant gold in his possession.” The waiter then as if just been reminded, added quickly in a hushed voice: “But both those other times he was in the company of another and from the looks of him, a foreigner also.  They are not from these parts, I’m sure of it.  Do you wish to make his acquaintance?  Perhaps I can be of some service.”

No, no,” Svein rejoined hastily, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary… A passing curiosity, that’s all.”

A pair of other waiters, who happened to be close by, noting this exchange, craned their necks and picked up their ears to overhear the conversation.  The innkeeper suddenly appeared on the scene, boxed the ears of the one farthest back; then scolding them both, sent them scurrying back to their tasks.

“Anything else I can get for you, sir?  How about some sweet buns, a specialty of the house, to go with your fresh pot of tea?” the waiter tending Svein, clearing the spare dishes, now asked.

“Nothing further thank you; the tea is quite sufficient.”  With that Svein promptly paid the waiter the amount owed, slipping in something extra for his trouble.  Delighted, the waiter thanked Svein and turned to tend to his other customers.

Affixing his gaze outside the window, “now where have I seen that design before?” Svein inwardly queried, his thoughts reverting to the insignia, the crested eagle design on the sheath and the pommel of the sword’s handle. 

“I know I’ve seen it somewhere before, perhaps another likeness, but why is it I cannot recollect just where?” Absentmindedly he again glanced back up at the stranger and their eyes met in a mute clash.

 It was too late to turn away!  Svein smiled and nodded his head in polite greeting, which was reciprocated by the other. It might have ended there, except the stranger, after exchanging a few words with his waiter, next rose from his seat and, with bold steps, advanced towards Svein’s table.

 A momentary silence seized the room, as all present, suspected trouble as the only likely outcome from one such as him.  But, to their great chagrin, the stranger carrying a formal manner and with courteous words, duly introduced himself as Brandt Dustin then stated his wish to make other’s acquaintance, upon which he waited patiently to be asked to take a seat.

Obliged to respond favorably, Svein at once rose to his feet and, after delivering the formal customary greeting, stated his own name as Audun Colden and invited the stranger to be seated. 

Brandt Dustin expressed his thanks and took the seat across from Audun (Svein).  All those who had witnessed Brandt’s lack of deference and almost hostile manner now rubbed their eyes in disbelief, and at safe distance, huddled their heads together to exchange views and nosh rumors.

Svein was about to call for the waiter for some wine for his guest when a second waiter suddenly appeared behind him carrying a sealed jug of the best wine and two cups.

“I hope you don’t think me too presumptuous”, Brandt apologized, “but I took the liberty of ordering it before.  Please join me in a drink to mark our meeting.”  Then, without waiting for Svein’s response, he broke the seal and emptied wine into a cup, after which he, with both hands, offered it to Svein (Audun Colden). 

This being a gesture of respect and friendship, Svein felt constrained to accept it.  Thanking Brandt, he took the cup (with both hands also) and had the customary three sips before returning the courtesy to Brandt.

“Now, with the formalities out of the way, let us drink as brothers and talk without reserve.” Brandt proposed.

Svein’s polite upbringing would not allow him to show rudeness and refuse the next drink or the next after that.  In this way coerced into consuming several cups Svein deeply buried his feeling of guilt which had again arisen from this defiance of his uncle’s rule. 

Brandt, ignoring Svein’s subsequent protests and claims that he was not a drinker- pressed on Svein to consume still more.

 Though Brandt, on Svein’s insistence, drained thrice the number of cups as Svein did he showed no ill effects.  Svein, meanwhile, became aware of his own state of slight intoxication.  Afraid that he would lose control, he took smaller sips and ultimately longer and longer time to empty each cup.

 Brandt, a consummate drinker, after draining several more cups, had in the interim carefully steered the topic of conversation to the martial arsenals, then to the priceless, famed swords that were passed on to posterity through successive generations.

“Take this sword, for example,” fondling it affectionately while pretending to be slightly inebriated, he boasted, “it’s an heirloom, a priceless treasure also, with a story all its own.

 As one of a pair, it once belonged to Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon” 

He paused to gauge Audun Colden’s reaction, when none was forthcoming, bit peeved, he nevertheless continued, “Of course, you would be far too young to know of that traitor’s name.”

He again, took several more sips, a deliberate hiatus (break), and then quickly added, “But I digress, after the fall of the last dynasty, when our illustrious Sovereign gained his rightful place on the throne, the priceless pair of swords was presented to my master Haskell as a gift, amid other favors, for his rendered valuable services to the throne.”

Svein with his ardent discipline had curtailed his shock and surprise with admirable zeal; on the surface his demeanor appearing perfectly placid and well composed.  His expression had remained unchanged as he continued to listen to the strange accounts of Brandt.  Inwardly, however his soul had been set alight, after hearing the name Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon.

 “Was that not the name on his uncle’s list before it had been so completely erased, during their recent stay at the ‘Heaven’s Gate Spiritual temple’?  What did all this mean?  Had his uncle once served under this vilified Lord?” 

Oblivious to Svein’s inner turmoil, Brandt meanwhile had continued, “My master treasured these twin swords above everything else he owned, and he took them out frequently to admire them and to demonstrate lessons with them.  Since, however, master agile as he was, excelled in fighting with only one sword, often during these special demonstrations he entrusted the other sword to his most prized pupil, Kochi.

“My master had no kin and no offspring to speak of; now trusting and being particularly fond of Kochi, he later adopted him as his own son.  That was why he was especially devastated when Kochi, without conscience, betrayed him.  When one of the gemstones on the handle of the sword was loosened, master wishing to have it repaired right after dinner, had left it outside of its locked cabinet.  How was he to know his adopted son, claiming illness, would excuse himself from the dining area early and, stealing into his room like a common criminal during those few hours, would run away with the treasured sword, never to be seen again.”  Brandt, grinding his teeth with contempt, again reached for the cup and downed its contents all at one go.

 “My master had taught him everything he knew, thinking that Kochi would one day succeed him.  That error in judgment, plus his advanced age, stopped him in the end from recovering his prized possession and avenging the wrong that was done to him.”

“None of his other pupils were of any use.  In his disillusioned state he dismissed them all and withdrew into seclusion.  After some years, finally giving in to my persistence, he took me on as his next pupil on the condition; however, that one day, when I had mastered the skill, I would seek out this villain, avenge my master, and recover the sword so that my master could be buried with the pair.  Now taken ill, he is lying in bed on the brink of death.  Since I have never seen Kochi, and the swords were the only link, my master with some reluctance, allowed me to take the second sword from his side.”

“I’ve journeyed far and wide, spared no effort in trying to apprehend Kochi, yet all traces of that villain or the sword have eluded me.  Now and again, I fear that some great misfortune might have befallen him, and that he might have been buried under earthen debris or he’s in some watery grave along with the sword; but I cannot allow myself to think of such an end.  I have taken a vow not to return till I have completed my task, and my master has given me his word to hang on to life until the day of my safe return.”  At this point Brandt fell into silence, his face showing a mixture of frustration and despair, plus something else that Svein could not clearly discern.

Just then, like a lightning bolt, it struck Svein just where, precisely, he had seen this sword’s twin.  Of course! He now recalled. 

He was no more than six years of age at the time.  While his uncle had been away on a hunting trip he had mischievously gone through his uncle’s personal belongings, then his chest.  Groping about, he had hoped to find something of interest to while away the lonely and boring hours.  To his great delight and thrill, he had then discovered this fine sword at the very bottom, carefully enshrined in several layers of silk.  He could still recall vividly the resulting fury in Stark’s face when, upon his early return, he had caught him (little Svein) red handed, playing with this magnificent sword in his room.  Barely able to lift the sword, Svein was dragging it on the floor, pretending to be a mighty warrior, vanquishing all his enemies and dispensing justice to all. 

As Svein reflected such, he’d assumed the mask of indifference, mindful of Brandt’s scrutiny, latter seeking least sign, anything to substantiate his initial suspicion.  Why else would he have bothered to share a drink and as a gesture of trust, unburden himself so elaborately to a perfect stranger?

Meanwhile Svein had played his part so remarkably well that Brandt presently doubted his prior misgivings about Audun (Svein); moreover, Brandt’s inner frustration mirrored his professed outward words.

 “I’ve even offered a great reward for any information, however slight, that would lead me to achieve my purpose, again to no avail.  No one has seen the twin of this sword or its bearer.  It’s as though they have both vanished from this world.” He shook his head, refusing to call it quits, not after he’d invested so much of his time. 

Brandt suddenly growing serious and in the most direct manner, burrowing his pupils in Audun (Svein), asked, “I will not insult you, sir, by offering you the reward money but, out of compassion and due respect for my dying master, won’t you tell me why you had shown a slight, a glint of interest in my sword earlier at the point of my entry to these premises?  Can I hope, perhaps, that you have seen the likeness of it somewhere before?”

“Now comes the truth; a brazen move” Svein’s face donned a nonplussed (puzzled) look, as if he’d not heard Brandt right.

“I would be most obliged upon receiving any information that you may have, however trivial.” Brandt obdurately (pig-headedly) insisted.

“I am deeply sorry to have caused you any false hope.” Seven, feigning regret, shook his head.

“In truth, I was drawn to it for its striking quality of workmanship, nothing more.  The crested eagle design alone is done to perfection.  I profess to know something about these arts, and it was my appreciation of it which, in this case, drew my attention.  The weapon itself, I’m afraid, is of little consequence to me, since I lack any ability in swordsmanship.”

“Surely you are too modest.” Brandt sham rebuked Svein’s claim of limited knowledge of martial arts and arms.  “Why your physical bearing alone tells of your competence and no doubt, formidable skill.”

“You do me too much honor, sir.” Svein blushed with due humility.  “I do daily exercises to keep fit and, besides my other chores, I cut wood and, on occasion, scale the mountains or hunt for game.  That is all.”

“By your words, you profess to know archery at least.” Brandt grinned.

When pressed further by Brandt to give some account of his years and background, Svein had wisely hinted at an age at least four more years older than his own and purported to be the third or fourth son of some local official somewhere, undetermined region.  He had supposedly gained some formal education from private tutors and even this bit of useless info had been relayed as insinuation, hint or suppositions under the guise of plain humility (all without the benefit of real facts or details).

He is far too clever to cave. Brandt huffed.  Though inebriated he is still exercising caution, not giving anything away.  All night long his answers to my questions have been evasive.  I know nothing further, nothing tangible about him, than when I first took this seat at his table. 

“All right, perhaps I was mistaken.”  This time Brandt did not insist.  Surely this Audun Colden has private reasons of his own for his ambiguity and professed ignorance.  Perhaps he is afraid of meeting a challenge from me.  Perhaps he is but a coward after all.

 “Then perhaps you can still be of some assistance to me.  During your journeys to and from this town, have you ever encountered a stranger, an elderly gentleman with only one arm?”

Svein’s suspicions further escalated, on the outset he made a pretense of jogging his memory, then smiling, shook his head in the negative once more.

“That is most unfortunate.” With a despondent look on his face, Brandt sighed. 

After downing another cup, he dejectedly leaned back in his chair then explained further, “I had neglected to mention it earlier, but Kochi, because of an accident he’d suffered shortly before his evil deed, had his right arm severed at the elbow.  This description was given to me as my only other way of identifying him.”  His eyes once more burrowed deep into Svein, persistent on receiving a response from the other.

“I regret that I am still unable to offer you any hope, despite my sincerest wish to do so.”, came Svein’s standard, unruffled, genuine reply.

“I was just hoping.” Brandt pursed his lips, in feigned dismay. “Unfortunately, like so many, in this god-forsaken town not a single clue has surfaced to give me scant hope.  At least in other towns, other cities, we were led to people bearing some resemblance to Kochi, to some renegade cripples with one arm.”

We?...  Svein nevertheless, curbed his inquiry. 

Was Brandt’s other companion, the one the waiter told of earlier, also in pursuit of his uncle?  For, no mistaking it, it was Stark they were after.  These facts, the twin sword, the right arm severed at the elbow all tallied perfectly. Then again, it was inconceivable that Stark would have ever consented to being the pupil of a master who was once an advocate of the usurper Sovereign.  The subsequent accounts were equally implausible and thoroughly contrary to Stark’s nature!

Svein for a brief spell had mulled over the validity of Brandt’s claims and the alleged ignominy; this lapsed judgment and the unpardonable slur, undeserved dishonor to Stark’s integrity, both angered and at the same time shamed Svein.

 Curtailing these negative emotions however, he stole a discreet glance at Brandt. 

Oh, he is shrewdly deceptive.  Even his bearing does not correspond to what he claims.  Despite this disguise of plain clothes, he looks to have grown up amidst affluent surroundings. I would venture a guess: an aristocrat perhaps?  But why concoct such an elaborate story to slander Uncle’s good name and to entrap him? Surely this was more than an expanded attempt to recover a sword or settle an old (score) vendetta.  What was Brandt after? 

Svein could not shake the ominous feeling that there were far graver consequences at stake here.  He quickly estimated the time: “Uncle has lived in seclusion for at least the course of my life, some 20 years and Brandt was, according to him, only four years my senior.  How could one so young bear such contempt for Uncle and be seeking him to exact revenge?”

For there was no mistaking it, there had been that pure, unadulterated hatred and lust for vengeance disclosed in Brandt’s eyes at every mention of Kochi- clearly a fabricated name for Stark?

Though Svein wished to pry further into this matter to learn this stranger’s true aim in seeking out Stark, he abstained in favor of caution.  He was obliged nevertheless, in carrying out this charade to its natural conclusion and though this deceptive game sickened him at heart, he intoned his sympathies and understanding for the other’s plight, adding that no offense was taken to Brandt’s persistence.

From the start, Brandt had this nagging gut feeling that, at long last, he’d been poised at the heels of his allusive prey, a good solid whiff perhaps and he would uncover him- but nothing untoward had happened to substantiate this prior hunch. Subsequently, observing the sincerity of Svein’s tone and manner, Brandt had to concede that once more, he had followed a false instinct. 

 “Why, this man before me is no more knowledgeable or formidable than the local thug (ruffian).  Now, if only Audun here was some years younger, then I may have some slight cause to persist”. Brandt nodded absentmindedly, “but he is clearly a good four years older than the one I seek!”

Suddenly tiredness weighed heavily on Brandt.  Lapsing into brooding, he reflected impatiently and indignantly on how much time he had wasted questioning all manner of denizens of this and other such detestable outposts at the far fringes of the Empire, how he had searched every city, town, district or settlement all to no avail! 

As he downed several more cups in swift succession however, his expression changed momentarily, and his lips drew a most sinister smile.  Brandt’s thoughts had reverted back to Duan, the cold, unfeeling assassin who was his accomplice, his so-called companion. 

Had he been with him at this time, this so-called Audun Colden would not have lived to see another day? 

Looking away, again his lips parted in that venomous wry grin, uncovering perfect teeth as a fleeting picture of the cut up, maimed bodies of those who were merely suspected of knowing something flashed before his mind’s eye.

 “So, what if they had proven to be a false lead?” Duan had argued the point coldly, “In the end had it not been better to have snuffed out their miserable existence than, on the off chance, let the real one escape?”

 Of the two of them, Brandt was the one better natured; Duan, totally at odds with everyone, seemed to thrive on bloodshed and pain.  Unfortunate were those who crossed paths with him.  Indeed, Duan was incapable of feeling remorse or compassion, but Brandt needed him and without him he could not realize his wish.  For that reason, Brandt had put up with a lot and had always given in to the other’s whims and incessant demands.

Svein had persisted with this discourse, hoping in all that time to uncover the truth about Brandt and his accomplice; however, Brandt was quite adept at this game of deception, and had not let on any useful info; furthermore, increasingly seen as a dangerous adversary, Svein decided now to swiftly end this fruitless exchange.

Coincidentally just then, the innkeeper came to his rescue. “Gentlemen, now please,” he said plaintively, gesticulating in part as he approached them somewhat timidly, fearful of an angry response from Brandt, “Begging your pardon sirs, but please finish your drinks.  We are way past our closing time.  See, everyone else is already gone.”

Startled from his dismal contemplation, Brandt did not take this intrusion too kindly and threw a threatening glance at the innkeeper, which sent the annoyed proprietor, nevertheless, with lowered head, scurrying away to a safe distance.

 Cursing under his breath at this wasted time, Brandt, with a wry smile, turned to address Svein and, after some perfunctory words of farewell and other such, rose to his feet and, ignoring the waiters who rushed to get out of his way, exited the Inn.

Svein, following suit, rose from his seat and went outside, for supposedly a solitary walk to clear his head, deliberately choosing the opposite direction than Brandt.

Soon he was swallowed up by the dark, moonless night. A change in weather, and the sweeping, cooling winds had blanketed the sky with ominous clouds.  Using this to his advantage, he moved stealthily, with the agility of a cat, far above the ground.

 

(END OF SECTION 5)

 

 

 

THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY- SECTION 3

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY - SECTION 3

That evening, when the monk Fayet’s services were no longer required, as an alternative to withdrawing to his room for prayers then sleep, Fayet sought instead, to pay a visit to his friend and confidant, Muro.

 It was not long before their casual conversation about this or that point of interest veered to usual contending topics.

“How you carry on!!! Give that wagging tongue of yours a rest!”  With a stern, brisk remark, Muro walked over to his night table, and withdrawing a particular parchment, then obtaining the appropriate quill pen (brush), dipped the point into small inkbottle and resumed adding few more lines that had just come to mind, to his long-standing prose, sort of elegy, that he’d been working on.

“Boy, what a strange bunch! I mean, they are so formal with each other.” Fayet suddenly blurted out, looking away from the window. He grimaced, seeing how he’d startled the other in mid-stroke of the enigmatic verse.

Muro’s head raised, he pinned his questioning eyes to Fayet’s, with a stern expression of slight annoyance, since he suspected Fayet of weaving yet another tapestry of lies to gain importance. “He’s so obvious with his not-so-subtle hints; I suppose the report can wait...”  He put the quill pen down.

“Well, let’s hear it, I haven’t got all night!” He, with irritation, snorted.  Outwardly, however he could not resist toying with Fayet; and so, abstaining from making any verbal inquiry, he again picked up the brush and purportedly (ostensibly) turned his attention back to the parchment before him.

“First they came quite unexpectedly and out of season at that, then they expect us to go all out for them!” Fayet pursing his lips ejected a peeved grunt.

“Are you still griping about that?”  Muro smiled wryly.  “I would think that, of all people, you should be the last one to air a complaint, or can it be that the old gentleman is tight-fisted with you, denying you the lion’s share of the gratuities you are so used to wringing out?”

“Why are you so bent on antagonizing me?  Really, from the way you speak one would think I have been hoarding (stashing away) a mountain of riches beneath my bed.  You know very well that I receive no extra perk, minimal that always is, until the last day of their visit when all accounts are settled.”

“Fine, fine…” Muro forgoing Fayet’s sarcasm, cast the report aside, fetched the board that had stones on it strategically placed, and on his beckoning, they resumed playing the ongoing game. When at last, after careful consideration, Muro moved the key stone to another place on board, “Hah, ha, ha….  You’ll be sorry you did that!” Fayet lifted one of his pieces, and skipping two spaces ahead, placed it squarely down with a thud, in apt retaliation.  “Now take that!” The advantage he’d gained had instantaneously cheered Fayet anew.

Muro frowned, “You caught me off guard.  My mind was elsewhere.”  Then, shaking a finger at Fayet, he warned, “But don’t celebrate your gains too soon.

“Confound it, what was it I needed to tell you? Oh yes, now I remember.” Fyeta ignored the latter’s idle threat. “Now listen, I really have a good piece of info to tell you, but it must not leave this room.”

Fayet cast an anxious glance, “Do you mind if I close the door?  What I have to say next must be kept in the strictest confidence.”  Then, without waiting for the other’s assent, he sprung to his feet and went to the door, closing and even locking it. 

Muro’s curiosity right now aroused, he looked inquiringly at Fayet when the latter returned, and once more were seated across. Delighting in prolonging the suspense, Fayet first examined the pieces on the board game most carefully.

“For Heaven’s sake, I haven’t touched a thing.  Now what was it you wanted to tell me about?” Muro impatiently demanded.

But Fayet gallingly kept his cool and pinned his eyes to the board.  Then, with deliberate slowness, he moved his piece to a strategic point.  Now, with a contented air, he swelled his chest, leaned back and smiled.  Pointing his finger to it, “First try to get out of this one,” he gloated. “I told you I would get you, sooner or later!”

Muro became distraught.  Indeed, he was placed in a most precarious position.  One wrong move and he would have to again forfeit the game.  He already owed Fayet a considerable sum, since they had always played for stakes.  He was hoping to recover some of his losses today.  As Muro wracked his brains over his next move, Fayet drew near and whispered in his ear. “The list for prayers, the elderly gentleman had been asked to complete this morning”

“What about it?” Muro stuck out his chin in antagonistic stance; then upon reflection, “Oh, have you seen the list?” he quickly asked.

“Of course not, what a thing to say, why that would be an unpardonable violation? It would land me in serious trouble, to say the least!” Fayet grumbled feigning shock, but all the same dawning smirk and winked. 

Muro, tad flustered with all Fayet’s pretexts, inadvertently placed his piece in the wrong quarter; this could have ended the game immediately in Fayet’s favor.

“Hey, you can’t do that!  Take it back; I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.  But remember, you owe me a turn.”

“Never mind the game,” Muro pushed the board aside, “I’ve lost all interest in it. Fayet, stop beating around the bush; have you, or have you not seen it?”

With a broad smirk on his face, Fayet made a pretense of dallying, and then uttered a few, unconvincing, words of denial.

 “Do tell if you’ve seen it, brother.” Muro, adapting a softer stance, entreated. “I promise not to divulge your infraction to a living soul.  Still, you’re probably pulling my leg.  His eminence would have your hide...You wouldn’t be so brazen?”  Now he cast a doubtful look at Fayet, goading him to prove otherwise.

 Fayet’s persisting, knowing smirk nevertheless reaffirmed Muro’s suspicion.

 “But how did you ever manage it?”

 “Did I say that?” Fayet stalled, pursing his lips and looking away in indignation, exasperating Muro further. 

 “Have it your way, brother.” Muro, afterthought, offered a quick solution.  “Let us say that someone else, an undisclosed third party saw the list.  What so incredible (strange) about a list anyhow, why make such a fuss over it?”

Fayet ‘s sheepish smile deleted, he ejected in a serious tone: “Now, you didn’t hear this from me, understand?” He paused long enough to receive Muro’s affirmative nod. “Ah, and that’s just it.  It is not just an ordinary list, but one that is most intriguing and highly dubious!” He was about to say more, opened his mouth, but did not articulate any.  He appeared to be hesitating.

What now? Muro almost demanded, but checking his quickly rising temper, asked latter in conciliatory tone, to please continue.  “Brother, why keep me in suspense, reeling me in like a fish, then stalling?”

“I assure you that is the farthest thing from my aim, however,” Fayet coughed, as if to clear his throat, “if I were to tell it to you in its entirety, it being a rather lengthy account, my throat would get parched, then what’s there to lessen my discomfort?  Frankly, I’m tired.  Perhaps I should leave it for now, and call on you on another day, to tell it then.”  With that, Fayet gave a pretense of rising to his feet.

‘So that’s your game. This better be good!’

“Oh no, that won’t do,” Muro hurriedly grasped Fayet’s arm to keep him down; if truth be told, he was now beyond peeved, regretting the day he’d disclosed his secret stash, the so called, medicinal brew to him. “Here, you stay put while I’ll go get us some medicinal brew.  That should be sufficient to ease any would be discomfort to you.”

“But, brother, I would not dream of putting you to so much trouble.” Fayet protested, halfheartedly.

“Nonsense, I insist you stay and partake some. It’s the least I can do.” Even as he said this, Muro was cursing him under his breath.

‘You draw a hefty price, this better be good!’ Again, he inwardly huffed as he went to retrieve a small portion of his hoard, the medicinal concoction, one he’d so masterfully adapted, through his extensive knowledge of medicine and chemistry.

The so called remedial, therapeutic ingredients, cured over time in such a way, that when ingested, it intoxicated the senses, akin to inebriated state. The only drawback was that the ingredients to this private stash, had to be carefully, in miniscule doses siphoned off-from the dried ingredients stored in kitchens or jealously guarded herbal storages- so as not to be noticed, then secretively ripened under various guises, mixed and then allowed final maturity in particular containers in such a way as to not incur suspicion or discovery.   With that much trouble, he’d jealously guarded the fruits of his labor, till that day of accidental discovery by Fayet.  Since then, he’d been a pest, every so often calling on him to extort some- supposedly in fair exchange of some vital information as latter was better positioned to obtain it, but specifically, for Fayet’s lasting discretionary silence.

Muro dawning a deceptively appeasing smile to his lips, first cleared the table of the game board, fetched some goblets (glass, cup) then going over dug up the clay flagon from one such hiding place- a seemingly innocuous flowerpot.  Brushing off the unwanted debris, he broke open the seal and poured a generous portion of the contents into Fayet’s cup. So potent was the concoction, that a single mouthful equaled a full cup of alcoholic beverage.

Fayet’s beaming face only served to annoy him further.  “How generous you are brother to treat me to your special remedy!”

That’s right, rub salt on the wound.  “Brother, you do me too much honor,” nevertheless, he grunted. “Clearly, this is but an ordinary cooling beverage, to help alleviate your discomfort.”

“Thanks all the same.” without further due, unceremoniously Fayet raised the cup to his lips, the saliva already glistening at the corners of his mouth, with ready anticipation.

Muro was the senior of the two, but his unassuming straightforward, and unbending, stubborn nature had impeded his advance in the order, and he was oftentimes assigned to mundane, menial tasks. At least that’s what it seemed on the outset; whilst Fayet with his ready wit, with his craftiness and glib tongue, quite the popular person with wide circle of friends, through his amicable deference to his superiors- especially those that allocated duties to the lower orders- had always landed himself the latent lucrative jobs.

 Tall in stature (height), with a fair complexion and gentle eyes, Fayet always donned that most likable smile and his innermost charm to melt away all contempt, jealousy and anger in his adversaries.  One could never stay mad at him or deny him favors for too long.

 “Well, as I was saying, this person in question, who had been entrusted with delivering the letter, well, he noticed that the adhesive of the seal had not dried properly.  So, taking a chance I... I mean, he carefully pried it open and peered at the contents before re-sealing it and delivering it to His Worship’s confidence.  You would never have guessed at the contents of that letter.”  He stopped to swallow some more supposed cooling beverage, and then waited for the other to urge him to continue.  When Muro did not oblige, Fayet bit disappointed, resumed, “One request was what you would expect, being for the ancestors- Nothing unusual in that, but the other three listings, well, they were most curious.  At the top of the list, instead of the usual one, of our reining Sovereign’s name, was the cryptic allusion to late Sovereign, you know, the one who was deposed.”  Again, he paused for a reaction. “Fortunately, I am gifted in such and was able to decipher it without an extensive effort, that’s how I came to know of it, in case you’ve been wondering.” He then volunteered gleefully, the effects of the drink already going to his head.

“That is most curious.” Muro was forced to agree.  “Loyalists, still existing in our midst, I would have thought that they’ve all been annihilated long ago?”

“It goes to show you, one can never be certain about anything.”  Fayet grunted. “Didn’t I promise you this would be good?  Wait till you hear the rest.  The other request was for a name I’d never seen, “Lujeling Osywie”, not even from this country.  I mean it was foreign in origin.”

“So, what,” Muro remained unimpressed.

“Well, don’t you think it’s strange, especially since they made no claim to be foreigners?”

 “Oh, you can be so exasperating!” Muro lashed out at Fayet, having reached the end of his patience. Besides, his sense, his reasoning mind was also being affected somewhat, (not yet dulled though) by his consumption of the potent brew.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe, despite all seeming appearances, they are perhaps some affluent merchant families or something like it after all.  Why stop there, the next thing you’ll be laying claim, I bet, is that they are not a family, that they are not even related! Besides, why don’t you just drop this entire pretense, this mocking charade?  You really are insulting my intelligence with your insistence that it was not you who peered into that envelope.  Why don’t you just come clean with me?  Or is it that, after all this time and after all your claims you still mistrust me?”

  “Well, before I hang myself further, you must first give me your solemn promise to secrecy.” Fayet growled.

“I already have done so, and more than once, I might add.”, Muro protested.

“That’s right, you did.  Well, all right then, I won’t try to deceive you any longer.  Yes, I’ll confess, it was me all along.  Now, returning to the point of the said foreign name, my guess is that they are spies and yes, I suspected all along, that they are not a family, only pretending to be one to be innocuous. I wonder how many more moles (infiltrators, plants) are out there, furtively living in our midst and relaying back vital information to, in the end, undermine our Nation.  Aren’t we strained in our relationships with our border kingdoms?”

“You have a very fertile imagination; I grant you that. Even if that was so, why waste time here, so far from the capital or the other such metropolis, where ample opportunity exists?”

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth.  That part is a conundrum to me also.” Fayet shrugged.  “Unless they are in hiding and need a place to lay low for a time.  I mean, who would look for foreign spies here?”

“Still,” Muro demurred, “why risk compromising their cover with their untimely visit here, instead of a more usual time.  And surely it would be some poor disguise: noted gentlemen with such attractive youths as his kin, spies, bah!?”

“That proves it!” Fayet excitedly interjected, “Normal concealing abnormal, and that in turn, concealing normal?  Don’t you see how perfect their cover is?  Look how much trouble I’m having, laboring to convince you of the idea.  One more thing, when the elderly gentleman bathed, I saw how his right arm was severed, a clean cut right below the elbow, as if it was caused by a sword or ax.  A surgeon would have cut the joint, and an accident would have left messier scar tissue.  I tell you, there is something suspicious about that lot.”

“And wait, till you hear more.  The third name, a non-distinctive name, but parchment held against the light revealed that there had been something else, deliberately expunged underneath; unfortunately I could not quite make out what it was, still, few bits looked like - ‘hu...rrog..Zho’.  Now I ask you, why go through so much trouble to supplant it?”

“You’re sure it hadn’t been an ordinary, innocent mistake, set to, right?”

“Why say so, you don’t believe that any more than I do.”

 Muro could no longer hold his peace, “Brother, do you take me for a fool?  Why insult my intelligence with your suppositions and spun tall tales. Why by your own account your facts are contradictory.  If these people were spies or loyalists, hard enough to be both at the same time, why would they put down actual names for their ancestors, two such at that?  Secondly, in keeping with their clandestine feat, they should have first, at the head of the list, put down our Reigning Liege’s name to deflect least suspicion instead of the deposed one, in cryptic form or not. And why would they be so clumsy as to leave remnants of concealment to be picked up….by you, whilst they made no such attempt with their obviously foreign names.   If they wanted to make a true offering to such, they would have waited until they were in safe domain of their own country; I ask you, why risk everything by doing it here, covertly or otherwise?”

Fayet’s good mood in a puff of smoke had now vanished in thin air as his head was riddled with rebellious, skirmishing facts that (other) latter had invoked; hence, he retaliated.  “Boy, you are dense.  If the truth, like a big, ugly fly, landed on your nose you would not see it and, like you are doing now, you would deny its presence.”

This was uncalled for, how could he stand by and let this brute affront him?  Not only had Fayet consumed his scant reserve, taken him for a ride, but now he would stoop so low to openly insult him in his face, by making fun of his nose!  The latter knew that, because of a recent manifest pimple (zit), this was a contentious issue with him!!!  Muro was so filled with rage that he wished he could pound Fayet into dust. But that would not do; so instead, he took a long slow intake of breath, inwardly recited the prayer of patience and took a sip from his goblet, as he forced restraint on his anger.

Obnoxious (insufferable) Fayet, meanwhile, clueless as to what he had done, with a meek smile plastered on his lips, had held out his cup for another refill.  Muro lied: “I’m sorry, there is no more, we’ve consumed it all.” and, using this as an excuse, declared his fatigue and suggested they retire for the night.

 “I think you’d better go now; I have to get up early tomorrow.” he repeated bluntly when the other refused to take the hint.  He had meant to leave it there, but this time he could not stop himself from adding, “Not all of us are as favored as you.”

“Tsk, tsk.” Fayet growled, having caught Muro’s words.  “So that’s the thanks I get for my troubles.  Brother beware of your shifting color.  Spare no caution, lest some insects mistake you for a green plant and start gnawing away at your most prominent projection…Ha, ha, ha!”  Rising from his seat he belched laughter into Muro’s face.

It was all he could do to stem the urge to strike this upstart Fayet.  And so, the two had parted as adversaries, cursing inwardly, the ground the other walked on.

The estrangement had no lasting effect however, by morrow, when the effects of potion wore off, their fury would similarly wane and Fayet, with his amicable ways, with his sleek, wagging tongue, would once again inveigle himself into Muro’s good graces.

                                                                             ~

 (Be sure to check the next post section 4, that is also the conclusion of “Trip to the Monastery”; where which a pleasant, but not altogether a surprise element, will be disclosed.)

FISHERMAN'S PRIZE - (PART 4)

 FISHERMAN'S PRIZE

(PART 4)

One stormy night, the unsettled stomach, the persistent noise of her husband’s snores compounded by the loud racket outside whipped up by the prevalent winds- all in all had prevented Ensa from attaining any sleep. To the small hours hence, she’d endlessly turned and tossed in her bed, now and then pounding and shifting the positioning of her pillow.

Just then one of the shutters’ hinges came loose: it began banging on the windowsill with a still louder noise. On an odd chance, it being an intruder or a wild beast, Ensa gently nudged her husband to awaken him. But Kaimu, having had particularly a grueling day at sea, remained dead to the world!

Taking hold of her senses, Ensa cautiously rose from her bed and crept towards the windowsill to investigate. Affirming (pinpointing) the real cause of the noise, she shook her head and smiled then did her best to fasten the shutters. Suddenly however her keen eyesight had caught a faint, flickering light in the window of a supposedly vacant dwelling of their neighbor’s.

Alarmed, she rushed to raise Kaimu. By the time she’d succeeded in dragging him over to the window, however, everything over at Zianko’s place appeared as before- enveloped in pitch darkness and devoid of any signs of life! On her insistence, Kaimu had begrudgingly lingered at the spot a while longer and in compliance, looked and looked!

Still nothing was (could be) seen out of the ordinary!

Kaimu then incensed at being disturbed from his deep stupor, he accused her of being stir crazy, or worse still, going senile. “You are not a malicious woman but your contempt for Zianko, your resentment of him has lured you into this mode. Now in your spitefulness, you’re imagining things when there’s no cause! I’m going to bed. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t bother me again!”

Then with curses under his breath he’d crawled back under the warm quilts and promptly returned to his previous blissful state of sleep.

Ensa was not convinced and so for a while longer stayed rooted to the spot, hoping to catch another glimpse (inkling) of the light. Her instincts warned her of something dire, something baleful! “But what could it be?”

After a while, in the continued absence of any further proof, even she had begun to doubt her eyes. So reluctantly, muttering to herself, she too returned to the warm bed in the hope of attaining some sleep (getting at least a few hours of slumber).

On the proceeding day, as the odd feeling in her gut persisted, Ensa on some pretext, ventured midway of the two properties to get a closer look. Her keen eyes scrutinized the cabin and the surrounding area, avidly searching, but in vain, for any sign of disturbance or anything out of the ordinary.

Her instincts had never failed her before; but in this instance, maybe it had! Clearly that rogue Zianko had not returned and there was no sign of fire, break in or vandalism. The wind had strewn (scattered) few light items about. That’s all!

Reluctantly she turned back.  The total absence of anything odd or contrary had in the end abated Ensa’s suspicions and curiosity. Feeling rather foolish for her insistence now, she said nothing further to Kaimu about the matter.

                                                            ~

 If only she’d known how close she’d come to uncovering the vile conspiracy, or perhaps saving the life of a certain official- that’d been up until then forced to endure repugnant shame and lurid (horrific) tortures. On that night in question, the resourceful official, in order to escape his dire predicament, had ceased the only opportunity and releasing himself from his bonds, had made a mad dash for his freedom. Zianko temporarily caught off-guard, had been but for a spell rendered unconscious. Unfortunately, rebounding swiftly he’d dashed outside in hot pursuit of the official, pounced on his captive and after brutally restraining him, dragged him by the hair back into the house. Incensed, he’d fetched a burning piece of kindling wood from the stove and proceeded to singe (scorch) the official’s beard and face. That burst of light becoming a flicker in distance was what Ensa had observed (detected). Since Zianko had been prohibited as yet from killing his gagged prisoner, he’d reluctantly stayed his hand, but not before he’d seriously scorched the official’s facial hair, eyes, skin and part of the upper chest. Before incensed Zianko could devise another means of punishment: to his dismay the official succumbing to his agonizing pain had been rendered unconscious.

Owing to the distance, Ensa had been mercifully spared from least indication of the subsequent muffled anguished, agonizing cries of the tormented official at this villain’s hand, as outraged Zianko had kept up with his tirade till first light of the day. It would have been far more merciful had the official expired quickly. Unfortunately, losing then regaining consciousness he’d been forced to endure unspeakable torment to the bitter end. At dawn, too late Zianko came to regret his outburst- for the life of the captive, under the heavy strain of torture, had inevitably expired.

As luck would have it however, at the end of the worrisome day, that very evening Zianko had received the word “go ahead”.

Official’s life from then on was deemed a forfeit.

Zianko had grinned wryly, as he’d listened without letting on, to the next set of instructions and the manner of payment that was due him. Once the messenger had departed, Zianko humming a familiar old gay tune had gone about in his mundane, apathetic way, to summarily dispose of the carcass (dead body).

  The following day, he’d feigned his return home from a supposed long journey, and seemingly on the surface, things went on as before.

 (END OF SECTION 4)

(MORE SURPRISING ELEMENTS ARE YET TO UNFOLD-  IN THE NEXT POST OF LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- THE FISHERMAN’S PRIZE,  SECTION 5)

FISHERMAN'S PRIZE (PART 2)

 

FISHERMAN’S PRIZE

 Part 2

As luck would have it, for the rest of the day no major storms or other such adverse weather conditions had hindered his progress.  The incessant winds changing course by mid-morning had fortunately herded (blew) the flotilla of clouds away, leading them instead towards northeasterly direction of the open sea. By noon Kaimu’s persistence and gambling had truly paid off. The open skies and sea bathed in beautiful sun’s golden rays, in the end had heralded a most glorious sunset.

Kaimu ceased his labors just as the dusk (twilight) was encroaching on Earth and returned home with his good bounty of fish. In his elated mood he first however took added care to wash up by the shed and wiped clean his mud-caked soles of his footwear, before entering the sturdy cabin that had withstood many adverse weather conditions.

 Ensa greeted him joyfully, with a beaming face, for thankfully he’d returned all in one piece!  Kaimu, resembling a conquering hero, was affectionately ushered into his favorite chair.

“How is she?” Kaimu asked impatiently, looking askew at the direction of the sleeping stranger, as he’d same time grabbed hold on to his wife’s arm and tugged at her sleeve.

“She’s as well as can be expected. Considering what the poor thing’s been through!” His wife answered, nodding. “She’s asleep now, so mind your voice!” She admonishingly placed the right forefinger over her pursed lips. Coyly tugged back to free her left sleeve then going to the stove, she fetched him a bowl. “Here, eat these while I prepare you some fish.”  She mocked impatience, putting a bowl of steaming porridge in front of him.

He Knew this was the last ration (speck) of food, that they had and that she in her unselfishness had reserved it for him, naturally giving some of it to the girl while going hungry herself all day long.

“No. No.” Touched by her generosity, he grasped her sleeve and looking into her eyes, earnestly insisted: “You should have some as well; you also need to preserve your strength.  I’m not really all that hungry; besides, I do not want to spoil my appetite and would rather wait for the fish.”

“Do I look famished to you?  No. You go ahead.” With a gentle tug releasing her arm, she lied. “Earlier I cooked me some eatable roots that I’d collected, rather dug up, from that small clearing, you know, that safe patch at the edge of the creek.” Indicating the sleeping girl with her chin she then added, “I went there in search of some additional herbs that she might require for her swift recovery. More precisely, I needed a Yufor plant to treat her more serious injuries. You’d used up the last batch. While I was there, I chanced on this bonus of edible roots. You think I would have had this much energy if I’d gone hungry until now?” 

But seeing that he needed more convincing, she spun a lengthier yarn: “I would have saved you a good portion of the nourishing root, for it has so many added benefits, far too numerous to recount.”

“I know, I know.” Kaimu waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve heard it all before. It will cure all ailments under the Sky… After all, it’s Heaven’s miracle food.”

“As it were, I know how much you detest the taste.” Ensa overlooked the sarcastic interruption. “Last time finding it unpalatable, you nearly retched all over my newly scrubbed floor. Imagine, a tough man like you, being so finicky about food! Tisk…Tisk.” She teased him mildly getting him back, as she again rushed off.

Kaimu was in truth, famished. So, after a moment’s hesitation he just shrugged it off and dug in ravenously. Within minutes he had polished the bottom of the wooden bowl.

“Need any help with the fish?” He then raised his head and stretching his bones called out sheepishly in a loud whisper. He grinned, as at the same time his eyes tracked her busy movements.  Such a good, capable wife she was. He was truly blessed! Yes, it was the blessings from Heaven, on that stormy night the way his late father’s path had crossed with a stranded scribe (scholar) burdened no less, with a scrawny frightened, sick child. Despite his father’s valiant efforts (in aiding, treating the wounds,) the scribe had died of his grave injuries soon after in a shroud of mystery and unanswered questions. That little girl, however, had beaten the odds and later blossomed into a beautiful young girl to in due course become his wife.

Kaimu was startled from his revere when the spiraling aroma of cooked fish filled the room. He sniffed the air and licked his lips in happy anticipation. He did not know how she did it, but she always managed to transform even the most mundane fare (provisions) into such veritable gourmet treats!

The wooden plates heaped up with sizzling delicacies (as she used local herbs previously gathered) were soon placed in front of him on the table. But Kaimu refusing to touch a morsel insisted they both sit down together and simultaneously partake (of) in this welcome feast.

When he had fully satiated his hunger only then, he spared added thought to the girl’s future predicament. Hmmm! But that discussion (entailing some details) will have to wait. Throwing a sideways glance at his wife, he mused. As it were, his good wife had waited patiently for him to tell of his day’s adventures. He, he! He devilishly grimaced. Suspense must be killing her!

His belly bursting with food, the old fisherman with a broad, mischievous grin on his lips sat back contentedly and rubbed it for relief.  Belching and burping he then with some elaboration, taking certain artistic license, told his captive audience the thrilling (sequence of) events of the day.  Well into the night, in an unusually good mood Kaimu simply rattled on, reveling in his latest triumph, meanwhile trying his wife’s patience.

As it became her turn then, “Suffice it to say, you are a good healer Ensa!” He responded with pleasure to the promising report on the girl’s prognosis.

 “I’ve always said we are complimentary, twice as strong we are, as a pair.  As always, I’m glad to see my efforts had not been in vain.”

 Hah…he. He then repeatedly chuckled to himself, grinning from ear to ear lost in some mischievous thought. His wife meanwhile had busied herself with clearing away of the empty dishes from the table.

Halting her beehive of activity at one point and turning, “What are you concocting in that diabolical brain of yours, Kaimu?” she asked. “Silly man, I should think you’d be exhausted after such an adventurous, grueling day. As you have nothing further to do, why not go to bed.” In jest, she mockingly scolded him.

But he’d not heard a word of it. “I was just thinking, what luck, a sure gift!” His head reeling with excitement, he suddenly burst forth (rejoiced) in a chortle, with his body pumped up now with sheer delight like a bloated puffer fish. “I tell you; we are truly blessed! Here we are worried sick that we could never be able to amass (accrued, accumulated) enough cash, even for a measly dowry, to enable our son to marry.” Then growing serious, (in a grave tone) he stressed. “You must admit that over and above the living expenses, we had no means to afford even a cheapest bride; therefore, faced a bleak prospect of being deprived of our God-given right to grandchildren in our old age.  Ha-ha! Then the blessed sea sends us this good catch!”  Grinning broadly now from ear to ear, in his exalted state he jovially slammed his palm (hand) on the table with such force that it rattled the mug of hot tea, as it was filled to the brim, that she’d moments before had brought it over for him to drink.

“Ha-ha! Who would have guessed…? What luck!  It’s a sure gift from the sea!”

His wife, in fear of more spillages had at once rushed over and grasped (clutched) the mug’s large handle in order to steady it.  Subsequently mopping up the spillage, “Have you gone mad? Shush!” She taxed (admonished) him meekly. Deferring (postponing) his ready response, in silence they both listened intently for a few minutes with both heads cocked in (turned towards) the direction of the girl. Fortunately, the girl did not even stir; she remained fast asleep, dead to the world. 

“Kaimu,” she then turning to face him, reasoned in soft, though somewhat serious tone, “aren't you being too presumptuous?  How can you talk as if you owned her?  She might belong to someone …Might have a spouse (husband) already. In any event, she certainly has a family… A family that might come looking for her!  She is not some fish that you can lay claim to as easily as that!”

That did it! 

Her words in one stroke had blown away his entire prior good, fluffy mood and replaced it with dark equanimity and anger.

“What family?”  Kaimu snapped.   “Can you deny that she was cast off at sea? Shipwrecked, as the result of that fierce storm that had passed!  If she has, had any family, they too would have perished in that storm.”

“Even if it were so...still, I cannot help wondering.” Ensa insisted on braving his wrath.  A brief silence ensued as she then hesitated to sort out her concerns.  Meanwhile Kaimu sullenly sat, pondering, seething in anger. 

“Besides,” she then hurriedly added, “have you not noticed that something is very odd about her?”

What are you talking about now?” He jeered, shaking his head.  “Stirring up trouble where there is none, that's what!”  Angrily he slammed his fist on the table. His tone had risen despite his forced restraint. He inhaled deeply, let it out, then spoke poignantly (keenly) with intermitting bouts of pleading tone. “For once, can we not take what’s been freely given to us without question? Aren’t you tired of our hard lot?  In case you haven’t (been made aware) wised up to the fact, let me spell it out for you: We are getting on in years! A scant number of good years are left ahead. Now you may be willing to endure endless crap (discomfort), but my patience is at an end. I want what is my due and, also a far better turn for us both from here on!”

His wife maintaining her sweet disposition had lowered her head. She understood the source of his anxiety. Using softer tone and more amiable words she now affected her submissive role while endeavoring to placate her husband's mood. 

“You mustn’t complain dear. Hasn’t Heaven always been good to us?  All this time we lacked for nothing, why, because we’ve never strayed from the righteous course (path) however desperate we’d been! We’re strong in spirit and body, all thanks to the Gods.”

“It’s all a bunch of malarkeys!” He burst. “No, I’m fed up, I tell you… I’m tired of always making do… There will be some changes from now on. I’ve listened to you long enough.  In future, I mean to do whatever is necessary to…!” Kaimu grunted defiantly, and then relenting, chewed on the reminder of his words.

“Dear husband,” Once more she gently interrupted him wanting to get her point across, before he unleashed his usual tirade.  He was a stubborn fellow, but he had a good, honest heart. As for her, she had a strong, unyielding spirit and willpower that refused to sacrifice her innate ethics, refused to give in to prevalent bad elements that surrounded them (was all around them).

Considered one of the worst postings in the country, the exiled venal government officials, for the last decade and a half had found this troublesome Province a serious liability for the scant returns. To meet the taxing demands of the Capital, therefore, the newly appointed Provincial governor had underhandedly permitted and even encouraged all sorts of illicit activities. This held particularly true in all the major townships, where the exact prize for the local inhabitants had been to have no real, legitimate local government or enforcement law officers of any kind for justice and order. Meanwhile the region being a powerful magnet for dissidents, rather, rejects of civilized society: the mushrooming, underground organizations- secretly sanctioned by the government- had in due course (flourished) thrived through unbridled extortion. There were dealings in illegal drugs, prostitution, trafficking contraband goods, kidnappings and more often than that, cold-blooded maiming, mutilations and murders. Naturally in this dangerous environment, the stranded, muzzled, honest citizens lived by the skin of their teeth. The unscrupulous, puppet government after all, had had a major stake in all the illicit gains. As it were, resultant gruesome episode of the last decade, the authorized contentious power now rested in the hands of two rival gangs that to date had ruthlessly controlled (dominated) the allocated, segments -the so called, parcels of land and people.

The same held true even for this remote, desolate stretch where Kaimu and Ensa lived. The other inhabitants, the so-called fishermen, fared better, only because they’d succumbed to temptation. Accordingly, engaged in the endless trafficking of contraband goods and other vile, illicit acts (goings on) swelled their bellies (abdomen) and purses but, as Ensa had so often pointed out, stained their reputation, and more importantly, their eternal soul. The repercussion of gruesome premature end unfortunately was not a good enough deterrent, as the material benefits far outweighed the perils.

Unrelentingly, she again pushed once more to get her point across. 

Kaimu was perhaps uncouth, at times even sacrilegious, but he loved her. And in the end always came around to doing the right, honorable thing. Married when she was barely thirteen and he well into his twenties, despite the age difference and bumpy start, to date they had had a blissful cohabitation. Nor had he ever given her a serious cause for any regret! 

But this time- and this she was to learn later- she’d seriously underestimated his desperation.

“No, no.” she insisted, changing the subject.  “I'm talking about her clothes.”

“Ha? What about them?” he asked agitated.

“Why, they are man's clothes.”

“So, what!” he grumbled, leaning back. “I could see that for myself wife, I’m not blind!”

“Very well then dear Husband,” she poignantly reasserted, “You must then also acknowledge that no matter which part of the country one comes from, which background, whether rich or poor, the standard, the quality of clothing is markedly different for each.  Now while her outer garments, without a doubt, are that of a mercantile class, her embroidered undergarments are of such fine quality of silk and lace- that it’s befitting nothing short of a lady of highest rank and substance! I venture to guess, could even be that of nobility! I’ve hung them all up to dry in our son’s old room, go see for yourself, if you doubt me!”

“I’m no pervert. When have I ever looked or handled woman’s undergarments that I should do so now? Imagine all this fuss you’re raising over mere clothes! I may be an uncouth fellow, certainly not as learned as you but I too have some worldly (sophisticated) experience, there was no cause for your high-handed speech. Now be straight with me… What are you really trying to say, what’s the actual point woman?” he scoffed with a jeer.  But without waiting for her to answer he then added, “Besides, why should that make any difference?”

“Husband, ignorant as I am,” she began humbly, after being so chastised, “I think it's safe to (say) speculate that she was under disguise at the time of catastrophe at sea, for a definite reason!  It may even be that...”

“Bah!” Kaimu interrupted sharply.  And now having lost all patience, with a retort he dismissed her words.  “What difference does it make whether she was wearing men's clothes or not, whether she has a wealthy family or not?  Nobility! Bah! Next thing I know, you’ll be claiming that she’s a Princess!  Women, why are you trying to provoke me?  Stop trying to spoil my happiness, or I swear you'll see the back of my hand!” 

This threat could be prelude to a beating. A thing he’d sworn never to do since that last time, a long, long time ago, when as newlyweds they had both been headstrong and young. His face now flushed with anger; he reaffirmed this threat with a slam of his fist on the table.

“You are such a sour old woman, always trying my patience, confusing my head, always dampening my spirits with your web of tales, with your uncontrolled imagination running amok and your daunting pious beliefs!  Don’t get me started now!” 

He shook his head as he gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath, then after a brief repose, before she could respond, he begun again. “Tell me, where did all this careful, virtuous living or all that morality get us? Why aren’t you discontented with the scant reserves and our meager livelihood? Always living on the edge, we are no better than scavenging rats! We’re the worst of the lot. Why? Because of your insistence of being upright and proper! When I had that accident, we’d suffered greatly because we exist on the margin. What’s wrong with wanting a bit more out of life now and then, if only to soften the next blow, to cushion the next (subsequent) inevitable adversity…Or catastrophe! I cannot always be strong for you; I’m getting on in years. When I become too old and feeble, what will become of us then? We’ll fall prey and be consumed as easily as flies being swatted!”

She always had her fate to keep her strong. But Kaimu being more a pragmatist, the growing concerns robbed him of any solace. In his restless state Ensa feared he would seek unwarranted trouble. Especially since Kaimu’s raised concerns could not be disputed or dismissed.

Reduced to silence, her head riddled with worrisome thoughts, Ensa left to fetch the pot (on the burner) to anew refill his mug. Knowing that any attempt to dissuade him from his aim now would be in vain: she’d sought this opportunity to get away to provide him with time to calm down.

The fear of vulnerability that his accident had evoked; being so incapacitated, it had changed him somewhat!

But as if deranged, he’d continued (to explode) with his long-winded tirades (diatribes), perhaps, in part trying to convince himself to override any intrusive moral reason.  “I found her and as a rule of the sea she belongs to me.  Me, you understand!  Not you!  Me! Besides, if I had not saved her life, she would have been fishmeal by now; so what are you gibbering this nonsense about, foolish woman!” 

His anger and fury now unleashed he continued to cuss (swear/curse) under his breath.  Why does she persist in taking contrary (opposing) viewpoint and spoil everything?  Obstinate woman! How can she be so blinded to their despondency? He’d realized his worst fear when he’d been incapacitated, admittedly, for the first time in a long memory. But the so-called “alarm-bell” had resounded so loudly in his head and chest that to date he quaked in fear for her wellbeing, her welfare!

She would not survive a day without him!

His hand violently shoved aside the mug that she’d just refilled to the brim. The careless, angry act however had its consequence. The mug’s hot contents had spilled all over the table, not sparing his hand. Scolded, the pain gave him added reason to bellow. His head exploding now with all that fury, his face flushed bead red and his fists, despite the stinging pain, clenched. Frowning, (with knit eyebrows) he burrowed his fierce, piercing gaze (eyes) on her back as she’d rushed off to fetch him some soothing ointment. He started to say something ugly, but then on second thought he relented. Staying (holding) his tongue, he sprang from his seat and darted outside without so much as a word.

In the cool, crisp air, unrestrained, he unleashed his anger on any hindrance. He kicked around indiscriminately and fumed, swearing, cursing, and grumbling animatedly under his breath, until his rage was spent. 

Though very much concerned, she knew better than to go after him, and so had let him be.

After a period of absence (spell) he returned, seemingly pacified, closing the door behind him.

With cool heads prevailing, he was now ready to resume sensible discussion, or failing that, with his ready rebuttal. Seated at the table once more, he with disdain pushed away the soothing paste she’d kept ready in hand, “There’s no need.”

 “Bring me that wine.” After the momentary stalemate stare, he grumbled, still bearing a grudge. “Not that one!” he stormed anew, when she’d rushed him the small jar of homemade wine. “I want the one we've been saving for!” Then he added adamantly, leaving no room for a discussion.  “Tonight, I mean to celebrate!”

She did not dare raise any more objections or in any way contradict him this time, not when he was still in such a foul mood, so in obedience (complying,) she quickly went off to fetch the wine that she had hidden in a secret place at the back shed.  She had concealed this jug of wine there for quite some time now in happy anticipation of their son's safe return.

As she dusted the cobwebs and dirt of the jug she vented her anger in a mumble, deeming that her husband had finally lost all sense and that he had gone stark, raving mad. “Acting like a senseless youth, imagine claiming ownership to a person as if he is some lord or God!”

When she returned to the cabin with the sealed jug of wine, she found Kaimu better disposed, having once again been transformed into his earlier gentler self. In her absence, Kaimu had inwardly redressed the innate problems, in the end choosing not to dwell on the negative aspects or the possible repercussions for keeping the girl.  Instead, he chose to concentrate on the future happiness and on the expected prosperity (prosperous returns) the bounty would bring”.

Smiling, Kaimu now watched his frowning wife place the jug and a single cup on the table. He reached out but instead of the jug, affectionately grabbed hold of her hand and looking into her eyes said in a gentle, placating tone, “Wife, let us not argue.  This is a very lucky day for us.  We should be happy. We should be rejoicing, yes, be celebrating the good catch and of my being restored to good health. My love, do bring over another cup and join me.”

Somewhat pacified, she went to fetch herself a cup.  When she returned, she warned, “But only one turn, you know I cannot tolerate spirit of this strength.”

Feeling more masculine, “Sure, sure. You’ll get only the pious drops.” he chuckled jesting, then proceeded to fill both cups to the brim.

“You shouldn’t make fun of my faith (belief).” She feigned admonition as she reached for hers. They both laughed, feeling lighter in their heart.

This storm inside had been averted as well.   In his conciliatory mood, he now grinned from ear to ear.

Besides, the less she drank, the more there’d be left for him to consume.

She had outwardly given in; inwardly however, as she slowly sipped the unsavory drink, she still could not help pondering on the concern that his celebration was bit too premature:  Undoubtedly the girl belonged to some powerful family. Why, everything about her spoke volumes in gentility. Furthermore, someone had gone to a lot of trouble, when faced with certain peril, to secure (fasten) her on a solid piece of expensive furniture or cabin door. This she’d deduced from Kaimu’s description of the wood. That singular, courageous act had definitely saved her life. In this small community, with so many unlawful opportunists running amok, her presence would be noted, and being seen as a valuable commodity, sooner or later someone would come to lay claim to her.  In the wake of that, Heaven only knew what other unforeseen repercussions may follow. 

But despite (all her misgivings and) the sense of foreboding, Ensa in the end, as she’d so often done, conceded to the fact that they could do nothing or little else to alter the inevitable outcome of things, being but mere pawns at (in) capricious fate’s hands.

Oh well, tomorrow was another day. Perhaps Gods will be merciful! She’d therefore with a shrug, went about her chores quietly and got the bedding ready. Then before her husband got too intoxicated, she asked his help in transferring the sleeping girl to their son’s room that had been temporarily (previously used for) converted into storage space. There, things already put away, in a cleared space she’d already prepared more comfortable, suitable bedding for their guest.

“Also, in that room the girl would be less disturbed.” She’d reasoned, providing Kaimu with an opportunity of break.

He’d obligingly responded, then unfortunately, forgoing sleep, returned to resume his drinking. In the small hours of the night, as he drained one cup after another, he was placed still at a more jovial mood.  His bouts of laughter resounded like a loud bell in that small hut and his excited chatter was enough to wake the sleeping mouse of the habitant.

“What fortuity, what a delicious, good luck!  Not one, but two good catches in one day!” he chuckled, in a self-congratulatory mood.  “I am a fortunate man this very night.  With such a prize, things are bound to look up for us from now on.”

 Ensa could barely keep her eyes open, coming over she reached down to urge him to go to bed, when he suddenly grabbed her hand. Insistently hanging on, he eventually persuaded her to sit by his side, to keep him company. “It’s no fun drinking all by my lonesome. Here love; won’t you share another cupful with me to celebrate?” He winked with a devilish grin on his lips.

Not waiting for her response, he then quickly filled another cup and reaching forth, pressed the rim to her lips in a forceful persuasion.

Seeing that he was tipsy and not wishing to antagonize him, she complied.

He was not going to see sense this night.  She might as well try to be amicable. She therefore took another forced sip against her better judgment; but jerked her head back almost immediately, short of more intakes.

“Go on, drink it,” he persisted generously, again pressing the rim to her lips to force her to more intakes (consumption).

“I’d rather not, dear husband’” she protested in an adamant voice. “You know I get sick if I drink too much.  But you go on ahead, as you seem to be having no ill effects.” 

When the other showed his displeasure with an obvious frown, she hurried to coax him, “Besides, what do I know about the taste.  It’s all the same to me. You would only be throwing it away.  A sure connoisseur you, drink it all, or better still, save some of it for yet another day.”  After all, past experiences had taught Ensa how best to handle her husband.

“Quite right, very well,” he acquiesced, smiling sheepishly.  With that, he downed both cups in two quick consecutive gulps, emptying them in repetition all at once into his grateful belly.  Afterwards, he smacked his lips with pleasure and winked at his wife, “Come closer you ravishing beauty, come sit on my lap.”

She simply shook her head, and ceasing the chance, rushed off, half turning only to say coyly, “You forget, we have company.”

“After all these years, you’re still playing hard to get. Do I have to come get you?”

But as he’d been unaccustomed to strong spirits, even though the contents of the jar had been only half consumed, when he tried to stand up, feeling light-headed and vertiginous (woozy), he slumped right back into chair.

“Woo- look at all the stars!  Hey, the room is spinning! Are we caught in a typhoon?”

Before she ejected a response however, (his head reeling,) feeling giddy he simply passed out, with his head and torso collapsing on the table. 

 

With some difficulty his wife finally got him to bed and tugged him under the warm quilt. Snug as a bunny, he snored loudly till daybreak, in most part keeping her awake. 

 

 

Rising at dawn the following morning with a terrible hangover- however maintaining his uplifted and happier spirits of the night before- he still managed to leave for the sea, as the conditions of weather continued to be favorable.

 

(End of section 2)