THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 23

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – THE STATE OF THINGS – SECTION 23

 

 ARLAND AND BRYNER

The mayhem (great pandemonium) of the crowds, meanwhile, kept on going long after they had gushed outside; running, running, until they collapsed or found refuge at the nearby food stands or teahouses where they (with tongues wagging) then began to spread the fantastic, hair-raising stories about the stranger Zonar and their brush with death.  By noon, Zonar's name and accompanying rumors had spread like wildfire to the farthest corners of the Prefecture.

The account of this fiery red-haired giant was tattooed on everyone's tongue and, by then, his features had become greatly exaggerated.  He was described as being well over fifteen feet in height instead of just seven, endowed with flaming, snakelike hair, flashing eyes and having a red reptilian tongue; he was also said to have the jagged, sharp teeth of a predator protruding from his purple lips, and all of this was framed (held) by a demonic dark azure (cerulean, cobalt) face.

Many claimed he possessed the supernatural power to command thunder, lightning and fire, and many also attested that he had the combined strength of a thousand men.  His single, menacing gaze had turned the bailiffs sent to apprehend him and everyone else in the courtroom to stone.  He had cast an evil spell which prevented people from moving a single muscle, or even blinking an eyelid, until he had had his say, then had called down a bolt of lightning which threatened to reduce the Prefect's court to cinders and, riding away upon it, had disappeared without a trace.  This was truly a supernatural phenomenon. 

They uttered gratitude to their protective deities at this point for having escaped such a catastrophe, hoping, praying that they would never lay eyes on such a monster or his like ever again.  They swore with subsequent conviction that the accused Fradel Rurik Korvald was in league with the evil forces and, therefore, was the one responsible for conjuring up this demon to scare the prefect into dismissing the case just when things had gone the worse for him.

"I hope His Honor won't be dissuaded from passing proper judgment on this villain." one of them sounded out his concern above the general hubbub.

"But first", another chimed in, "he had best call up the priests to properly exorcise the courtroom and rid the place of all evil influences before rendering the death sentence on this culprit, Fradel what's-his-name."  All nodded in concurrence.

"Too bad His Excellency, Provincial Governor Shuri, is indisposed," two, better informed, rabble (Arland and Bryner) whispered among themselves, off to the side of the crowd.  "Until the new Governor is installed in the post, Prefect Micen Do must bear the full burden of his final decision himself, bereft of guidance and protection from his superior."

"That could still take several months.  I certainly do not envy him now," the better dressed of the two, Arland, commented wryly.  "Just the same, I hope for my own sake that he proves up to the task."

"What do you have to worry about?  You're only related to him by a distant marriage," his close confident Bryner countered.  "Even if he fouls it up, your family won't be involved."

"That may be, but Micen's gotten in too deep with the Lukos.  If there is ever an investigation..."

"I hear what you are saying.  Their tentacles have spread exceedingly far.  Secret blather (rumor, natter) has it, even in this matter with Yenis; they lost no time sending their agents off to the Prefecture to dispense gold among our various officials and functionaries.  It's virtually assured that the prefect will arrive at the desired guilty verdict of Yenis and this scholar Fradel.  I understand his conviction, after all he is an alleged murderer, but why do you suppose the Lukos are so intent on ridding themselves of her?  Unless, unless they're trying to cover up something even more sinister."

"You're not hinting at that malicious gossip (hearsay) of a supposed illicit affair between Yenis and Shuri, are you?  I thought that matter had been settled (suitably resolved) long ago. Besides, weren’t they both exonerated from all suspicion and blame?"

"Who said so?" Bryner gave a meaningful smile.

"What is it that you know?"  Their natter (chat, gossip) had taken them away from the main crowd.

"Why don't you fill me in on those salacious details over a drink?" the Micen Do's relative Arland grinned, as he tapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Why not…  Just who am I protecting anyway?  Besides, all this talk has made me rather thirsty."

"What say you, we, stroll over to Tries Lane and ride those fillies in the Zhexi Tea-House, while you tell me all about it then?  It will be entirely my treat."

"You're too generous.  But you must allow me to pick first this time, you always get the best looking one for yourself."

"It's not my fault that I'm more handsome than you…Ha, ha."

"More handsome… the weight of your purse has nothing to do with it, I suppose., Ha, ha haa!"

As Arland and Byner’s forms gradually retreated into the distance, the (amassed) crowd was still engaged in a heated discussion.

The question of Fradel's guilt or innocence was of no consequence to anyone now, especially since the matter had been dwarfed by this new, supernatural threat.  Even those exceptional, intelligent few that, prior to Zonar's appearance, had decided on Fradel's innocence and had favored his release were now being swept up by the momentum of the crowd's ugly sentiments.

At safe distance from court, as the size of the congregated crowd swelled, many anxious to show off their particular expertise in this matter, embraced the chance (in lively animation) to elaborate on the various ways of disposing the evil corpse: the most expedient way of doing it, after decapitation, is by digging out the entrails of headless corpse before committing both to fire ( incineration), or, by some other specific methods ( of discarding Fradel's remains according to the Ancient Ways: The segregated parts of the body, the flesh, bones, entrails and head must all be consumed by holy fires under proper religious supervision before the accused’s’ ashes be cast into various cesspools for the eternal damnation.) This would permanently eliminate any future threat from the perchance(possibly) resurrected evil corpse.

                                                                               ~

Meanwhile, back in his private quarters, Prefect Micen Do, in a foul mood, had for hours paced the floor nervously back and forth, all the while neglecting to take tea or lunch and refusing to see anyone before he finally settled down to review Fradel's case documents.

Unlike the ignoramuses in the crowd, however, he did not believe in this superstitious nonsense even though, in collusion with the local priests, he had often enough encouraged them in the populous in order to reap the benefits of their ignorance.  Rather, his anxiety was born from the clear understanding that Fradel Rurik Korvald was now under the protection of an able assassin, perhaps even a coconspirator that had thus far eluded his guards.

As things stood now, Micen found himself on the horns of a terrible dilemma; on the one hand, there was the powerful Luko family, insisting on justice and pressuring him to settle this case quickly, on the other was this serious threat to his own life from that formidable stranger and his deadline of three days to free Fradel Rurik Korvald.

Prefect Micen felt constrained to appease the Luko Clan since he had graciously, perhaps unwisely, accepted their substantial donations and gifts but, as in the past, he could no longer shield himself under Shuri's arbitrary decisions, which he could always manipulate into accordance with his own.

Micen Do again nervously paced the floor to and for.

He knew all too well, even if he was to do Zonar's bidding he must do it in a most underhanded way.  In order to preserve his prestige, he could not afford to appear intimidated by just one stranger, or even by a hundred like him.

“Things were sure a lot easier when I worked hand-in-glove with Shuri, but he had to go and offend the Censorate Hagu.  And I warned him about Hagu, too!”   Micen, abruptly stayed his footing as he reflected, and dismally shook his head.

“Who knows what kind of person this new Governor is?  Zuyi?  Zuyi?  I know practically nothing about him.  I suppose I'll have to wait and see when he gets here, then I can feel him out good and proper, till I know just what makes him tick.”

He had upsent mindedly stopped by the window to gaze distractedly at the view outside.  The inner courtyard was virtually barren with the exception of a few, sickly Scholar Trees beside an impressive man-made mountain and a cluster of flowers newly planted off to the side of the stone bridge. The flowers had all bent their heads, wilting pathetically, which depressed Micen still more.

 He had taken great pains to have this garden constructed just right but nothing seemed to grow, let alone thrive, in that cursed soil.  He had hired and fired so many gardeners and horticulturists he had lost count.

His eyes just then rested on the small pond by the bridge.  Oh well, at least the carp are thriving.  With a shrug of his shoulders, he went over and plumped himself into his well-padded chair. 

First and foremost, he knew he had to ascertain his subordinate, Ashrath's, claim about Fradel Rurik Korvald.

"Now, where are the devils of those papers?"  He frantically searched through the pile, digging them up from the bottom, and examined them, this time with greater care.  Taking the trouble now to unfasten the envelope containing Fradel's summons before the emperor, what he read there drained all the color from his face and caused his heart to skip a beat.

 “So, he was telling the truth after all.  I thought he was merely boasting.” 

Micen inwardly cursed that cowardly Magistrate for not perfunctorily resolving this sticky situation and having Fradel murdered in transport then blaming it on the renegade bandits.

As he perused over Fradel's sworn disposition, Micen was forced to concede the scholar's brilliance.

 Again, reviewing the recorded testimonies and the case documents, he now saw to his greater dismay that, other than the knife found at the scene, there was no real, solid evidence on which to convict Fradel of murder and robbery.  The adulterous affair with Yenis and his collusion with her in the murder were all pure conjecture and solely based on the testimony of the woman, an established liar.

“I suppose I'll have to have these contradictory statements of Latham and Hacket patched up before they're sent on to the Capital.  Still, I'm rather baffled.” He frowned.

“What earthly reason would these two have for giving false evidence, I wonder?  What is it that they are trying to cover up?  Oh, never mind.”  After a moment's pause, he dismissed the thought.  “I can clear this up later, when I can be discreet.  If I do it right, I may even be able to curry still extra favors from them.  That would be more profitable than just exposing them.  They can certainly afford it.” He wrung his hands imagining these riches already in his grasp.

Next reviewing Yenis's confession from beginning to end, he again paused.

“I find this most puzzling.  Why, at death's door, would she have to gain, what is her motive, for framing Fradel Rurik Korvald?  Surely, it's not because she still wishes to protect the identity of her real lover; not after he, so heartlessly abandoned her?  Or did he?  What grudge could she possibly bear this scholar that she insists on spinning such tales in order to snare him in a capital offense?”  Stroking his beard, Micen mused.

“Had the two encountered Fradel in their flight and Fradel, disposing of her lover, had later, as she claimed, forced his violent attentions upon her?  That certainly could be one plausible explanation for it.  Still, this Fradel hardly strikes me as one who could become infatuated with her.  I can't pinpoint it, but there is something definitely odd about him.  It’s as if he's come from another time.  Perhaps it’s his indifference to pain, to life, to law?  Whatever it is, it totally escapes me.  When I examined him during the trial, what was it I detected in his eyes?  Yes, indifference, perhaps contempt and curiously, pity… yes, pity?  This is most peculiar and irregular, but not a shred of lust.  It's unfortunate that his servants, as he claimed, were lost during that sudden storm while crossing the Mulor River, that I can believe, I know how treacherous those waters can be.” Micen shifted in his seat.

03-YENIS

“I'd rather not inflict torture on one as beautiful as she, Yenis… unfortunately, as things stand; she's my only means of getting at the truth. Hmm, as for Fradel Rurik Korvald, good riddance to him, I say!" Micen scoffed, already having resolved to absolve the scholar of both the charges of murder and robbery once the woman's confession was wrung from her by torture.  “That certainly would be a lot less trouble than explaining why I convicted him. 

Of course, this means I'll have to produce the real culprit or, preferably, his corpse in order to wrap up the case.”

“Confound it!” his face darkening; Micen slammed his fist on the desk. “He's still guilty of the trespassing law!  This charge won't be so easy to dispose of, since it has already been disclosed to that imbecile of a Magistrate Turo, his entire staff and half the population of this Prefecture.” 

Fingering the indictment papers and documents from Turo he pondered, “For once the cursed fool has done a proper job of it, too.  The proof is indisputable.”

“Great; I'm sunk either way.” Micen again squirmed on his chair, nervously scratching his head to relieve the sudden tightness of his scalp. This fresh quandary unleashed a throbbing headache that could not be so easily rid.

“The punishment set for trespassing is decreed by His Royal Highness Zakhertan Yozdek and can only be rescinded by His Majesty.  The death verdict, then, it must be.  Yet, even if I double my guards and ensure my safety from this threat by the assassin, how can I put to death one that is expected for an audience at the Imperial Court, and carries a warrant of (regardless) safe passage from His Majesty?“ Micen let his gaze linger on the summons, placed just to the side.

“While upholding one ruling, I'll be forced to violate another!” 

The feeling of dread mounted in his heart compounded his urgent dilemma (sticky situation); in a state of intense agitation, he suddenly sprang to his feet and began pacing to and fro.  As he did this, he deliberated on his options, while animatedly sawing (cutting) the air with his hand.

“The importance of this prisoner, alone, still constrains me, in the absence of the Governor, to consult with the Legal Office of the Board of Punishments before rendering a final decision.  Yet, waiting for instructions could prove detrimental, even disastrous, since the lack of time precludes my waiting during any such action.  I must act responsibly at once.  What to do?  What to do?”

Prefect Micen Do (for hours on end) continued to wear down the carpet in serious contemplation until, spreading his hands out before him, helplessly, he (arrived at) reached the only plausible option (resolve):

“Fradel Rurik Korvald, (with suspended or pending guilty sentence,) under heavily armed guards’ custody, in all due haste, must be transported to the Capital Channing. Of course, with the official letter of explanation and all the amended trial documents accompanying him, Fradel could then be tried in Capital by the Legal Office itself, after the scholar's mandatory audience with His Majesty.

There remained only one snag (hindrance) to this otherwise perfect resolve:

 On route, should the prisoner escape custody because of interference from that formidable, red-haired devil-assassin or, band of ruffians, Micen could then be accused of incompetence in addition to his brutal treatment of the accused while the scholar was held in custody under his jurisdiction.

“Could I make amends by fairer treatment of him now?  Not likely,” MIcen shook his head.

“Everyone knows how these pampered literati sort, carry lasting grudges over slightest indiscretions. After my mistreatment of him, I am certain not to be spared of his wrath.

It’s certain that, once in Capital Channing, Fradel Rurik Korvald would use his influence on first secure pardon from His Majesty, after all, being a stranger to these parts, why wouldn’t such a valuable literate be absolved, for his ignorance, of a twenty-year-old trespassing law? This attained, he would then devise the means to beget (effect) my downfall.  In light of this, if I were to enable him a safe passage to Channing, wouldn’t I be hastening my own destruction or, at best, live the rest of my life in fear of the impending reprisals (retaliation) from his elite, powerful associates?”

“Hmm….  I would be much better off if this Fradel were to expire on the route to the Capital and... Fail to... meet... his... summons.  Yes!  Why the hell not!  Especially if he were to meet his demise after crossing into Tenzo Province…Ha!  His death would then become their problem. “

Prefect Micen gloated in self-satisfaction, sitting down once more to lean back confidently in his seat.

Success was dependent however on cunning strategy to effectively curtail or prevent any interference from the fiery red-haired menace.

Infuriatingly, another encumbrance (hitch) just then came to mind and Micen impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk, until he satisfactorily resolved (dealt with) this aspect. Even so, he was bit antsy about taking Mouro, (the best candidate for the job), into his confidence but unfortunately, both Zuko and Ro had suddenly expired last month, leaving Micen bit short of competent confidants.

04- MOURO KERR

“I wonder…can he be entirely trusted?  He has proven invaluable to me in the past, still; the gravity of this case constrains me to exercise utmost caution.  After all, I can't be too careful. I'll screen him first. “Micen made a mental note to allay (dispel) his fears.

Having resolved this hurdle also, he relaxed and lazily stretched his arms; his appetite regained, he called out to his orderly to bring him some tea and pastries.

 "Oh, and send a word to Mouro that I wish to see him at once." Micen, in afterthought, ordered. The orderly nodded in compliance and quickly withdrew.

 Micen Do rose confidently and strode over to the window.  Casting his gaze onto the withering Scholar trees he mused aloud, "I should have chopped them down and replaced them.  Perhaps some common poplars would be better?"   A sinister smile (smirk) visibly just then smeared his lips.

 

                                                                                       ~

(END OF SECTION 23)

 

Mayhem, pandemonium, refuge, fear, gossip, predator, demonic, courtroom, deities, catastrophe, evil, spell, rumor, supernatural, verdict, murderer, fire, villain, illicit affair, antsy, bailiffs, exorcise, courtroom, prestige, bribe, corpse, dilemma, deadline, confession, horticulturist, assassin, trespassing, strategy,

THE ORDEAL - SECTION 1

 THE ORDEAL 

 SECTION 1

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                       ~

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

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

Hmm, still nothing!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

                                                                   ~

 

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

06

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

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

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

                                                                ~

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                                     ~

 (End of Section 1)

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

The Haunted Pavilion

The Haunted Pavilion

(An old Chinese tale retold)

Click to Hear a Reading of This Story

(You can scroll down to read along.)

The Haunted Pavilion Part 1

A long time ago it was a norm for scholars, ‘wandering with sword and lute’ as it was known then, to travel the countryside, seeking knowledge from ancient sites and attaining wisdom from men of learning.

It so happens, one such scholar was trekking along a road south of Anyang, en-route to the city. He’d arrived late at a village some twelve miles short of Anyang, and as night was closing in fast, he asked an old woman if there was an inn nearby.

Her response was that the nearest inn was some miles distant.

“That would not do.” The scholar hummed. “Oh well, I may as well stay the night at that pavilion I’ve just passed.”

Such pavilions were common in China at that time, used as resting places for weary travelers, and looked after by neighboring villagers. But hearing this old woman paled and at once barring his way, she cautioned, “You must not do that! The place is haunted by evil spirits and demons! No one who had stayed there had ever lived to tell the tale.”

The young scholar however dismissed her dire warnings with wave of a hand and smiling said that he was quite adept at taking care of himself. No amount of protestation from the gathered villagers would deter him and he set off for the pavilion.

When pitch darkness blanketed the earth, far from going to sleep, the scholar instead, lit a small lamp and, retrieving his book, began reading the passages out loud. Time passed and, for a long while, nothing stirred until, on the stroke of midnight, the scholar heard loud footsteps on the road outside. Peering out of the door he saw a man dressed in black. The man stopped and called for the master of the pavilion.

“Here I am,” ejected a petulant voice from just behind the scholar, startling him so that he jumped in surprise. He turned but there was no one there.

“What do you want?” The huffy voice, emerging from thin air, asked.

“Who is in the pavilion?’ the man in black demanded.

“A Scholar is in the pavilion, but he is reading his book and not yet asleep,” the voice replied.

At this the man in black sighed, and turned his steps towards the village.

The scholar shook his head and, with a slight grimace on his lips, he settled back on his makeshift bed and resumed his reading. Some while later he was again interrupted by loud footsteps and this time, as he peered out of the door, he saw a man in a red hat halting on the road outside the pavilion.

“Master of the Pavilion!” the man bellowed.

“Here I am,” again the grumbling voice came from just behind Scholar.

“Who is in the pavilion?” the man in the red hat with a fiery voice demanded.

“A scholar is in the pavilion, but he is reading his book and not yet asleep,” the voice responded.

At this the man in the red hat sighed too and turned towards the village.

“It looks like I’m not going to get any peace tonight.” The scholar put aside his book and waited for a few minutes until he was sure there was no one else coming down the road. After a time he crept out of the door and, standing on the road, called out, “Master of the Pavilion!”

”Here I am,” came the same response from within.

“Who is in the pavilion?” the scholar asked.

“A scholar is in the pavilion but he is reading his book and not yet asleep,” the voice responded.

The scholar sighed and then asked, “Who was the man in black?’

“That was the black swine of the North,” the voice answered.

“And who was the man in the red hat?”

“That was the Red Cock of the West.”

“And who are you?” the scholar then demanded.

“I am the Old Scorpion,” was the reply. At this the scholar quietly snickered then slipped back into the pavilion. He did not sleep however; instead, he stayed awake the rest of the night reading his book, undisturbed.

The Haunted Pavilion Part Two

The next morning the villagers who’d rushed to the pavilion to see if the scholar had survived the night were aghast to see him seated on the veranda with a calm composure and strumming his lute. As they gathered around him bombarding him with questions the scholar held up his hand for silence.

“Patience, soon all will be revealed.” He smiled and then rising, added, “Follow me; I shall venture to remove the curse from this building.” He quickly went back inside the pavilion with many of the villagers trailing him. He fetched his sword, unsheathed it then, turning, signaled for them to stay back. Advancing swiftly he pulled aside a rotting screen in the corner of the room. Many gasped as they witnessed a gigantic black scorpion behind it, poised to strike. With one sweep of his sword, the scholar split the creature from head to tail; the two parts collapsed lifeless to the floor. There was a hissing sound, then black coils of smoke rising from the ashes, it all simply evaporated into thin air.

Not in the least bit perturbed he next asked the villagers where they had kept a black pig.

“In the house north of the pavilion,’ those finding their voice answered, and then showed him the place.

Indeed, exactly where they had directed the scholar, he soon discovered a huge black pig. He looked up, its eyes glinting with demonic fury. Being daylight however, the possessed beast’s powers were greatly diminished. Before it could strike the scholar wielded his sword and struck a deadly blow dropping the pig stone dead at his feet.

“Now where do you keep a large red rooster?’ facing the quivering crowd, he asked.

“In a shed to the west of the pavilion,” some brave souls answered and pointed at the direction of the place.

Sure enough there was an enormous red cockerel there, with a huge red comb, and long, sharp talons. Once more, with another swift strike of the blade, the scholar decapitated the demon disguised as the bird. He too lay dead at scholar’s feet.

Later, at a feast given in honor of the hero, the scholar graciously explained to the bewildered villagers how he had discovered the identities of the demons.

And so from that day on, with the demons vanquished, no harm ever came to anyone wanting respite at the pavilion south of Anyang.

The End