LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE CAPITAL CHANNING - SECTION 13

 

As Zaur Stugr further jogged his memory, he recalled the clandestine meetings Prince Wenzor had conducted with Zakhertan Yozdek and some other important Minister (within those very premises ) at Sorgun's stately mansion.

 

01- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (21) JP

 

Once, playing hide and seek with an older playmate, he had accidentally stumbled on the conspiring trio in the garden and would have thought nothing of it save for the great stir it had caused.  He had, consequently, received a stern reprimand from his father and had been subsequently sequestered in his room.

 His unluckier playmate supposedly had been sent away with orders never to return but, years later he had learned that the poor boy had met his untimely demise at the hands of one of Zakhertan’s henchmen.

 

“My father was playing host to those traitors.  But how can that be? I know he was a staunch (steadfast) loyalist of the Sovereign Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir all his life. How could he have been drawn into this conspiracy? When did it happen? Was it by accident or by design? “

 

Zaur Stugr shook his head absolutely refusing to accept those perfidious, unconceivable treasonous notions; then suddenly an idea flashed in his brain, and he conjectured, (hypothesized), “Or was he… perhaps an undercover agent (a spy), working surreptitiously all along for the Emperor Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir and that’s why they so sadistically murdered him?”

 

Zaur bit his lip, surmising now, how these incriminating letters would have solidly backed up, Sorgun's allegations. Here were the plans for an insurrection, the irrefutable proof that would have backed up his father's claim (disclosure) of their treasonous aim to overthrow His Majesty Zuronghan Valamir. Alas, his father had failed because of a despicable betrayer, a trusted friend no less.

 

Zaur Stugr recollected then one of Sanzo Tezcat’s discussions about the sudden, curious disappearance of the Third Prince Wenzor, seemingly at the height of his popularity and influence, soon after that of Sorgun Dufo’s.  In fact, that mystery, too, to present had remained unresolved.

 

Reflecting on what Fradel Rurik Korvald had recounted about Yakkasar’s findings in the pit that night, that there had been another clustered group of skeletons at the far end away from the solitary one that was presumably Sorgun; the accumulated facts all at once suddenly fell into place, forming in Zaur’s mind, most probable hypothesis of sequence of events back then.

02- PRINCE WENZOR  JP

 

“Yes, why not; it certainly stood to reason that one of the ones in that clustered group of skeletons must have been the very Prince Wenzor.”   Zaur Stugr inwardly fumed, grounding his teeth.

Undoubtedly the Prince had outlived his usefulness to Zakhertan Yozdek and, in keeping with the usurper's tenets (credos, stances), had been betrayed.  Another in Zakhertan’s place might have allowed the prince to rule for a time, as a puppet king forced to perform at every pull at the strings, till Zakhertan had firmly consolidated his power.

 This would have spared the country from the ensuing bloodshed and of Civil Wars; but that would have hardly satisfied Zakhertan’s insatiable appetite for carnage and bloodbath now, would it?  Meanwhile, this was more in keeping (more typical) with Zakhertan Yozdek’s perverted, vicious mind, (more akin to his wicked sense) to have two mortal enemies thrown into the same pit to die together.

 

Zaur shook his head (rushed), to block from his mind those horrendous means, instruments of brutal tortures and to purge the ghastly images of the sort, his father Sorgun Dufo must have been subjected to, his ordeal lasting long afterwards, in that pit, at the hands of the Prince Wenzor and his men.

His eyes misted over as he reflected how his father had expired still protecting the secret; meanwhile Zakhertan Yozdek, alive and well, still currently, reigned supreme.

 

That part of the countryside, Zaur Stugr knew, was riddled with such pits, as mass graves, they should frankly be called.  From the evidence gleaned from the few that had come to light, he had learned something of their nature, of the ingenious manner of their construction and the way in which the (trapped individuals) unfortunates therein had met their demise.

 

All these years while his father’s corpse had languished in that akin pit, been gradually reduced to a skeleton, the key long since forgotten, tauntingly, sardonically had remained, locked in Sorgun Dufo’s silent jaw.

A staunchly determined soul preserving a secret forever, eternally locked in the mouth’s cavity!

03- KEY HIDDEN IN MOUTH

 

“But that meant that he couldn’t even cry out in pain!”

 

“The irony!  And now that nothing could be done about it, the key had finally come to light (been discovered).”

 

Suddenly, scathingly, another detail came to his mind (had struck Zaur).

 

“No clothing?”  He whispered.

 

There had been no mention of it in Fradel's account, but he knew the procedure (process, modus operandi) all too well.

Zaur Stugr knew, for instance, that they would have been stripped naked (hence, been exposed to the harsh elements), before being thrown into the pit, to ensure that there would be nothing hidden under cloth, nothing at all that could identify them.  And that way they would be forever lost to posterity, their person (being) would simply vanish into oblivion. History would never recount their heroics, their exploits, or their grievous plight in the end.

 

Zaur Stugr envisioned Zakhertan Yozdek’s cruel face sneering in the end.

He further imagined him saying, "Go ahead, and contemplate your treachery and vengeance all you wish down there.  Curse me with your dying gasps.  See if I care in the least."

Then Zaur heard the usurper's grating, vicious laughter as he signaled his men, soon to die themselves, to pile the planks then the earth back onto the mouths of these entrances to Hell. 

Zaur Stugr shook his head and grimaced sardonically, knowing how useless the information in the box was now.

If only he had trusted Sanzo Tezcat enough back then (at the time) to reveal to his guardian the truth about the box, that it was his father, not mother, who’d given him the box!

 

04- THE BOX

 

 If only Zaur (Kundrick Dufo) had been brave enough to face the consequences!

Bearing in mind Sanzo’s competence (his skill, proficiency, and resourcefulness), knowing what he knew of Sanzo now, especially with the backing of the Brotherhood of Kozurs, Sanzo would have succeeded where his father had failed and so altered the grim course of history.

 

“What use is this information to me now…To anyone else, for that matter?” 

He clenched his fists in rage, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

 

 “The decision he’d made so long ago was irrevocable. Was this the cruel act (hand) of providence (destiny, chance, luck, divine intervention) or simply, his own stupidity; which was it?”  Zaur Stugr’s face burned with suppressed, searing rage. 

 

He imagined all the Gods with caustic, mordant glare, cursing him. He saw his enemies, even the dead ones, all mocking him.

 

Zaur’s fist clenched tight, he pounded on (struck) the hard wall, over and over, creating a big dent in it. Highly incensed (enraged), he remained oblivious to the pain of his hand that had become more and more badly bruised and bloodied with each strike; meanwhile, such intense rage swelled up in his chest that he felt he would just burst.

 

 It took strong willpower for him to finally restrain (contain, subdue) his self-destructive (detrimental, damaging) course.  But then, anon flood (flurry) of angry tears filled his eyes and few escaping over the rim, trickled down his cheek. Vehemently (fervidly) he wiped them quick.

 

He was still so livid (furious) with himself for after all those years of training, his countless daring feats (accomplishments, exploits), his machinations… all that power he presently held with the strong backing of Kozurs, all; in the end it amounted to big, useless nothing! Nothing! Nothing!

05- ZAUR STUGR (SADDENED BY IT ALL)

 

Again, irately, rising from his chair, he paced the room like a caged beast, hands clasped behind him, not trusted to do his bidding.

"What a fool I've been!" he inwardly howled.  "What a great and utter fool!" 

 

At last, resolving to never again be tricked by appearances or his own mistrustful nature, he closed the rooms, left the wing, and stepped out into the cold, frigid morning air.

Fate relenting, lent him to a soft breeze, to caress his face or perhaps, to taunting him further, with yet another cruel trick.

 

 Zaur Stugr left the compound, his urgent footsteps following a snaking path that skirted tall, unkempt hedges that sagged under the burden of dew.

 

 Just then a gust of wind bit at his moistened face, a shiver rippled through him, and his skin turned to gooseflesh all over.

                                                                              ~

 

 

(END OF SECTION 13 – THE FINAL SECTION, OF, THE CAPITAL CHANNING)                                                                           ~

 

 

THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 26

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 26

Canute Yonn swallowed heard, then fighting the blinding, throbbing pain in her head, he continued to relate (reveal) his mother’s tragic story to the indifferent (unsympathetic) ears in court. “Tresor and his wife Suen were a kindly folk; and at the beginning they took great pains with herbal tonics and diligent care, to save my mother’s life. After a partial recovery, however, she was again driven out into the cold; this time the culprit was poverty, and the humble farmer and his wife had to harden their heart to do this.  Their reasons being valid, I carry no ill will towards them."

“How very magnanimous of you," Mouro ejected sarcastically and sneered.

Disregarding him, Canute Yonn elucidated (explained) why he’d so readily forgiven them: "Their deprived circumstances were onerous enough, but that year’s incessant rain had spoiled most yields (crops) and created scarcity. This prohibited any acts of charity to kin, much less a stranger.  Famine had already claimed two of their children, one at the age of three, the other barely a year old. My mother, Helga, was crippled by Senson's countless blows to her legs and could not work the fields or do any other strenuous work; she was a liability and a hindrance to them.”

01-FARMER TRESOR

“Subsequently, with scant clothing and food, her baby a millstone in her belly, my poor mother drifted from place to place, scavenging, begging for alms, to survive.  All the while trying not to hate the innocent child, me, in her womb. I’m telling it as is, when she had later unburdened her heart to me. She had endured these unspeakable hardships, living for the day of her vengeance."

"See, trouble begets trouble.” Micen stroking his beard, mused heartlessly. “They should have made certain of the serving maid Helga’s death before abandoning her in the ditch; if they had, all this trouble now could have been averted."

"I came into this world in a house of ill-repute, where we stayed until the day of my mother's passing." Canute Yonn, oblivious, continued hoarsely.  "I grew up hearing her bitter, tragic sobs every night, for she had never grown accustomed to selling her body."  He gazed dully at the floor to hide his eyes, brimming with tears.  The rekindled pain of those times again tormented his mind, wrenching his soul.

                                                                                       ~

"Please don't cry, Mama!"  His heart breaking, Canute buried his face in the pillow to drown out his sobs.  What was it that ailed her so?  Who was Senson, this name she had so often, like now, cursed out loud in her sleep?  He was seven years old.  He felt quite grown up and he did the chores like grownups, but everyone still treated him like a child.  I'm old enough to understand, why won't she tell me?

He tossed his covers aside and, sitting up, fixed his gaze on the locked door that separated him from his mother.  The room, no bigger than a closet, in fact it had once been used as storage, had a tiny window so high up that it let through only a thin sliver of moonlight.  The wind was howling outside but the dancing shadows in the room did not scare him.

 I wish I could comfort her; he rubbed his eyes sleepily; I know she needs me.

 Hanging his head low he heaved a deep, stealthy sigh wishing he could forget that another, a stranger, who was sleeping snugly beside his mother.  As he tried to purge his heart of the gripping loneliness, troublesome thoughts and haunting questions again crowded his brain.  Why does Mama claim we have no family?  What about my father? 

Canute knew that his father was not dead, for once in slip of the tongue, she had referred to him in the present tense.  But why weren't they with him?  Wouldn't he be angry if he came here and found out she had slept with all these men?

He didn't play in the street anymore, for the other kids would tease him and call him and his mother all sorts of unmentionable names.  Like sharp slivers each name-calling stabbed at his heart.  Many a time he had retaliated with fierceness and pent-up anger, beating and dispersing all those who had ganged up on him.  Unfortunately, swift repercussions, beatings and berating soon followed from his elders in the house.  He was in a no-win situation.  Things will never change; why should I fight back (riposte)?  Still, a faint smile brushed his lips when he recalled the proper whipping, he had given to that big bully Yenn Katog, who was always inciting the other kids against him. It served him right!  And, it had more than made up for the thrashing he got later. 

He now stuck out his chest in self-congratulation.

Canute’s mind reverting back to his father, he reclined and closed his eyes in hopeful dreams, imagining that one day his noble, warrior father, their savior, would appear at their door, looking tall and distinguished, kindly and strong, to claim them.

02- CANUTE YONN'S IMAGINED FATHER

His heroic father would rescue them both from that ugly, intolerable existence.  For, to the marrow of his bones Canute detested this place he was forced to call home.  It broke his heart to see his mother ceaselessly tormented, day after day, by this uncaring, insensitive lot.

 Restless, he shifted his position.  His eyes fell on the discarded old plantation fan Tike had given to his mother.  He picked it up and examined it in the scant light, noting particularly the holes.  Absentmindedly he began gnawing at its edge.

 A few doors down he could hear that old tyrant of a house mother, Tike, scolding one of the girls.  In anger he threw the fan aside.  Oh, how he hated that callous old shrew who intimidated everyone, young and old!

He grimaced, thinking how when he was younger still, his mother had kept him in line with the threat that Tike ate disobedient, disrespectful children for supper and that was why she had gotten so fat.

Unsought, he saw before his mind's eye those venomous, piercing beads of eyes, encompassed by a gelatinous face which split into a threatening snarl to expose rows of rotted teeth.  "I'll get you yet, you piece of shit!" Tike was shaking a fat, threatening finger at him.  "Your days are numbered; wait and see!"  He retorted, clawing the air savagely to tear at her reverberating double chin that always seemed to drip perspiration.

 Tike thrived on tormenting people, always caning, hitting, beating and cursing everyone.  Never satisfied, never smiling, except at the guests, and then her smile was more hideous than her frowns and haunted his nightmares frequently.  She flogged him incessantly, not sparing the rod even at the slightest provocation.  Worse still, he resented being forced to behave, to be made to quietly submit to her abuse. His mother Helga was made to suffer the worst of it, for every one of his defiant acts.

He could hardly comprehend the extent of the fear Tike evoked in his mother's heart when Tike threatened to throw them out on their own.  In fact, had his mother Helga not been the prettiest and one of the key attractions of Tike's establishment, the street would have been their home a long, long time ago.

Oh, how I hate her!  I swear I'll kill her some day! he shook his clenched fist in the air.

The weeping and cursing finally muted after the slamming of several doors.  It was the same scenario being played out every night.

The following day Canute received an additional reason for despising Tike.  Canute's mother Helga had been sick for the last two or three days now, vomiting and feeling dizzy.  He was really concerned about her so, after the guest had gone, finding the door unlocked, he'd quietly snuck into her room and attempted to give solace to her.  She looked paler than usual.  When the steps of the old tyrant were heard approaching the door he heeded his mother's directive and made himself scarce.  Not wandering too far, he eavesdropped.

"Doctors cost money", he heard the shrew say.  "Besides, keeping it is out of the question."  A few other words he could not quite make out.  Then he observed Tike taking a small bottle from her pocket and handing it to his mother.  "There, I don't want you to think about it any longer.  I was good enough to get you this.  Never mind where I got it, just drink it.  He assured me it would get rid of the unwanted pest (nuisances).  You don't think this is the first time I've had to do this, do you?"

Canute watched with some trepidation hoping against hope that it was medicine to cure his mother’s ailment, as Helga with some reluctance, a grim, ghostly expression on her pale face, raised the foul-looking potion to her trembling lips.

"Don't drink it, Mamma!  It may be poison!" His fears triumphing (prevailing) over hope, he sprang from hiding place to shout his warning.

"The idea!” Tike turned her venomous eyes on Canute, panting with rage, hands brought menacingly to her hips.

 "You ungrateful brat, poisoning her, is that what you think I'm doing?  You, you a slandering scoundrel, you!  Haven't I warned you never to come here this early in the morning?  How long has he been there?"  She turned to Helga, worried that he may have inconvenienced last night's guest.  She had another good reason to be fearful, since abortion was illegal in Wenjenkun.  She needed to ascertain that Canute had not heard or understood enough to incriminate her.

"I'll tell-on you!" Canute warned, having sensed her fear.  "I'll have you locked up!" he shouted defiantly, not really knowing what he was threatening her with.

"You, wrenched viper in my bosom; I'll teach you to threaten me, you piece of shit!" shaking her finger at Canute Tike began to viciously berate and curse him as she pounced on Canute.

But Canute was too agile and too swift to be caught, not one with her bulk.

Huffing and puffing as enraged Tike chased him down the hall, her shouts to the others to grab him created such a pandemonium that the whole house was turned upside down.

In the end Canute had successfully slipped through those innumerable, vicious, grasping hands and hid. 

By dusk, when eventually the mayhem settled down and everyone returned to their routine tasks, exercising due caution, Canute Yonn stealthily emerged from his hiding place.

By providence spotting the old shrew, he, hugging the walls, followed Tike all the way back to his mother's room.

Once more Canute hid and, from this vintage point, watched and waited with his heart pounding, for Tike to have her say and depart. Tike’s face was beet-red from all that exertion as she huffed and puffed and animatedly gesticulating, flailed (flapped, waved)) those fleshy arms of hers.

What has she got so much to squawk (crow) about?

Curiosity, getting better of him Canute pressed his ear to the door and eavesdropped. 

On and on, with mounting rage and spurting poison, Tike cursed and scolded Helga, as she unmercifully, vented her cruel diatribes on the hapless, ailing (sick) young woman.

 "I told you to get rid of that brat long ago.  He'll never amount to anything, mark my words.  He's nothing but trouble.  You know he's no good, but then you're no better!  Why do you encourage him to come up here?  Are you stupid or something? Mother’s affection, baloney!  All useless emotions!  You've no business feeling love, not for a bastard, not for anyone!  Now you listen!  I'm just about at the end of my patience with you.  I'll only tell you this once more.  Harden your heart to him or you'll be made to suffer.  Then you'll be sorry.  Get rid of him now, I say, for he'll turn on you too one day.  Just wait.  Don't you know the innate nature of all men by now?"

Tike paced the floor to and for in an unusual quiet, as she mentally formulated (prepared) her next set of arguments and rested her vocals.

The door he was concealed behind, (whom patrons sometimes used) was still unlocked.  He pried it on ajar and peered in to see what was happening.  To his dismay, he saw the emptied bottle in Tike's hand as she toyed with it before returning it to her pocket. Tike was careful that way; making sure to retrieve any would be incriminating items (objects) and destroying it later.

 Suddenly, in a much calmer mood Tike, going over sat by Helga’s bed and, her enormous paws cupping Helga’s delicate hand, she began persuading the ailing woman, to agree to something.  Typically, the shrew was trying first, a kinder, gentler approach but Canute knew all too well that, if this did not produce the desired result, she would in (but a few minutes) a flash reverts to her vicious nature.

"Why don't you let me get rid of the pest…? Arr, I mean the boy, for you as well?  You don't have to do anything.  I'll handle the transaction for you.  Why must you be so stubborn? I have your best interest at heart. Why won't you take my advice?  Can't you see that in the long run it would be better for him, too? He’ll grow up in a normal home.  I saw mistress Wang just the other day.  They're looking for another bond servant; trouble is they don't want to pay for a fully grown one. Now, don’t be so quick to turn this down; wait till you hear the rest of it. “

“When she told me of their wish to purchase a boy close to their Therran's age, to keep him company, be his study- buddy and, for to keep their son out of trouble; I'd at once, being so selfless (altruistic), suggested Canute.  She said she'd consider it.  I had hoped that they would have forgotten about that regrettable incident between the two boys.  But listen, if you agree I'll do my best to persuade them to take Canute off your hands; sold for a pretty price, I’ll even get a smaller commission, just to help you out. Besides, couldn't you use another new dress or two?  You really ought to be thanking me for finding him a good home.  You know that if he grows up here, he'll turn on you, sooner or later.  He'll hate your guts for what you're doing.  He'll despise you to the core for ruining his life.  Also, you know as well as I do, that no respectable, good girl will ever marry the illegitimate (illicit) son of a whore.  So why don't you heed my sound advice and get rid of him now, while there's still a chance, while there's still time."

Canute Yonn’s fury rising to the boiling point, he felt he would just explode.  He shook violently, uncontrollably.  He'd just about had his belly full of resentment against that old bat.  Grinding his teeth, he was about to dash out to gouge her eyes out… When,

"I caught you, you little worm!"  A strong hand grasped the back of his neck and lifted him up high.  "So, this is where you've been hiding all this time."

"Let go of me!  Let me go, you cursed dog!"  In vain Canute, eyes agleam with anger, tried to kick and claw his captor, the big, strong bully called Ron, Tike's nephew who (periodically) helped her with the running of the business.

The relentless verbal and physical abuse that both Tike and Ron rained on Canute made his mother livid with fear, worsening her wretched condition still more.  Her tragic pleas for them to stop hitting her boy fell on deaf ears until; finally, she uttered the words Tike most wanted to hear.  Canute was dragged outside, still kicking and screaming, bouncing down the steps until he was violently thrown onto the dirt of the cellar floor.

"I'll teach you to respect your elders." Ron ranted like a mad bull.  "So, I'm a cursed dog, am I, you, ungrateful turd."

He grasped the heavy stick which rested by the stairs.  "You've had this coming to you for a long time.  Take this, and this!"  He pounded solidly and savagely on Canute's tender young flesh.  "Plead for mercy, you wretch, or I swear I'll kill you!"

Despite the excruciating pain, Canute held fast, bit his lip to stop from crying out until he passed out. When he came to the musty smell of dust had assailed his nostrils and dirt coated his tongue.  His battered head was throbbing fiercely.  His fingers tentatively touched the area where the pain was most intense, at the hairline.  Just then he felt a sharp, cutting pain in his ankle and kicked his leg, scaring away the timid rodent that had wanted a taste of his flesh.  His torn shirt and pants had already glued themselves to his wounds.  Though every inch of his body was seared with pain he lifted himself with determination and persistence to his feet. Muffling his groans he groped his way in that semi-darkness, his path barely illuminated with a sliver of light streaming from the small window way up there; with determination, he weaved his way slowly towards the door.  As he had expected, the door had been barred shut from the outside.  His revulsion growing stronger by the minute, he drummed up his last ounce of strength and savagely pounded his fists against the wood.

"Let me out!  Let me out!  I'll get you for this, you fiendish bastards!"

 His strength was ebbing.  "I'll show you.  You can't keep me here for long…I’ll kill you all, you, you…. beasts!”

Curses on his lips reduced to barely audible whimper, his breath now coming in gasps, Canute (limply) collapsed to the ground.  He remained there motionless for an undetermined time until he'd recovered some of his strength.  The urgency of his mother's condition gave him the will, the (fuel) ability to forsake his pain.

05- CANUTE IN CELLAR

Rising to his feet, he first determined the direction he wished to go then slowly felt his way to that far corner.  He was relieved to find things undisturbed and so, with some difficulty, pushed the empty, moldy cart to the side.  This was not the only time he had been cudgeled or flogged then imprisoned in the cellar but, the last time, he had, through his resourcefulness, discovered this exit, this burrow through the wall and, enlarging it a little, had crawled outside, stolen a steamed bun from the kitchen, then returned to his prison without being seen.  He had been smart enough to have concealed the opening of this escape route and had confided its existence only to his mother, in order to ease her anxiety.

                                                                                   ~

(END OF SECTION 26)                                                                                  ~