THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 27

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 27

CANUTE

This time after Canute had escaped from his prison (cellar), he skirted the walls and made straight for the storeroom (his makeshift bedroom).  His bedding, however, had been removed already and some of the other stuff cleaned out; as his return was not expected, a few useless chests and pieces of broken furniture had been piled high (stored there), to utilize the space.  Veering around the discarded pieces, Canute tried the knob that led to his mother's boudoir (bedroom).

Finding it unlocked, he, elatedly was about to open the door to sneak in when some noises from within stayed his hand.

First, he steadied his breathing then stealthily pried the door ajar and craned his neck to peer in through the crack.  Canute's hatred and revulsion intensified seeing one of the girls, one called Juke, rummaging through his mother's personal things, her chests and drawers.  Tike was sitting woodenly by the window with a stern face, clutching his mother's small jewelry box.

 "Thieves… Bandits!  Vile beasts!  I'll make you pay for this!" gnashing his teeth he cursed them under his breath.    Suddenly his heart stilled when, to his dismay, he saw Tike discovering an old foreign coin, the thing his mother prized most.  It had a hole in it and, when he had been much younger, Canute remembered her wearing it around her neck.  This much he knew of her past, that this strange coin had been the sole possession left to her by her deceased parents.  She had been allowed to keep it up to now because it had always been deemed worthless by others.  He contemplated rushing in to grab it from Tike's claws.

"This… It’s another worthless piece of shit."  Much to Canute's relief Tike, after a brief examination of it, threw it disdainfully to the floor where it rolled soundlessly under a chair.  Tike growled at Juke not to dawdle.  She was fast running out of patience.  The intensive search had lasted for half an hour or more and had produced nothing of substance to satisfy Tike's greed.

"This can't be all," she pursed her lips, looking at the jewel box in her grip, then shifted her gaze to the sleeping woman.

02- SLEEPING HELGA

 "She must have hoarded her gold and jewelry somewhere else," Tike hissed, "but where?  Where could the sneak have put it?  Try out those drawers over there.  She can't outsmart me.  Yes, those ones, and look harder or you'll see the back of my hand!"

That night his mother's condition had worsened.  Tike was forced to defer her usual customer, a pesky middle-aged man who reeked of alcohol, to one of the other girls.  Thoroughly put out, Tike had entered sick Helga’ room with Juke to ransack the place.  Though she took it all, she still suspected the girls of accepting secret gifts from their gentlemen’s customers and shamelessly hoarding them in various secret places.  After all, that's how she had secured her own future, gained her freedom and present status.  Despite all the effort, the next few hours still proved fruitless.

"Imagine, leaving me high and dry, like this!  If she thinks I'm going to pay for her funeral out of my own pocket, she has another thing coming!  Even an unmarked grave costs a pretty penny these days." Tike ranted and raved.

 She then turned to berating Juke; when her voice got hoarse, “Oh, never mind!  You're utterly useless too!"  She finally called off the search.

  "I'll fetch Ron up tomorrow to rip this place apart, piece by piece, and then we'll see what will turn up.”  “Hmm… Perhaps her brat knows of the stash’s whereabouts? If worse comes to worse, I'll simply have Ron wring it out of that useless little horror?  Imagine that!  I take them in under my roof and provided for them all those years, even bringing up their bastards, showing them all that consideration and kindness and, what do I get out of it in the end…nothing?"  Huffing and puffing she got to her feet, with a sweep of her sleeve and curses on her lips, she then stormed out of the room with Juke timidly following close on her heels.

No sooner was the door closed than Canute (emerging from his hiding place) burst inside and rushed to his mother's side.  Climbing onto the big bed, he snuggled up to his mother and whispered in her ear, "Wake up, mama.  They're gone."

 When she failed to respond he gently shook her.  "Wake up, mama.  You must wake up.  We have to get out of here tonight.  Tike means to kill you, mama, I heard her just now, heard her talking about burying you in an unmarked grave.  Mama, mama, please wake up!"

Stirring faintly, she meekly groaned, "Senson.  Why?  Why?"

"No, it’s me, mama…me, Canute.  Wake up, mama, you can't be dreaming now, not at a time like this.  You must wake up!"  He rocked her more urgently.

"Water...oh, I'm so parched."  Her hand gripped her throat.

 "Please, I need some water!  Oh, my head hurts so much!"  She placed the back of her hand to her forehead, her eyes still shut tight.

Her faint request was promptly, solicitously fulfilled but she was too weak, too frail to rise.  Bracing her, Canute placed some fluffed up pillows at her back.  He held the cup to her pallid, trembling lips and helped her swallow a few drops.  As he brushed back the loose tufts of hair stuck to her temples and affectionately stroked her clammy, sweat-drenched forehead he gasped in gloom, despite himself, "Oh, mama, you're burning up!"

 Her condition gave him further cause for fright and had plunged him into deep despair.  She was so sick, how was he going to get her away to safety now?  "Oh, I wish you hadn't drunk that potion, mama," he gently admonished her.  "I knew it would make you worse.  I knew it would only hurt you.  Tike is a beast, an evil, fat beast!"

"Is that you, Canute…Canute?" her eyes opened slightly.

"Yes, mama, I'm here," he answered meekly, hanging his head and biting his lip to hold back the tears.

"Were you just now swearing at Tike?"  Canute grunted an acknowledgment.  She closed her eyes again and sighed, "Oh, son, won't you ever learn?"

"They locked me in the cellar again, mama, but I broke out.  They moved all my bedding, too," he burst out indignantly, looking in the direction of his room.

  "Mama," after a moment's pause, he nestled closer to urgently warn her, "You must be strong.  You must get well.  Tike means to kill you.  I heard her say so just now," suddenly his face hardened, and he clenched his fists, "but I won't let them hurt you, mama.  I won't let them get near you.  I'll, I'll protect you."  He resolutely dashed off to secure both doors, wedging a chair against the main door's knob.

"We'll stay locked up here until you get well."  He climbed back up to her side with a cold grin of satisfaction.  "I'll steal some food if you're hungry, mama.  I'm a big man now," he assured her with a nod.  "I'm seven years old; I can take care of you now."

"Canute?  Canute?  Oh, here you are, my precious."  She appeared not to have heard a word he had said but knowing he was by her side was enough to comfort her and she heaved a long, deep, painful sigh.

A few moments later, more of her faculties (senses) regained, Helga opened her eyes.  But Canute's wretched condition at once plunged her heart into abysmal pain and she began to weep with grief.  "Oh, my poor darling, what have they done to you?"  

She reached out with a frail hand to touch the red abrasions (scrapes, scratches) over his left eyebrow and those other marks of abuse on the left cheek.  “Oh, my precious, does it hurt much?"

"I'm all right, mama.  It doesn't hurt, really."  Canute, putting on a brave face, slapped the bruise, bearing the pain with a smile.  "See, it only looks bad.  I'm strong, they can't ever hurt me."

05-CANUTE ACTING TOUGH

"Oh, my poor, brave boy, I love you so much."  Cradling him in her arms, she pressed his battered head to her bosom and sobbed tragically.

Her hot tears fell onto his cheeks as he looked up to again disclaim his pain and urged her, "Please don't cry, mama, or you'll get sicker.  You must get well fast, so we can get out of here.  We’ll go somewhere else, anywhere but here, mama… Please open your eyes mama?"  He pulled his head away and sat up.  His face turned to the door of the storeroom, his room, and misgivings stirred in him.  He hesitated before continuing, "Mama, Tike is a liar.  You won't listen to her, will you mama?  I know you need pretty clothes but please, please don't send me away from you! I promise when I grow up, I won’t want to get married. And I could never ever hate you mama!"  He bit his lip, his face burning with fire.  "I love you mama; I don’t never, ever want to be parted from you!" Again, he pleaded in a whimper.

"Oh, my poor darling,” she caressed his face.  "You’ve had such a scare.  Of course I won't.  I could never condemn you to, such a cruel fate.  I could never bear to part with you either, you are my life."

 Weeping and trembling, she pressed her face against his brow.  "I only said that to Tike, to stop them from hitting you.  As soon as I'm able to, we'll get away from here, I promise.  We'll go far, far away."  Sighs punctuated her resolute words.

Gratefully, irrespective of the pain, Canute Yonn wound his arms around his mother and hugged her tight as though he was afraid of letting go.

 Words crammed his throat at first but then, vehemently gesticulating, he poured out his grievances against Tike and Juke who had ransacked the place.  As Helga listened passively, her strength gradually had begun to ebb; she felt parts of her body going numb and was fearful that Canute might notice her failing condition.  But Canute suddenly recalling the coin just then darted down from the bed and, crawling on his hands and knees avidly began searching the area under and around the chair where he had last seen the coin roll. 

When he returned to her side clasping the coin her lackluster eyes were wearily closing.

"I have it here, mama.  It's now in my safekeeping."  She did not see or hear him.

"Oh, mama, I hope you’ll get better soon, very soon.  I'm afraid."  He spoke almost in a whisper as he hung his head low in hopeless emotion.  Suddenly terror gripped his heart.  Would she get better?  What if...?  He clenched his jaws tight, looking away, trying to hold back his tears but, as if in defiance, his eyes reddened and he sniffled.

With great effort she patted the back of his head and forced a smile to her pallid lips.

 "You mustn't be afraid, my precious.  I'll get well.  I'm just feeling tired, that's all."

But even as she said this, she realized that her condition was indeed serious, perhaps irreversible, and became equally apprehensive for her precious Canute.  With a look of despondency on her face she sighed, "Oh, my poor, wretched darling.  What will become of you after I'm gone?  Who will take care of you then?"  She buried her face in her pillow and quietly wept, the tears gushing like streams to drench the pillow in minutes.  Their coolness gave her some relief.

At his wits’ end to find ways to comfort his mother, Canute clenched his fist and softly cried out, "Oh, if only papa was here.  He would take us away from all this.  He would keep us safe and make everything all right."

"Your papa…?"  Her crying ceased as she looked at him in great surprise.

Before she could go on Canute interceded and placed his hand over her lips.  "Oh, mama, please don't tell me he's dead again.  I know he's very much alive; I’m a big boy now and you can't deceive me any longer but why, why can't we go live with him?"

The intense pain from conflicting emotions and remorse burned at her soul.  Immersed in total misery, her heart palpitating wildly sent the blood rushing to her (brain) head and she became quite dizzy from the throbbing, splitting pain; suddenly, an anguished cry escaped her lips, “Oh, I've been so wrong, so very wrong in keeping the truth from you."

 Canute's eyes lit up as his heart filled with hopeful anticipation. This was it… Long at last he might learn all the missing info about his dad. And then, he will come and save them.

But what Canute heard next was totally unexpected and blunt details terribly angst (wrenched) his heart.

 "Your father is a monster, a vile, cruel heartless beast.  You must stay away, clear away from him.  Promise me child that you'll never go seek him out."  Her cheeks afire, she looked searchingly, intently into his bewildered, disbelieving eyes.

Her obvious distress (anxiety) forced Canute to stammer out his acquiescence though, in his heart, he had no intention of keeping it.

Helga, seeing that Canute needed to be convinced, tearfully bemoaning their cruel fate, gradually, unfolded the rest, the entire, painful truth about Canute’s father.

Helga confessed how, at first, it was only the burning desire for vengeance that had sustained her and, how unwittingly for a time, she had almost transferred that hatred to her innocent little baby, Canute, who bore such a likeness to that cursed Senson Luko.

 She had lingered in this tormented state for so many years, torn between her intense abhorrence of Senson verses, the innate, powerful bond that existed between mother and child, till eventually her emotions had sorted themselves out.

 As Canute grew up and she, wanting to see him grow up healthy and have a normal life, had forced her to forsake vengeance and bury those dark, painful memories that were eating her alive.

"Oh, my precious, it was wrong of me to have carried such hatred in my heart for so long, but I could not help it. As it were, it irreversibly sapped my life's blood, drained my youthful vitality from my veins and left me infirm, a shriveled up ailing fool that I've become.  My own folly (psychosis, obsession) has been my undoing, not anything Tike has done or could do.  Now it’s too late for regrets, too late for anything."  Her words were punctuated by deep sighs and tearful sobs.

"Please, darling, don't be like me.  Don't be like your senseless, useless mother who has thrown her life away on, hate.  Bury the past for good and leave it where it belongs.  Forget Senson.  Forget that you've ever had, a father.  Forget what he has done to me, to us.”

“I had to tell you these hard truths to make you understand.  I know how inquisitive and stubborn your innate nature is; however, you must desist and never, ever contact him.  Stay away; stay clear away from that unconscionable beast if anything should ever happen to me."  She paused to wipe away her tears and blow her nose.

She was fearful lest she should lapse unconsciously before she had finished her say, so ignoring all the signs of alarm, she pushed on relentlessly.

 Her hoarse voice took on a note of urgency as she counselled him, "Be strong, son, and get away, far, far away from this miserable, horrible place.  Now, don't be obstinate!  Promise me you'll do as I've asked."  Receiving an obedient, reluctant nod, she continued, "Remember, Canute, beneath that third, loose board, and the one I'd shown you earlier."  She pointed to a spot on the floor beneath the overstuffed chair where Tike had been sitting.  "There's a small amount saved up.  You can use it for your escape.  You must get away, far, far away from here, child.  Oh yes, one more thing..."  She had to stop for breath. 

Exertion, the wear and tear, were beginning to take its toll on her.  She shifted the covers to conceal the stain of the hemorrhaging from him.

"Trust no one…No one other than Nikish, perhaps.  The old gardener likes you; I know.  Yes, ask his help but only his, no one else," she stammered despondently turning her face away. 

06-NIKKISH (THE OLD GARDNER)

Her head was swimming, and her face had again turned ghostly pale.  She sighed softly and closed her eyes.  With great effort she murmured, "Tonight.  Remember.  You must flee this wretched cage tonight!"

Yes, mama, we'll get away.  I'll ask Nikish.  He'll help us escape, don't you worry," new hope sprang up in Canute's heart as he elatedly responded.  He liked Nikish, the sympathetic, countrified old widower Canute'd lately befriended and he knew that, if asked, he'd do his best to help them flee to safety.

"No, child… My poor, poor baby!  You're so frantic that you're not listening; you're not hearing what I'm saying.  My wish, my desire, is that only you break free.  Forgive me, Canute, my precious, but I can't come with you.  I don't have the strength.  I don't think I have very much longer left to live."

He was already half-way to the door with the intent of fetching Nikish when, turning, he'd rushed back to her side.  Clutching her hand, he cried frantically, "No, mama, you mustn't speak like that.  You'll get well.  Don’t lose hope. We'll both get away together, you'll see.  I won't leave you, mama.  I can't leave you.  Let me go get Nikish, he'll help us."

"No, I can't.", she panted, gasping for breath.  "Now go, please go."

"I won't.  You promised.  You promised you'd never leave me!"  Canute, livid with fear, clung to her tightly.  "Why?  Why are you trying to drive me away?  Please, Mama.  Don't you love me anymore?  I'll be good.  I'll be-behave.  Don't push me away, mama.  Please, mama."

"Oh, child," she gasped in exasperation.  "Why, why are you making this so difficult for me?  Please, precious, do try to understand.  I'm not abandoning you, not by choice."

 She put her trembling hand over his and, her throat constricting, managed to whisper, "Don't you know, my darling, that wherever you go, I'll be there.  Even, even in spirit form I'll always be watching ov…"  The last word froze midway on her lips and her painful breathing grew weaker and weaker still.  There was a slight gurgling sound from her throat as all the color drained from her face.  Then she opened her lackluster eyes a crack and her lips quivered as if wanting, trying to speak, but no sound emerged.  There was no breath to carry it out.

"Mama... Mama!"  An inexplicable fear wrenched Canute's heart in its iron grip as his hysterical, muffled cries pierced the cold night air.  Recoiling in terror, then wretchedly clutching her limp body, he collapsed over her weeping.  Trying to breathe some life back into her he hugged her with all his might, shaking her and rocking back and forth.

His revulsion against Senson intensified.  "I hate him, mama.  I hate him!  I'll make him pay for what he has done to you," he ranted.

 Like a mad bull his mouth foamed in all-consuming rage as his nails drew blood from his clenched fists.  All the pent-up anger, resentment, terror, gloom, pain, loneliness, sorrow, despair and disillusionment mixed together to tear his soul to shreds.  With these fiery storms erupting in his heart, the hot tears gushed ceaselessly in torrents to wash his burning face clean and drench his mother's pale blue gown.

Subsequently, in accordance with his mother’s last wishes, Canute had tried hard to purge his heart from that consumptive hatred of Senson, but in vain.

 Oh, how he had loathed Senson then, and thereafter! That vile beast was responsible for all the misery and grief heaped on his beloved mother. 

He’d also promised at her deathbed to forget (to put all hatred behind him) but tried as he did, he could not, nor could he forgive.

 How could he?  How could he not avenge Helga, his darling mother, who had been so wronged and so tormented all her life? 

The injustice wrought by Senson had seared Canute's heart so completely, with such fiery intensity that he would never again be able to staunch its blaze.

(END OF SECTION 27) 

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)                                                                                  ~

THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 11

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- THE STATE OF THINGS- SECTION 11

Fradel, resolved to tell all, nodded and then solemnly confessed: "The venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald, in truth was my adopted father, who’d rescued me from the clutches of death and raised me as his own all these years. This fact was revealed to me on his death bed."

Svein empathetically listened to it, as Fradel gradually unfolded the threads of his confidential, distressing past:

Zukan Rurik Korvald, a celebrated scholar of his time, one faithful day on a return trip after visiting a close relative, propitiously (impulsively) requiring some respite, had had his boat moored on the banks of the river Tua, just a short distance from a bridge.  He had interrupted his journey craving also, to partake (imbibe) a particular fine wine (a special brew he’d procured from a winery), while absorbing proper appreciation of the marvelous scenery that enhanced that region. 

Subsequently inspired, he’d composed some brilliant stanzas that were later to be highly prized by the gentry; just before dusk, he’d laid down his brush and returned to his cabin to recline for a short repose (rest) when, the blowing of horns and the approaching thunder of hooves drove him back up on deck.

From afar, he had then witnessed the gruesome tragedy of two people, unfortunate enough to be caught on the bridge and, failing to clear the way, being trampled by Zakhertan Yozdek's unruly steed as he led his mounted contingent in a fearsome race over the hills, leaving a trail of dust behind. Overriding the protests of his boatmen, Zukan Rurik Korvald still sent his two trusted servants to the bridge to assess the damage and, perhaps, lend some curative help to the unfortunate victims.  As expected, their report of the couple's fate came as no surprise to anyone.  The couple had been trampled to death; however, the mother's quick action, as she'd used her body to shield her infant son from the deadly onslaught had spared the baby from a certain death.  The chief steward, not knowing what else to do, had returned with the scrawny, bawling infant in his arms.

The captain and crew put up a strong resistance to having the baby on board, arguing that this was no small matter.  Refusing to become involved, the captain had strongly advised Zukan to dispose of the infant along with his parents’ corpses into the river.

 "Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek,” he'd vehemently warned, "is not one to be trifled with.  You're a stranger to these parts; you don't know the half of it.  If you value your life, you'd best forget all you've seen today.  The law can't touch mighty Field-Marshall, so save yourself from sure future calamity.  This infant is not worth the serious trouble which it could beget, not only for you but for us all."

"Nonsense; no one is above the law!" Zukan had exploded.  Ordinarily a mild-mannered nobleman, he had regretted this outburst immediately and thus added calmly, "I'll deal with this in my own way, you will not be involved."

As a man of integrity and chivalrous character, the venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald had delayed his departure from this region thence, in order to appear before the local Magistrate, named Luoki, to demand justice for two unidentified, dead peasants.

 Magistrate Luoki and the other prominent local authorities, disgruntled atop quaking with fear, had shown reluctance, furthermore, banding together had done their best to discourage Zukan from this dangerous pursuit.  Discreetly, and unofficially, the scholar was counseled to leave well enough alone and was again told that Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek was too powerful a man to offend.

“This misdemeanor,” as they called the murder of two peasants, who were obviously also strangers to the region, “was too light a charge to even think of summoning Field Marshal Zakhertan before a rural court to give account.”

 The Magistrate had, meanwhile, wrapped up the case quickly and efficiently, after his subordinates had obtained (secured) false evidence from the boatmen and his crew, all of it substantiating the final verdict, the pronouncing of the couple's death, a deliberate act of a double suicide.   

Outnumbered, Zukan Rurik Korvald’s protests had, via other measures, been totally curtailed; he was rendered powerless to beget any justice for the innocent victims. In this way, though, local authorities and the deemed ungrateful Zukan Rurik Korvald, were shielded from the certain future wrath of Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek.

The matter thus summarily settled; the Magistrate Luoki demanded next, that the child be turned over to the authorities for his proper disposal.  Rather than surrendering, however, Zukan and his servants fled the area under cover of night.

Later Zukan had sent a trusted aide back to the region under disguise in order to make discrete investigations into the identity of the victims and about any prior (erstwhile) links (relations, possible family, contacts).  When this effort proved to be in vain, Zukan had embraced the child as his own and, since he was himself childless, named the infant Fradel Rurik Korvald.

Quite discontented with the rampant corruption under Zakhertan Yozdek's growing power, observing how the Field-Marshall’s hands gripped the nation's neck, choking tightly until the pulse ceased its flow; the indignant (aristocrat) scholar Zukon, had eventually been constrained (forced) to become a recluse.

Zukan's peaceful domain was so completely insulated that it allowed no outside infiltration at all.  Fradel had grown up perfectly schooled in literary skills and religion, cocooned in this tranquil atmosphere, oblivious to the harsh realities in the so-called civilized world outside.  The truth about his parentage was revealed to him only at Zukan's death bed.  Unfortunately, before the three years of mourning for the venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald was over and Fradel had fully explored his avenues of vengeance against Zakhertan, Fradel had been summoned to court.

Fradel at this point, falling silent, had pensively looked away beyond the curtainless window, to observe the night sky dotted with blinking stars.

"It is as I had expected,” Svein (Nevetsecnuac) just then rejoined with fire in his eyes, startling Fradel from his ephemeral brooding (ruminating).  "We share the same purpose, you and I.” Svein smiled and then nodded. “It may have started as a personal vendetta, but it has now gone far beyond that, hasn't it?"  Svein, next, answered Fradel's silent query. "Yes, my parents and all my family, too, were cruelly murdered by Zakhertan Yozdek."

Fradel gazed at Svein nonplused, realizing only then that, despite the intense and extensive interchange that led them to the brink of becoming sworn brothers, he still knew virtually nothing of Svein's background.  How far can I hinge on this blind faith?

But before Fradel could give voice to his thoughts, Svein inquired directly and with sincere concern, "Your courage and aim are both most commendable, Fradel; and I don’t wish to give offense, however, it is obvious that you lack both knowledge and skill in pertinent strategy, medicine, toxins or Martial Arts.  How do you propose to best (assassinate) this most formidable foe Zakhertan Yozdek? Lest I miss something vital, may I be permitted to learn of your plan?  Besides, I doubt that you have ever killed an animal, let alone a human being."

"You are quite correct in your supposition.” Fradel replied coolly.  "I've always been opposed to the taking of life.  I've espoused the philosophy of Zuox which holds that 'All life, its form and expression, is sacred.  They must be cherished and preserved.'  But that hardly applies to a villain like Zakhertan, a monster arrayed (clothed) in human form.  I'm well aware of the past, unsuccessful, numerous attempts on usurper Monarch's life.  Though I have comparatively little fighting ability, this inadequacy does not deter me from my noble aim.  I have the will, and I am prepared to die to attain justice for my parents and for my countrymen.  The monster must be made to atone for his crimes."  As he vehemently expressed his hatred of Zakhertan once more, he grew quite flushed, his ears burned, and his voice grew hoarse.

"You have echoed the sentiments of my own heart.” Svein responded thoughtfully when the other fell silent.  "But, Fradel, this is no small task, and it should not be taken lightly.  I, at least, was trained and conditioned since childhood for such a purpose while you were not.  Every fabric of my being stands in readiness for this fight.  Far be it that I should deter you from your just cause, but I fear that your noble attributes, exceptional courage may not be enough; why, then, should you throw your life away?”

"No.", Svein waved a dissenting hand to still the retort forming on Fradel's tongue.  "Please hear me out first.  A man can only die once.  All that I ask is that you postpone your vengeance until I have had a go at it first.  In the event that I should fail then it will be your turn.  By then, perhaps, you would have attained the necessary skill and be able to succeed where others before you have failed."

"I know that you mean well, Svein, and I will certainly take your words under advisement.” Fradel stubbornly replied.  "Still, being the least likely person to attack the Monarch, I would have the element of surprise on my side and may be more likely to inflict a mortal wound on him.  He is on his guard with formidable men (civil or military) with fine physiques, wary of fighters of all sorts (male or female), dissident scholars or any citizen with adverse views.  But he would never suspect a nature loving recluse such as I.  I’m aware of the fact that his elite security has checked me out thoroughly."  Fradel stopped and went over to his luggage and began rummaging around inside.  Finding what he sought for, he withdrew an antique-looking writing brush and presented it with a flourish.  "Besides, this provides me with the perfect means of killing him."

Suppressing a chuckle, Svein queried, "And how, may I ask, do you propose to use that?  However, genius a contraption, a concealed weapon in the form of a brush would be detected at once.”

Ignoring Svein's obvious misgivings, Fradel smiled wryly and pointed the bristles of the brush towards the headboard.  Instantly a small metal dart buried itself with a twang half-way into the wood.

 As Svein went to retrieve the dart, Fradel removed a small, wooden box from his pocket and opening it, announced, "This is no ordinary ink box.  It contains the highly noxious ink that can paralyze the heart within seconds of coming in contact with the skin.  Loading the brush for writing laces the tip of the dart and a concealed trigger launches it.  This trick should bring about Zakhertan's destruction instantly. “

“I most certainly will be searched for concealed weapons before I'm brought into his presence, but they would not take away the tools of my trade; I need these to fulfill my purpose in being summoned there.  I ask you; would anyone suspect the simple writing implement of a non-political, scholarly recluse?"

"It seems you’ve given this a lot of thought.  And admittedly it’s the most ingenious device. The barbed dart is most cleverly camouflaged as one of the bristles.  Now suppose you are fortunate enough that it does escape the meticulous scrutiny (search) of the elite security. But the target may not be such an easy one to hit.  Zakhertan Yozdek is renowned for his military prowess; he's reportedly unsurpassed in agility, strength, and cunning.  Moreover, he might be wearing under his court vestments, light metal armor (cuirass, shield); you, taking that into account, no doubt plan to aim for his neck, hand or face. Nevertheless, with his incredible reflexes he may still successfully elude the dart and what then?    Have you an alternate plan to follow in this one's wake?"

"No!” Fradel stamped his foot in vexation.  In truth, he had not configured every possibility, and, Svein’s points had certain validity.  Going against such a formidable foe he should have devised a more plausible secondary, even a tertiary plan to fall back on in order to ensure his success.  He sat down to ponder with a sinking heart.

"Do not lose heart, brother, for I shall not fail.  The monster's days are numbered."  Svein lightly tapped Fradel's shoulder in consolation.

Svein's addressing him as "brother" recalled to Fradel’s mind, his earlier resolve.  Rising to his feet, he proposed that, since there were now no obstacles, they should take the oath of brotherhood without further delay; after which they could plan at length how best he and Svein, as individuals or jointly, could best serve their cause.  But it was now Svein's turn to (hesitate) show reserve; nevertheless, in the brief silence that ensued, Svein had swiftly resolved his inner quandary.  Svein sincerely addressing Fradel, first asked forgiveness for his prior deception, and then drawing near, in a low voice revealed the name of his mentor, Lord Asger Thuxur Marrow Zhon, and subsequently, confessed to his true identity.

Overcoming his shock, Fradel was about to drop to his knees to show his proper respect, when he was swiftly, courteously, stopped by Nevetsecnuac.  “Since they were practically brothers already,” Nevetsecnuac, same time had reasoned, “such formalities were quite unwarranted.”

"But I, the orphan son of lowly peasants, am unworthy of such great honor.  I cannot hope to ever become the sworn brother of a Prince (Nevtsecnuac Alric Therrain Valamir).” Fradel protested.

"You have now offended me deeply, brother.” Nevetsecnuac frowned.  “I never figured you to be so pompous.  After all that we have shared, nothing has changed between us."

 The emotion filled speech that followed, imbued with such humility and honesty so overwhelmed Fradel that, his eyes brimming with tears, he finally acquiesced.

In the private ceremony that followed, the Prince and the Scholar both fell to their knees facing south.  Voicing their petition to the Heavenly Gods, they swore an oath before them to be brothers for life.  After a small cut was inflicted on each one’s index finger, the dripping blood was then collected in a ceramic goblet half filled with wine.  Taking the cup in both hands, Nevetsecnuac ceremoniously presented it to Fradel, calling him elder brother as Fradel was five years his senior.  Receiving the cup, Fradel drank the first sip from it then, with just as much ceremony, offered it to Nevetsecnuac, addressing him as his younger brother.  After Nevetsecnuac had obliged, the cup was hurled against the fireplace and broke into a thousand fragments, sealing the oath forever.  The (sudden) just then rising winds outside vigorously rattled the shutters as if in shared joy and approval.

Nevetsecnuac and Fradel, now as brothers sat across from each other and toasted to their future success. As they partook the wine, they reminisced about family members and dear friends that could not be there; later still, slightly inebriated, they drowned their sorrows in yet more capfuls of wine. 

During this time Fradel was told of the great deeds and sacrifices of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, Lord Shonne Gulbrand, Lu Moldan and the rest, marveling at their greatness, loyalty and scope of heroic attributes, comparing each to the legendary historical figures.

As the topic gradually veered towards the exacting of vengeance, Fradel asked Nevetsecnuac if he had on him the special ID Permit, a vital official (two-part) document essential in allowing one access to Capital Province Holger and then to Imperial city Channing.

Nevetsecnuac shook his head in the negative, then asked, "An ID Permit? This is the first time I’ve heard of such a requisite."

"Just as I suspected,” Fradel nodded thoughtfully.  "But that's to be expected."  He went on to explain that few officials, never mind influential citizens, were aware of the necessity for such a certificate, even though its use had been strictly enforced by the authorities in the Capital province, Holger, for half a year now.  He recounted how he, himself, would have been caught unawares, had it not been for the Palace Guard's explicit reminder when he'd delivered the summons from the Court.

"I'm afraid that, without it, entry to the Capital is impossible.” Fradel intoned grimly. 

"This strict measure had been put into effect after a latest, nearly successful attempt on Zakhertan's life by a small group of very competent assassins.  I have heard undisputed claims that since then, Imperial City Channing has been sealed like a fortress, allowing no entry or egress without proper authorization.”

It was most fortunate, indeed, that we talked long enough for me to recall this important detail otherwise, being caught at the gate without this official permit; you would have instantly been apprehended for questioning.  Your aim would have been frustrated very early on."

"Then I must act to secure for myself such documents,” came Nevetsecnuac's decisive response.  "Can I rely on your guidance and assistance, brother?"

"You don't understand the degree of difficulty involved.” Fradel shook his head. 

"It's not a question of my assistance, brother; I wish it was that easy.  I'm afraid that these two-part documents can only be obtained at your birthplace and are issued only by the resident Governor for a considerable fee.  You must also produce at least three other notable residents as witnesses.  Even under the best of circumstances, such a process could not be completed within a month."

Fradel drew out the documents from their protective covering of waxed parchment and pointed an explicit finger to the top left corner of one of them where, sealed under gum Arabic, a provincial court artist had drawn the poet's likeness.  Nevetsecnuac's eyes followed, with increasing misgivings and a heavier heart, the list of Fradel's identifying particulars, his physical description, parent's name, age and birthplace and finally, at the bottom, the long trail of official seals.

"Due to the urgency of summons necessitating my prompt departure, the obliging Lord and the new governor, Mojen, spared me the time and difficulty of procuring necessary documentation.  Taking me at my word, they acted as my guarantors and expediently processed the ID Permit with all due haste." Fradel, pensively(thoughtfully), meanwhile, had continued. "Of course, even if I did have the ID Documents of my deceased servants still in my possession,” Fradel interjected, "their particulars are so vastly different from yours that, I'm afraid, they still would have been of no use to you."

Having recently buried the men, Nevetsecnuac concurred with a nod of his head; meanwhile, it had become clear to Nevetsecnuac that without proper verification, he could never obtain, not at any length of time, this kind of vital documentation. 

"What is to be done, then?” he gave voice to his fret (hassle).  "How can I beat this unexpected hindrance (hurdle)?  I must seek another ingenious means to override this serious obstacle." Nevetsecnuac distractedly followed Fradel's bold strides to and for, as the scholar presently paced the room in contemplation.

"But, of course!” Nevetsecnuac jumped up in elation.  "Why didn’t I think of this before?"

Startled, Fradel grabbed Nevetsecnuac's arm.  "What is it, brother?"

"The answer to our dilemma is right before us. The problem has already been resolved by none other than you, brother." Nevetsecnuac responded with a bemused smile.

"Me? How?"

"Elder Brother, it just struck me how similar in appearance we are.  For instance, are we both relatively of the same height and bearing and share similar facial features?  Fortunately, due to haste, the hair and eye coloring were not precise. With a beard, could I not pass for twenty-five?"

"What an idea!" Fradel chortled.

 "I knew there was something about you I liked."  His eyes dwelt on Nevetsecnuac with a new intensity as he surveyed the prince’s features.  "Yes, it is possible." he had to concur.  "I must be getting muddle headed, strange how this simple solution eluded me."

"That's because, elder brother, despite all my previous reasoning you still harbor the desire to press on by yourself.  How stubborn you are."  Nevetsecnuac teased, shaking a finger at him.

Donning a long face, Fradel turned an aimless gaze to the crackling flames of the fire.  An inexplicable sadness just then, gripping his heart.

 

(END OF SECTION 11)