THE RESCUE - SECTION 7

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 7

Lord Deng Hedenko

 Subsequent morning at first daylight and well before Teuquob awoke, as part of their daily routine, both Stark and Svein again headed straight for the wooded clearing to resume their martial exercises. With due diligence, unstintingly Stark continued to tutor his nephew on the varied martial techniques and strategies that he had mastered or utilized via the time-honored lessons learned from eminent men, illustrious generals, heroes renowned for their skill and other such distinguished fighters that had existed throughout Wenjenkun’s history.

On Svein’s insistence, another key combat style, that of Kontu’s, was now added to his already taxing, grueling (physically & mentally demanding) practice schedule. Svein’s rigorous training encompassing all had commenced from the moment he could walk. Having the boy’s best interest at heart, Stark’d tried moreover to instill in Svein the fighting spirit, the competitive edge needed to win at all costs, notwithstanding (despite) the opponent’s superior power, strength and ability. Svein was drilled and grilled, all the while propelled to becoming utterly invincible in combat and to overcoming any or all obstacles that he may later encounter.  Stark expected nothing less than perfection from his apt pupil and even though he rarely praised Svein, he was inwardly pleased with the boy’s steady progress.  Endowed with strong stamina, natural agility and superior intellect, Svein had mastered with remarkable ease all the strategies in warfare, requisite martial techniques, varied weaponry, excelling particularly in sword fighting and archery. 

“Only a little while longer and Svein would be ready.” Stark nodded his head in approval, observing the discharged swift steady stream of arrows- each powerful shot finding their precise mark on the prescribed target one after another, all perfect bulls’ eye – a target placed at such an incredible distance that it was virtually invisible/barely detectible.

Stark closed his eyes and heaved a grateful sigh. That elusive time and seemingly infeasible ambition was gradually but surely nearing at hand; soon he would have fulfilled his obligation and perhaps his greatest contribution to their cause: a conference of skill and ability that would one day with measure of certainty, ensure the boy’s future survival and success.

Postponing his certain demise, Stark had persevered through daunting challenges and adversities, with that incessant zeal in full anticipation of the day when all past criminal injustices be redressed and the fallen could long at last be properly avenged!

Meanwhile, a youth of not yet twenty, day by day Svein was beginning to look every bit the seasoned warrior, exercising in the cool of the mornings and the heat of noon, regardless of the weather.  A promise had been made to him that one day he would inherit his uncle’s heirloom sword, which he had been shown only once as a child.  This sword, encrusted with fine jewels and wrought of exquisitely crafted hard tempered steel, a metal both strong and pliable, had left such an indelible impression on the young boy’s mind that he had since tried his utmost to achieve the skill and be worthy of such an honor. 

He practiced ceaselessly each day, thence, even longer than the required time, without any show of strain or tiredness. 

Svein’s aggrandized endurance and ability, fueled by the intense, driving force of his unyielding will, augmenting his prowess as a warrior, is what encouraged and most comforted Stark. In the span of years that Stark had been Svein’s willing mentor, protectorate and friend, the bond of affection and mutual respect between these two had, as mentioned before, grown akin to that between father and son. Things had remained thus, between Stark and Svein for little over a decade (12 Years), with their daily patented, predictable routines having only minor variances or deviation from the norm and certain breaks when Svein went on hunting trips or errands into town.

                                                                                             ~

As fate would have it, an unforeseen factor, namely Teuquob, had now been integrated into their equable (unvarying) equation.  Reticent at first, Stark had gradually, successfully incorporated this variant modification- a necessary social aspect/ phase of Svein’s more thorough education- into their daily routine with hopeful portent for the future.

Moreover, as Teuquob’d assumed, on her insistence, more and more of the household chores, it’d allowed Svein more time to fully concentrate on his pedantic studies and martial practices.

Teuquob was such a good help that it also provided Stark with the opportunity to now oversee previously neglected or postponed lesser concerns.  Another boon being that, finding spare time now, Stark became well disposed to taking extended, contemplative walks with Teuquob, presumably to appreciate the exquisite mountain scenery; but contrary to appearances and mindful of her future, during many of these jaunts Stark strove with his subtle tutoring to instill in her the requisite skills needed to be more adept at surviving in extreme wilderness.

Be that as it may, often on these excursions they would stay within the deemed safe circumference and whenever possible followed nature’s veins to reach their destination. In this lush environment however, even the previously cleared pathways would oftentimes in fortnight be invaded by lush green rank vegetation and serpentine vines therefore hindering any advance or transposing it altogether to perilous state.  Hence, Stark with his machete led the way, at the same time affording them the added protection against chance encounters with the predatory animals.  If the avenue was not too congested but only slightly obstructed, Stark simply stirred the ground ahead with the blunt side of the tip to drive away any crawling creatures or coiled serpents from the undergrowth that might cause Teuquob unwarranted fright.

Eventually, during respite Stark and Teuquob would converse, oftentimes at length, pursuing varied yet always impersonal concerns; via secret understanding, each limited themselves to educational or to mundanely innocuous, present topics.  Consequently, for a very long time Stark did not ascertain the reason or reasons that had compelled Teuquob to undertake such a perilous journey.  His restraint and due discretion meanwhile being very much appreciated by Teuquob, growing daily in respect and affection for Stark- in time she came to wish she could openly confess her burdensome past (tribulation) to him.  Only her reluctance born out of her inner fear that Stark with his traditional views, strict morality and unbending principles on filial piety might not be so forgiving once he’d learned of her disobedient act towards her father- was what deterred her thus far from revealing her secret.

All the same, barring this impediment, day by day Teuquob and Stark had grown closer in heart; in the interim Svein felt somewhat excluded, especially since he had to rely on his uncle’s discretion, disposition and good graces to receive synopsis of their private conversations.  Oftentimes left on the sidelines, he would periodically steal glimpses in her direction, his attention distracted from his studies by her delightful mannerisms or by her sweet, melodious voice.  Though the budding feelings of love had already taken root and in defiance of his will presently were burgeoning and blossoming in his heart, ambiguous about her feelings, after a careful consideration, he’d wisely or unwisely perhaps, opted to relinquishing any attempt or outward show of communicating this to her.

Unknown to Svein his affections were in fact, surreptitiously reciprocated by Teuquob.  His very presence stirred warmth and excitement in her bosom, and whenever he was in proximity, her heart palpitated wildly, and she felt short of breath.  Oftentimes, she felt flustered, and her cheeks burned during their linguistic studies together, especially when their eyes happened to mutely meet, or their hands accidentally touched.  Still, she guarded her secret with utmost diligence and masked these unavoidable outward telltale signs so masterfully that Svein came to believe it was arduous, exacting studies (lessons) that brought on such display and that she bore no such interest in him and at best tolerated him.  In some ways, when it came to deciphering feminine temperaments, Svein in his tender years, was unfortunately still quite naïve. 

Of course, this added complication, the supposedly covert, burgeoning attraction between Svein and Teuquob did not escape the worldly/discerning Stark- only he chose to remain, albeit temporarily, mute on the subject.  Since both had impeccable morality and irreproachable integrity, there was no immediate, warranted reason for concern, or any possibility of a future impropriety or misconduct; meanwhile, Svein’s studies or his training had not suffered in the least from this distraction, far from it, it seemed to further galvanize Svein’s resolve.

Over time, as Stark oftentimes sat (across) between their eye’s paths, mindful of the irresistible attraction and evident, mounting intensity of it, he could not help but be perturbed, surmising the complexities of a looming probability of the certain future union. His mind beset with worries, he would hence, stroke his beard rather distractedly as he pondered on the alternative…

“Hmmm…. Besides, since their own portended future most likely be embroiled in great danger and uncertainty, how could he, in good conscience draw Teuquob into this rather risky, hazardous sphere?”  Yet, instinctively Stark knew, that it was already too late, that perhaps preordained, she’d already permeated their respective lives.  “That, conceivably, their fate was meant to be intermingled with hers; for who could truly fathom the course of fate?”

                                                                                           ~

As more time elapsed, the heat and splendor of summer gradually gave way to the cool temperatures and the glorious colors of fall.  Presently, golden, red-brown leaves, twigs and brambles of all sorts wove an incredible tapestry over the ground as far as the eye could see.  The intoxicating, picturesque scenery naturally drew both Stark and Teuquob to outdoors with more frequency.  One such fine day, bathing under the checkered golden rays of the sun they had initiated an advance towards their favorite destination- all the while managing the at times winding, difficult paths or periodically pausing to admire and be absorbed by the full-splendor of nature.  Delightfully, the brisk mountain air filled their sleeves, puffed their lapels and gently caressed their faces, urging them to go on.  Then quite suddenly, the cool breeze would pick up force, whipping about the heads of the weak vegetation and the golden branches, dotting the air with a flurry of fall colors, as ancient pines, resilient to the wind, stood defiantly erect and proud, spreading their canopy of green over them and the subordinate trees or the ominous, grotesque rocks. Trailing Stark, Teuquob casually cast her vacant gaze on the falling leaves, following their wavering descent to the ground; suddenly however, the decayed matter being trampled underfoot came to resemble the fallen, spent lives and her heart suddenly was gripped with an inexplicable anguish.

In vain she fought to resist the tears welling up in her eyes but the onslaught of vivid images from the past defiantly still crowded her memory, obliterating what scant, and remnant serenity of her previous mood.

                                                                                            ~

Transported in mind to that precise time and place that had started it all, she envisioned herself on her thirteenth birthday receiving, at the crack of dawn, the long-anticipated summons from the Court, to present herself before His Majesty, the King. Amidst the flurry of activity readying her for proper presentation, “Could this be the end of my unfair incarceration?” she’d thought, rather hoped, at the time. 

As it were, from the moment of her mother’s death, when Teuquob was barely one month old, she had been confined to the cold and desolate Northern Pavilion, a secluded place far removed from everything and everyone.  Tucked away, as though an unwanted criminal, she had been reared there with none of the privileges or affection of her other presumed siblings.  Forbidden to set foot outside of her gilded cage, this captive fledgling with a highly inquisitive and imaginative mind, had grown up with no interaction, formally or otherwise, with the other members of her paternal or maternal family, and with only the vaguest notion that she even had a father. 

Teuquob’s deprivation was such that she was not even permitted to visit the family cemetery to pay her respects to her ancestors as it was required (customary) on the set most auspicious days. The rare exchange between her and her evasive father had always been formal and rather contrite to say the least. It was as though it pained him to spend any amount of time with her. Being a discerning soul, she would at times pick up on his curious soup of emotions: pity, kindness, righteous indignation, fear and something else she could not rightly say. She had obtained some solace from the notion however which Shutizan sometime prior had defiantly, put into her head: that the reason for his cold indifference was because Teuquob herself bore uncanny resemblance to her much beloved, deceased mother.

“He had to have loved her very much; and though re-married and fostered other children; he still could not forsake or forget his former wife.” Quite the romantic at heart, this notion therefore, from hence had carried her through the rough spots and made her privation in life more bearable.

Even in the aftermath of her presumed sole benefactor father’s untimely death, on his Majesty’s bidding, little else being invariable, Teuquob had continued with her enforced, sequestered lifestyle and restrictive, tedious private education from string of obdurate, mulish, close-minded and rather grim resident tutors. Despite the constricting sterile environment however, it’d still failed to stifle her creativity or inborn talents and so, by the age of twelve, her brilliance of mind had shown in her essays, dissertations, prose and lyric poems, rivaling the finest academics of her time.

                                                                                                  ~

 

When she was summoned by His Royal Highness Murong Di, deeming this the Heavenly favor that she’d long since prayed for that she was perhaps being finally recognized for her talents: with bursting, enthusiastic joy of someone about to be set free, she’d entered the closed carriage drawn by eight ebony thoroughbreds (pedigreed horses) that had been sent from the palace stables in ready anticipation of her compliance. 

Upon her presentation at court, this enchanting belle that had no equal, had at once transfixed all eyes and captivated all hearts. Many felt blessed, envisioning her to being an exquisite fairy descended directly from the Heavens. She had moved all except for one that is... His Royal Highness with a heart of granite, after scrutinizing her with his scornful, derisive, icy stare, had it formally proclaimed in an unconscionably cruel edict that in two weeks’ time she was to be wed to Lord Deng Hedenko. 

When the designated suitor’s name Hedenko, who was in absentia, was loudly pronounced- the resulting great shock, an undisguised cold shudder had at once permeated the tense atmosphere and rippled through the assembled body of obsequious ministers, Lords and courtiers alike, in Court.  In that all pervasive eerie silence, none daring to appeal on her behalf against this inhumane edict, they had instead with bowed heads exchanged covert, questioning sidelong glances, and then stole pitying glimpses at Teuquob.

In contrast to her outward submission and perfect composure however, inwardly, the flames of anguish and pain had in fact torn through her emotional defenses to sear Teuquob’s heart to cinders- for even she, sheltered as she’d been from the world, knew what that name stood for.  Even she knew of the pernicious and cruel exploits of this much dreaded and feared warlord! 

Lord Hedenko, a stout, belligerent man of thirty-four, was infinitely the most influential, most powerful man in the kingdom, second only to His Highness.  His ferocious appetite for blood could not be assuaged despite the countless savage, exceedingly barbaric exploits or truculent military campaigns during his unsurpassed, admittedly brilliant, meteoric rise in power and affluence. Even as a pre-teen young man he’d enjoyed the distinction of being notorious for his pugnacious disposition and unscrupulous, oftentimes spiteful acts of brutality in the traditional, championship games; and in general, during his life, indiscriminate abuse of both genders (men or women). 

Manipulative and devoid of the least compassion, Deng Hedenko had married more than nine times for financial and political gain only, fostering more than ten sons and two daughters by his many wives.  But only three of his wives had survived thus far, and they, if left sane at all, were rumored to be living in unenviable, under most wretched conditions.  Disposed to sudden bursts of temper oftentimes over the most unpredictable, trivial things, last year alone he had maliciously tortured and murdered two of his sons and a daughter on a whim. When his temper rose, and his pupils shone with that vicious gleam, then his intended victim, as good as dead, did not ask for clemency, but rather prayed for a swift and a merciful end.  Consequently, none envied any woman he’d elected to have as his bride, despite his enormous wealth and power.  Yet, this was exactly the fate His Royal Highness had opted for the fair maiden Teuquob, of whom covertly, through the palace grapevine, they had heard so much about, but only now laid eyes on.  In the grips of such a tyrant she could not be expected to last out the year. This was tantamount to, if not worse than the cruelest death sentence.

Upon hearing the dictum, rather verdict, “Why am I being so unjustly punished?” she’d asked in silence, holding back her tears.  “Why am I condemned to suffer such a horrible end?  What great crimes have I, or my father, committed to warrant such disdain from the king?”   Outwardly, however, with trembling breath and a lowered head Teuquob had voiced her obedience to His Royal Highness and as was required, thanked His Majesty for his regard and due benevolence.

                                                                                       ~

Even before her dismissal from court, the news about her had spread like wildfire within the Northern Pavilion.  All who felt the least compassion for her lamented her fate and sighed continuously or shook their heads in utter disbelief, some shedding sorrowful tears quietly on the side!

“How unlucky she is; hapless, ill-fated and ill-starred; what kind of deplorable curse is upon her!” She heard them bemoan and exclaim in wave upon wave amidst sighs and whispers behind her back as she’d willed her unsteady limbs to climb the steps to her private chamber.  “She is so beautiful, yet fated to such an untimely, tragic end.”

Her nanny Shutizan who had always been there to console her in her times of dire need, this time around, being way overcome with emotion and grief to be of any use, had hastily ran off to hide her tears from Teuquob.  Others at a loss to how best to console her, on some pretext or other, had also made themselves scarce. It was then that her courage had failed her!  Having nowhere to turn to, on that wretched, long, woeful evening, feeling forlorn and utterly alone, in bed Teuquob lamenting her fate had wept ceaselessly, soaking (dampening) her pillow with her streaming, bitter  tears till overcome with exhaustion, she’d drifted into a deep, disturbed sleep.  Then with her captive soul cruelly in the throngs of evil, she’d tossed and turned, assailed by the persistent, recurring nightmares that oftentimes drenched her in a cold sweat and startled her into wakefulness, denying her much needed respite.

 Each nightmare ended the same way, with Hedenko’s hands wrapped around her slender neck, ready to snap it into two like a dry twig while she gasped and struggled despondently for the life’s precious breath (air).

 When Shutizan, called on Teuquob at sunrise the following morning she had had quite a fright at the sight of Teuquob’s condition.  Aroused to fury, she’d lamented bitterly her own folly, then lashing out at the already distraught attendants, she had roundly abused them all one by one for their negligence, even though she knew in her heart of hearts that they too had been rendered, by her own admission to Teuquob, as helpless in this matter as she!  Still, after she’d scolded the last one away, Shutizan had tended to frail Teuquob herself until at last her pallid face and sallow cheeks had reclaimed some of their normal pigment.

Cradling her in her arms and rocking her gently, the old nurse then confessed, “My dear child, you mustn’t think that I had forsaken you last night, far from it! Yes, I was way overcome with grief at first to be of much use and not wishing to frighten you further, I opted for solitude till I could compose myself and be restored to my senses; now I’m fully resolved to fighting this!”  At this point she abruptly stopped and, rising, went to listen at the door.  Ensured that no one had been eavesdropping, she returned and sat facing Teuquob on the edge of the latter’s bed.

“Listen carefully child, after an agonizingly long period of contemplation, faced with such dire circumstance, I’ve decided on the only, albeit disobedient recourse.” She announced with firm conviction in her voice.  “But I no longer care about fealty or my moral obligation to my Sovereign; nor am I afraid of the consequences, so incensed I am by this latent injustice and his unending cruelty!”  She shook her head, “Was it not enough that he ruined your poor mother’s happiness and drove her to an early grave?  Must he now also utterly ruin your life too?”

“Whatever do you mean, dear Nana?  How could His Majesty have anything to do with my mother’s tragic and early demise?  My father himself told me that she’d died shortly after I was born, because of an untreatable malady!” Teuquob sat upright, (somewhat) perturbed. Her heart palpitated wildly (as her pulse mounted) with the encroaching doubt and the ensuing wayward thoughts presently imbuing her brain. “My mother had a (coronary) stroke that ….”

“You don’t understand, dear child.” Shutizan interrupted her with an abrupt gesture of her hand. “You have not been told the …. Oh, chuck it….! His Majesty is your real father!” Shutizan suddenly blurted it out.

“How can that be?” Teuquob eventually overcoming her shock reached out to cup her nana’s face and raised it, forcing a direct eye contact with her.

Shutizan suddenly left speechless, her eyes brimming with tears, all she could manage was an earnest nod of the head.  

“I do not believe it. No…You are deliberately trying to confuse me!” Teuquob vehemently shook her head, in utter disbelief. For embracing this fact would also mean that the truth, all past experiences, what she believed in, loved and cherished, even her scant relationships, in short, the foundations of her existence, for what’s worth, would have all been based on fabrication…Lies mounted on lies!!!

Averting her eyes, Shutizan, nodded. “I’m sorry dear, but as Heaven is my witness, it’s the truth. So many times, I wanted to tell you this: that His Majesty is your very own flesh and blood father; but I was bound by an oath that entrapped me in an unjust conspiracy of silence.  Oh, blessed, precious child...” Nodding her head she promised. “Regardless, I’m now resolved in disclosing, yes… disclosing all the enigmatic, missing facts, bits and pieces of personal history that had been kept from you that all the same you’ve been yearning to know.  Henceforth I shall withhold nothing. Finally, the time has come for the unequivocal unveiling of, though offensive as it may be, the ugly truth.  It’s only right that you should be informed!” She dropped her head and with her downcast gaze focused (pinned) on the floor, she mumbled, “Then, perhaps, you will comply, accede to my subsequent proposal (plan).” 

The rest of her words barely audibly, were uttered as if in self-assertion.  “Though it may be a slim chance, one never knows…? We may still beat the insurmountable odds to eventually succeed!” The ray of hope that had brushed her face had swiftly disappeared, at the same time Shutizan’s forehead creased with her mind anew beset with the onrush of countless pressing concerns.

“But never mind that now.”  Defiantly, she wiped the perspiration from her face and leaned forward to take the confused, distraught Teuquob’s hand in hers. Unclenching it, she stroked her palm and raising it to her lips affectionately kissed it repeatedly. In the aftermath of it, looking into the Teuquob’s eyes, Shutizan spoke with a slight tremble in her voice, “For years now I have stood by and watched helplessly how you, an innocent child was forced to suffer psychic, emotional depredation, a cruel intentional abuse from that biological, Royal father of yours.”  She shook her head, then swallowing her spit; in a barely audible voice she mumbled her suspicions. “Even your foster father, a victim in his own right, could do little in curbing, let alone amending the injustices…In the end as he, having genuine affections for you, became more and more indignant…well, maybe that’s what’d cost him his life…?” She bit her lip, then looking up, she confessed: “But only now, driven by desperation, I’m ashamed to admit it, have I found the courage to defy His Majesty.  Still, I’ve nursed you from birth to adulthood; I’ll be damned, pardon the profanity, if I let them ruin it all and throw my precious jewel so callously (into the pit) away!”

                                                                                        ~

(New and exciting developments will continue in the next post of The Rescue- Section 8)

 

THE RESCUE - SECTION 6

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC 

 THE RESCUE - SECTION 6

Life in the mountain dwelling was not an easy one, there was ample input to assimilate, ascertain, adapt or accomplish that before long several days had gone by (passed) without her knowing it. Teuquob had tried her best during her transition that encompassed serious adjustments and blending-in, not to step on any toes, impinge (encroach) or get in the way of their highly proficient and regimented lifestyle. Lately, however, she was beset with a certain inward irritability as she strove to do more than she had been allowed to do.

But how could she persuade Stark that she was an able and a willing participant, impatient to do her fair share of the demanding chores aside from the allocated light ones; desiring most of all to be incorporated into their jealously guarded, fundamental, core existence. That she would be a boon and not just an inconvenience, to be brushed aside or later redressed.

Her thoughts then reverting to Stark, she pondered on the subtle complexities of his nature (disposition) and unique character traits. Yes, all along she had received unbounded compassion, generosity, and human kindness from Stark and Svein. They had been morally, altruistically quite attentive, and most tolerant with all her deemed frivolous needs. But though Svein had readily accepted her presence there, she could not help feeling that despite all of Stark’s outward acquiescence and approbation, he vacillated in temperament, oftentimes being still perturbed and even annoyed (by) at this unexpected complication in their otherwise orderly lives.

She was perceptive enough to sense, that deep in his soul seemingly many secrets lay, some of which were quite painful to reminisce and that his resentment in part was due to the fact that she represented a forsaken element, a distraction in his life that he’d rather do without.

Set in his ways, at times Stark could be so strict, unbending in his principles, with exacting demands on himself and on Svein, yet other times, especially with her, he displayed unusual gentleness, versatility, patience, and sensitivity, even with her outlandish needs.

Despite his stern appearance and many unstinting commitments, she further suspected that deep within he might be harboring a certain covert longing, for the long since forlorn, abandoned, and derelict way of life. Nevertheless, he seemed bent on a secretive course, bound perhaps by some private oath, to maintain this sort of solitary existence in the wilderness, all the while protecting and educating his nephew with such urgency and burdening diligence, as if countless unfathomed lives depended on it.

Subsequent day, well before the respective lessons were to resume, seizing an opportunity in midst of a private conversation with Stark, she subtly reminded Stark how at the beginning when (whilst) she was so generously welcomed, she’d been urged to, during her stay with them, not act as a conventional guest, rather, be at ease and treat the place as if it were her very own home, and them as if they were her own kin. “Only then,” She then quoted Stark word for word, “with the cumbersome formalities dispensed, an easier atmosphere would prevail, for the benefit of all.” 

She could tell from Stark’s (taut face) stern expression that he was fast losing patience with her, nevertheless determined to take full advantage of his prior conciliatory mood, she then expressed, rather insistently, her desire to be allocated certain responsibilities and chores that were more laborious or challenging for the truly fair and harmonious running of the household.

It was deemed still too soon; but no amount of reasoning was able to alter or deter her from her aim.

Of course, she had no way of knowing that a seasoned warrior and once a strict field marshal, a supreme military commander, Stark had never tolerated insubordination or dealt with notable opposition, let alone, as in this case, blatant defiance to his logical dictates.

As it was, in Stark’s past existent lifestyle that had long since been forsaken- even as a married man he had shunned the responsibility of dealing with the mundane domestic or feminine concerns- deeming it to be most cumbersome task, inessential, recklessly profligate (wasteful) and prodigal feat.

As a result, the entire running of the household had been delegated determinedly to his competent wife while he continued to pursue his military passions.

But much had changed since then and wiser and much more tolerant now (mellowed), in face of this present dilemma and in dealing with the tender aged feminine gender, certain protocol applicable to disciplining generals, or any man for that matter, had to be revised or altered. Therefore, constrained to being gentler rather than harsh and indulgent of her superfluous requirements and conspicuous impatience, Stark simply stroked his beard, and again reiterated in a measured, even tone, “All in good time, my dear.  First, we must get you thoroughly familiarized with your surroundings, then, with your strength fully restored to you and you are more adept at surviving, we will assign you ergo, suitable duties.” It was not what he said, but rather the way he had said it.

I want no more reckless zeal and insubordination from you.

 Pitted against his iron will, Teuquob at this point, opted to embracing humility and wisely forsook persistence, as well, aborted the key arsenal of a typical female temperament that could have rendered the outcome in her favor, especially when it turned dramatic on a whim.

Appreciating her conciliatory act, Stark on his part went against his better judgment and, in polite compliance amended his prior resolve. By her yielding out of respect, the first and only near feud (dispute, conflict) between them had been averted. Afterwards, mutual respect paved the way towards a more amicable transition.

                                                                                 ~

Happily, a week had passed without any undue incidence, with Teuquob fitting into their rigorous routine with ease as though she’d been born to this harsher lifestyle. Meanwhile the ongoing generosity and kindness of both Stark and Svein, defying all description, was immeasurable.  Once, after learning that she was proficient in sewing, Stark had even readily presented her with four bolts of the finest quality silk for her own use. And, true to her claim, only a brief time later she had surprised them both, when she appeared in an exquisitely sewn new dress, and presented the two men each with a vest of their own. They were so delighted with her thoughtfulness they remained totally at a loss for words.

As it were, she performed all her allocated chores however arduous, exacting, onerous, prosaic or mundane: willingly and admirably well, her sincerity and keenness winning her in due course Stark’s trust and rare confidence. Then came a time when she felt long at last that Stark had accepted her presence in the ultimate sense and was now ready in earnest, without any reticence, to begin her integration into their core lifestyle, such as it was.

Living in harmony, at the conclusion of each day’s chores and their collective schooling on the linguistics, she would always retire to her room for some private time to use it as she wished- sometimes utilizing the time by either sawing, decorating, painting or reading; meanwhile, Svein would resume with his other mandatory, extensive studies pouring over the rare volumes, expounding the classics that included Wenjenkun and its border countries’ political and military history; breaking only when the time came for him to practice calligraphy.

Svein’s desk was situated at the far corner of the living room, besides the well-stacked bookshelves. Row upon row, these shelves all housed countless volumes of bound books and silken scrolls comprising rare calligraphy and the most splendid illustrations. Over to the side hung a framed war painting bearing the added verse (poem) of the legendary warrior and poet Marcos Gendor. On the far side of the desk stood some spare writing apparatus, all made from exquisitely carved, rare, and most precious of jades or jasper. Adjacent to that was the neatly displayed collection of finest quality feather pens and paint brushes with ebony wooden stems and bristles made from wolf, or horsehair. The specifically designed upright wooden cabinet with open compartments held in perfect safekeeping and displayed numerous rolls of fine, reusable writing silk. Indeed, such riches were unseen even in the finest of homes.

On this night, long after Teuquob had retired to her room and succumbed to a state of blissful sleep, Svein having finally concluded his requisite studies, quietly placed the book to one side then, routinely picked up the writing implements and begun grinding the ink. Subsequently, under the adequate candlelight, with a frequently dipped brush in hand, he began composing the night’s assigned exercise.

All through it Stark had not stirred, and in fact, for a lengthy period his attention had remained affixed to the contents of the book he had chosen to read.  After a while, he simply put the book aside and rose from his seat; he walked quietly over to his nephew to glance over and to assess the already completed work that had been placed to one side. Following his few constructive criticisms and some praises, he offered alternative options for the style and manner, then returning to his own seat, resumed with his reading.

Sometime later, Stark, having reached a disagreeable impasse in set hypothesis, momentarily halted his reading and simply glanced away from the pages to ponder and to postulate on the key concern, as well, to some degree rest his eyes. As he had absentmindedly looked at his nephew, he noted that Svein had also stopped his writing and was presently staring at the paper with a fond vapidity.

An aspect of displeasure at once registered on Stark’s face. “Stop your daydreaming!” He angrily admonished the youth.

“I am sorry, Uncle, I was just thinking.” Svein responded, shamefaced.

“I am well aware of the concern intruding into your thoughts,” Stark interjected, cutting short his nephew’s reply, “you have quite an abundant imagination and in all likelihood with your fractious mind, you’ve well exceeded the probably mundane past events pertaining to her; keep your focus in line, we’ll learn the truth about her soon enough.  Intriguing a dilemma as this may be, I strongly advise you to omit such profligate and refractory notions from your mind and affix your attention only on your studies.”

Stark’s last sentence was issued with an icy finality which made pursuing the matter futile. Apologetically Svein bowed his head and forced his attention back on his composition. Soon he was writing again but, contrary to appearances, his mind still strayed. Uncle is so discerning that he can even anticipate my thoughts, mused the youth.

Stark, as if he had read this thought of his nephew’s as well, looked away to conceal his resurgent smile. In fact, they had become so close that Stark could tell with impunity the concerns of his nephew well before voiced. Though they appeared conventional and most regimented in their daily interactions with each other, they in fact shared a deep affectionate bond more like that of father and son, than that of between uncle and nephew.

And besides, in his heart of hearts, Stark could not rightly blame the boy for his curiosity and impatience; nevertheless, it was left up to her to resolve this burdening enigma, and Stark had every confidence that one day in not-too-distant future, she would indulge them.

After his thorough assessment of Svein’s completed work, once more seated by the blazing fireplace, with a pensive air Stark had again turned his attention back on the pages of the bound book in his hand; but try as he might, this time he could not bend or concentrate his mind on the applicable complex theories.  Putting it aside, he retrieved his pipe and lit it; in full anticipation of a leisurely smoke, in a thoughtful repose he leaned back comfortably in his rocking chair and allowed his wayward thoughts to drift afar.

The assumption of Teuquob’s probable heritage, based on the disclosed surname, which at the time perturbed him slightly, had been reservedly put aside; but the land in question despite his reticence, yet again awakened in him the forgotten memories and a certain hankering for the precious epoch in time of long ago (gone by). As he puffed the smoke out of his long pipe, his mind defiantly (in defiance) once more had wandered back to a time when he was younger, before his marriage and long before his father’s death, to an era when he had once possessed an abandoned, uninhibited, adventurous, and unconstrained romantic soul.  Surprisingly at that moment, Stark was abruptly reminded of an exceptional being Zandar Kuntzu, a six feet tall warrior with shoulder-length, long flowing auburn hair, whom Stark had encountered (during one of his rebellious years seeking adventure in remote part of Korion), and after being rescued from dire circumstance, befriended. Young as he’d been, Stark could still discern that Zandar was not what he seemed, that he in fact had a noble, stringent upbringing, and more importantly, he was not native to Korion; moreover, despite his unassuming, placid (equable, tranquil) nature, he had a brilliant and discerning mind, as well, possessed incredible ( though hidden, immortal) prowess. 

Now why had Zandar so abruptly intruded into his mind? Stark inwardly querying, looked away. His mind refusing to let this matter drop however, Stark was then curiously, reminded about Zandar’s enigmatic (mysterious)  parting gift, a well-constructed puzzle-box, the contents of which he’d been asked to, read only after he’d left Korion, commit it to memory and then promptly destroy it.  Stark had also at the time, been gravely warned by Zandar, to never use this “EWBINUKO HEX” incantation/hex till, and only once, at future time (eventuality), when it would be the only thing that would deliver him from dire predicament. Being sentimental, Stark through all these years had kept the empty puzzle-box however, which now rested unobtrusively, on the small mantlepiece (bookshelf) in his bedroom.

Stark presently was baffled by these memories pertaining to Zandar which had forcefully intruded into his mind. Why now, and why him? Was he (Stark) just being nostalgic? Admittedly, Stark had infrequently (occasionally) wondered about Zandar, as the latter had had such an impression on him.

Stark a moment or two, meditatively (broodingly) smoked his long pipe; subsequently his thoughts reverting (returning) to Tekuob, his reminiscence furtively carried him forth, to the distant lands of Kontu, the very place Teuquob had sought to escape.

With absolute, vivid clarity, Stark saw before him once more in his mind’s eye (lifelike mental images of) the most beautiful girl, one not unlike Teuquob.  She was peering out with phoenix eyes from behind a silk screen depicting two cranes one in ready flight, the other hesitant, feet firmly set on the thick branch of an ancient, gnarled pine tree at the periphery, background landing itself to the stylized misty mountain scenery; and when their eyes surreptitiously met, he could still envision the bashful lowered glance and the fleeting enchanting smile on that exquisitely flushed face with rosy cheeks as she made haste to simply run away.  This was his first memory of her, and he could still recall every nuance, every minute detail of that delightful episode in time (moment). Once more her glorious countenance tantalizingly hovered before him sweeping him off to sweet reverie: the way she wore her hair, the colors of the ribbons and juxtaposed pearls adorning her tresses, the soft peach colored dress she wore embroidered with the most exquisitely detailed images of butterflies, and how the most charming of flowers that filled the room, vied unsuccessfully with her heavenly beauty and mien.

He was a dashing young man then, who captivated every girl’s fancy. However, as always, his principal interests lay elsewhere; in martial arts techniques armed combat, military, and political history, exploring or travel. The ever-present female gender seen as the source of fleeting fancy, an unwarranted distraction- he had never given them any serious thought that they otherwise truly deserved. Still, from the start he had felt differently towards this one. Something about her quite intrigued him and tugged at his heartstrings till he had lost his affections entirely to this enchanter, which had covertly reciprocated his love; but unfortunately, she’d been promised to another. Re-living, recalling his painful yearnings for her then, and the terrible agony that had mercilessly ripped through his heart and soul on that very day of her obligatory marriage to someone else- Stark uttered an involuntary sigh. Then, as if he had committed a forbidden, unlawful act, he stealthily (surreptitiously) glanced at his nephew.

 Fortunately, Svein was too engrossed (absorbed, rivetted) in his studies to have taken any notice; relieved, Stark leaned back and drew another long puff from his pipe. Before long Stark was lost in another such private revere, till that is, Svein had stopped his writing and looked up.

“Are you finished?” came, Stark’s quick query. Svein nodded in the affirmative. “Good. But before retiring,” Stark paused to clean his pipe then looked up with a conciliatory smile and added in measured tone, “I am presently disposed to hearing any questions you may wish to ask concerning our guest.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”  Maintaining his composure while concealing his delight at Stark’s unexpected change of heart, Svein quickly put away his brushes, ink, papers, and books, then quietly sat himself before Stark, and asked. “Pardon my presumption Uncle, but I dare venture to guess, that your extensive knowledge of her country of origin, stemmed from (was the result of) your privileged firsthand experience, an elongated visit, long before I was born. If you please therefore, I should like to learn all there is to know of her country and in addition, how and when you’d acquired and mastered the use of her altogether unique language. May I also inquire Uncle, of the brief summation of all the most recent developments in her Country of origin that had, been subtly acquired from your added private conversations with her?”

 “That is some tall order.” Stark smiled, in an unusual, good mood. “Very well, I shall satisfy (indulge) your curiosity but only in part, as I am not at liberty to divulge all. First, you are quite correct, nephew, in assessing that visage (facets) of her dialect’s extreme rarity. Perhaps I should begin by telling you a bit more about the historic and geographic aspects of Teuquob’s place of origin, a distant, island kingdom called Kontu. What you don’t know however is that their present capital, Sakuo has been in existence almost as long as ours, despite scant reference to it in our ancient (antediluvian) manuscripts (historic records). As you well know, any viable contact or commerce with this enormous island kingdom Kontu that lies due north-east from here, a landmass almost as big as our own peninsula, fortunately thus far- and I don’t see why it should be any different now- has been deterred, due to its impracticality and unfeasibility by the vast ocean, group of troublesome islands that were once and probably are today, populated by unruly savages or sea-fearing pirates, and let us not forget, the oftentimes perilous, tempestuous weather.”

“Here’s an addition to that prior info: Long ago, a state sponsored excavations had revealed that Kontu was indeed endowed with the reaches of earth beyond measure; nevertheless, it had always had its share of dangerous topography, volcanic and unstable landmass that is prone to infrequent but lethal (quite pernicious) earthquakes or tsunamis.  In part this aspect has curtailed or delayed its otherwise potent might. Still, quite adept at surviving and thriving, this ancient civilization formerly comprised of vastly diverse aggressive races with their varied, strange dialects- in the third century of their existence in an unprecedented feat, the entire country was unified under one rule, one language and one system of law, by a legendary, rather enlightened king and conqueror. Unfortunately, this feat (masterstroke) did not last for long. This great kingdom of Kontu, that was for its size, once far greater in might than ours, was nevertheless weakened within the last century or so of our time, by the ongoing internal strife between numerous contending indigenous warlords, many related, some by marriage to the subsequent reigning monarchs, each claiming legitimacy of cause and various entitlements.  This, and the constant state of war with their neighboring island states, has thus far spared our kingdom and this entire continent from the sure threat of invasion by their expeditionary forces. But I am digressing.”

“As I understand it, Teuquob for reasons known only to her, in the company of a respectable young man, “a dear friend” she’d addressed him as, therefore not a true relation, was on a ship bound (destined) for one of the subsidiary island states, when her voyage was interrupted by a terrible storm, perhaps even a monsoon, and they were thrown way off course.  After the total destruction of the ship and the countless inevitable loss of lives; miraculously surviving her ordeal- because of a remarkable act on the part of her companion friend that had presumably afterwards also perished at sea- for an undetermined time she’d drifted fastened on a create of sorts on the open waters of the vast ocean and came to be, by fate’s hand, cast, rather shipwrecked, on our shores.”

Then, addressing Svein’s subsequent question, he added, “The political situation, in place when I was in Kontu, and yes, well before you were born, according to Teuquob, persists to this date.  To reiterate, their history has been, more so than ours, documented in perpetual (incessant) bloodshed, with the warring states, feudal lords time and again vying for power and domination of the entire island; meanwhile, any diplomatic, political, military or commercial contact between their land and ours, for reasons enumerated earlier, has at best been rather limited, with fewer still competently transcending the barriers of language. Fortunately for us, I happened to be one such.”

“You see, in my youth during one of my adventurous exploits in (Tenkoz) border province, I had fortuitously encountered a brilliant scholar/warrior named Haixi Yuenen, who by some misfortune had been stranded in our country and forced to living in dire straits. He spoke both languages fluently enough to avoid detection but lacked the resources and necessary contacts to ensure safe passage back to his homeland. Forlorn and dejected he had drifted from town to town, doing odd jobs then wasting his scant earnings on drink. By fate’s hand, he came to my rescue when I was in a crisis, ambushed by the notorious group of local thugs that were aiming not only to rob, but to maim and murder me. Oh, what a sight that was! What courage… such ability! Single handedly in a flash he wasted a lot of them. Reminder ran, ran for their dear lives!”

Stark quickly checked his exuberance. “Nevertheless; I was not about to let such a man go! To my further delight, after the formal introduction to my discerning father, he gained my family’s patronage and became my tutor. Later still, outside of my regular studies, upon my insistence, he instructed me in his fighting style and, native language.  A deep bond grew between us during our time together, over and above the shared respect and admiration of teacher and pupil.

I carried mixed feelings of joy and dismay (devastation) on the day that my father, out of kindness and noting that my studies were at an end, acknowledged my esteemed teacher Haixi Yuenen’s homesickness and announced that he was providing the means for the scholar’s voyage back.” 

“Haixi had to pass through another territory, a friendly state called Loxugan, before gaining his safe passage home on a rare trading vessel.

My father’s sympathetic understanding and generosity of heart had of course earned him Haixi’s undying gratitude. The scholar journeyed back several years later with an impressive entourage and lavished many priceless gifts on our family and my father. He further extended this courtesy and invited my father and me to be his honored guests at his stately home in Kontu. This was made possible, for he had returned with a ship of his own.”

“My father could not oblige, but after much supplication on my part, he granted me the rare privilege of visiting this wondrous and mysterious land. I stayed for quite some time at my tutor’s well-fortified mansion that was strategically located in the far fringes of Kontu. He turned out to be someone of high birth that had, for reasons known only to him, renounced his rightful heritage and entitlements to live in self-imposed exile and relative obscurity. Highly thought of still, through his private network of connections, well-guarded, I spent a period in capital city at which time I gained broader perspective into their politics and returned to Wenjenkun with an abundant wealth of experience and knowledge. Once home, however, other events took precedence, which prevented me from giving Kontu its deserved reflection and thought until this day.”

As Svein listened, all these fantastic things had sent his head swimming in abundant wealth of imaginary fancies. He had not even seen the capital or other parts of his own country, yet his uncle now spoke of wondrous lands beyond the sea. A certain yearning awakened in him, a need to travel far, to broaden his horizons as well. All those places mentioned in passing, a mere footnote in his studies now gained a renewed prominence and he wished he could sprout wings and soar up to the sky, to visit them firsthand and experience it all in one go.  His heart was also flooded (filled) with added affection for his paternal grandfather, who had been nothing more than a name up until then.

So, he had been a wise and compassionate man, not unlike Stark, and therefore well deserving of his respect, undying devotion, and love.

Svein secretly longed to learn more of Stark’s elder brother, Svein’s own father, a parent he’d never known, as he’d been separated from him from birth and in surmised speculation knew only that his father had perished tragically in the aftermath of some catastrophic event; but remembering his promise not to pry or pester Stark on the subject, he kept his tongue (withheld his bursting queries), remaining grateful all the same to Stark, for painful as it was, divulging even this much of his past. Verily up until then, his uncle had been reticent to shed any light on the family’s determinedly tragic history, heritage, or the enigmatic reasons for the total annihilation of their entire clansmen.  On scant idle moments, his unbridled curiosity and imagination running rampant, Svein had oftentimes pondered on these haunting questions in private: What necessitated to date such extreme cautionary measures and constrained their continued dwelling and compulsory arduous lifestyle in this remotest part of the mountain, so far from any civilized settlement?  What kind of foe, enmity or reason was potent enough to propel Stark’s relentless, incessant grievance meanwhile enforcing the precept of keeping Svein in the dark until he reached the certain age of maturity, of twenty-five?

Presently, faced with this unexpected leeway, Svein stole a sideways glance at his uncle as he inwardly queried:  Was it possible that Stark had now a change of heart and was considering mending or even rescinding that rule? But Svein dared not ask this out loud. He did, however, finding his uncle in more (amicable) genial disposition, inquired, “Uncle, may I impose on you to enlighten me further on the most recent developments in Kontu?”

Stark simply looked away; with a slight displeasure, the beginnings of a frown registering on his face as he mused: “I know what it is you are after- but in the end, what purpose would it serve? The sought information will be of limited use to you since you’ll probably never gain the chance to go to Kontu. As it is, you will have other far more important matters to address.”  But withholding his retort, he responded coolly, in an even tone. “I am not sure that we can spare the time. Nevertheless, I will give this matter further consideration.”

This conciliatory reply was still preferable to an open rejection. Thus satisfied, Svein thanked his uncle for his understanding then, following Stark’s next suggestion, made ready to retire for the night.

That evening despite his fatigue, Svein had turned and tossed till finally heavy sleep overtook him. Even then his subconscious mind was beset with ongoing prolific dreams, all of it adventurous in nature, many events transpiring in that imaginary, faraway lands with him interacting freely with all kinds of Indigenous, interesting groups. 

Stark, contrastingly, greater part of the night had lain perfectly still on his back, with blank stare, eyes fixated, obsessively, on the ceiling overhead. He had remained thus, his heart laden with many concerns in conjunction with the countless burdensome thoughts, some of it imbued with pain and longing for those things he had long since forsaken.

                                                                                       ~

 

(More exciting developments will unfold in the next post of The Rescue- Section 7)

The Tunnel

The Tunnel

(A Re-write of a Zen Koan)

Part 1

Click to Hear a Reading of Part 1

Once upon a time in a frontier town the brash young son of a Warrior, named Doku, desiring to experience more of life after the death of his father, left his rigid and regulated circumstance and embarked on a long journey towards the Capital.

He was a agile and strong young man and highly skilled in sword fighting. Halfway to the Capital he came upon a large estate on the periphery of a prosperous town.

The estate holder, Esquire Zaven’s first wife had died suddenly at childbirth leaving behind a squalling son. The property was enormous with many fields surrounding it that constantly needed tending. The historic mansion perched on a hilltop, supported a large household. As Zaven was always away on business, he’d been forced to re-marry in haste, acquiring a seemingly competent spouse to run the groundskeepers and the household staff in his absence. Doku, carrying exemplary credentials had no trouble securing the recently vacated position of a head Steward. Unfortunately during the course of his stay there he became enamored of the beautiful young wife of Esquire Zaven. Doku was a fetching young man with a fine physique that before long caught the eye of the young wife.

Once when Esquire Zaven was away on business, Doku chanced a clandestine meeting with the lady in which he professed his deep affections for her. She was an easy conquest and the two became instant lovers. The Esquire however returned unexpectedly early from his recent trip and so the illicit affair was exposed. Confronting the enraged husband, the culprit Doku slew the outraged Zaven in self-defense. Faced with this dire circumstance and facing certain death, the two lovers ran away.

Always on the run and with scant options for survival, Doku became a highwayman. His skill was unmatched and any resistance was swiftly squashed.

The spoils provided the couple with many luxuries. But still, it was never enough for the former wife. Greed dulled the appeal of this once beautiful woman and her demands, by degrees, caused Doku to grow increasingly disgusted with her. Finally he left her and resumed his journey, but not to the Capital.

Eventually he settled down to a frugal life in a remote frontier town at the base of a mountain, where he became known as a solitary mendicant.

As he matured he felt increasing remorse for his past sins. Ghosts regularly haunted his dreams calling for him to atone for his crimes, particularly the felony that had started it all. Finally, after all this soul searching, Doku’s thoughts centered on the dangerous cliff road over the mountain and the countless souls it had caused death and injury to.

“Yes, I shall do it.” He nodded resolutely. As his atonement for all his past crimes he resolved to cut a tunnel through the mountain. He knew it would be a most ambitious feat but he desperately needed to accomplish a good turn that may, in part, eradicate some of his sins.

End of Part 1

The Tunnel- Part 2

Click to Hear a Reading of Part 2

He set to work the very next day. From then on during the daylight hours Doku worked tirelessly doing any sort of labor, no matter how dangerous or loathsome. At night, after a modest meal and a brief repast, he hefted his pick and packed his shovel then traveled on horseback to the foothills. He spent the first several weeks surveying the region’s topography. From a hidden cave opening he started digging the tunnel until daylight broke. He made good use of the existing natural caverns, connecting them by digging short tunnels between them. By the time thirty years had gone by, the length of the tunnel reached 2,280 feet. Doku had almost achieved his goal of creating a secure pathway deep under the mountain. In a two more years he would reach his goal.

Before the work was complete however, the slain Esquire’s son Bron, who had become a skilled swordsman caught up with Doku. Bent on revenge, Bron lay in wait behind a huge boulder on a deserted stretch of path to spring his ambush. Doku with his experience as a highwayman had naturally sensed the presence of danger and dismounted. Holding the reins, Doku took the rocky path in bold strides that caused Bron to hesitate.

Bron paralleled the path for a time waiting for another opportunity to strike, then, brandishing his sword, jumped in front to block Doku’s way. Proclaiming his name, he shouted: “I’m here to avenge my father Esquire Zaven Ko, whom you’ve so foully murdered. Be prepared to die, vermin! “

On the verge of receiving the death blow, Doku maintained his calm composure and stated his protest, “"I will give you my life willingly; only, let me finish this crucial work first. On the day of its completion, I swear I will stand ready to receive my punishment."

Doku’s courage and earnest demeanor convinced the son to postpone his revenge to a later time. And so Bron temporarily set aside the blistering rage swelling his chest and, night after night, followed Doku to the tunnel and watched him work. In all that time, even with a death sentence hovering over his head Doku’s diligence never once wavered. He removed the rock with his pick and then constructed post and beam supports from the surrounding trees to buttress the walls of the tunnel. In this way several months passed. Doku, even when sick worked hard at the dig.

Eventually Bron grew tired of doing nothing but watch Doku. In order to keep fit and to hasten the end result, he simply showed up with a pick. No words were exchanged as he worked alongside Doku on the dig.

After he had helped for more than a year, keeping a close eye on the other even during the day, Bron gradually came to admire Doku's strong will and steadfast character. Bron witnessed firsthand many of other’s charitable ways: his unwavering assistance to the sick and old and the countless anonymous generous donations to the needy, even though it meant at times going without food and clothing. He took note how Doku most brave in defending the weak: so many lives were spared fending off the local hoodlums and many widows and orphans fared better or survived their harsh circumstance, because of Doku’s cavort aid.

At long last couple hours before dawn the tunnel was finally complete. Now the people could use it and travel in safety. Covered in dust and dirt, Doku now prostrated himself before Bron in readiness for death.

“Thank you for your patience and help. Now you may cut off my head. I bear you no ill will. My work is done."

"How can I cut off my own teacher's head?" asked Bron lowering his head with tears brimming in his eyes.



The End.

The Tea-Master and the Assassin

The Tea-Master and the Assassin

“Taiko, a warrior who lived in Japan before the Tokugawa era, studied Cha-no-yu, tea etiquette, with Sen no Rikyu, a teacher of that aesthetical expression of calmness and contentment.

Taiko's attendant warrior Kato interpreted his superior's enthusiasm for tea etiquette as negligence of state affairs, so he decided to kill Sen no Rikyu. He pretended to make a social call upon the tea-master and was invited to drink tea.

The master, who was well skilled in his art, saw at a glance the warrior's intention, so he invited Kato to leave his sword outside before entering the room for the ceremony, explaining the Cha-no-yu represents peacefulness itself.

Kato would not listen to this. "I am a warrior," he said. "I always have my sword with me. Cha-no-yu or no Cha-no-yu, I have my sword."

"Very well. Bring your sword in and have some tea," consented Sen no Rikyu.

The kettle was boiling on the charcoal fire. Suddenly Sen no Rikyu tipped it over. Hissing steam arose, filling the room with smoke and ashes. The startled warrior ran outside.

The tea-master apologized. "It was my mistake. Come back in and have some tea. I have your sword here covered with ashes and will clean it and give it to you."

In this predicament the warrior realized he could not very well kill the tea-master, so he gave up the idea.”

Fini