THE WEDDING - SECTION 1

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE WEDDING - SECTION 1

It was a beautiful summer’s morning, with light breeze swaying the brunches decked with lush green foliage, as fluffy clouds far above simply sailed on by. Nature’s perfume from countless blossoms filled the air as dancing butterflies spread their wings in choreographed dance here and there. Birds chirping in conjunction with the insects’ cacophony of music competed with the occasional roaring of the predatory beasts; the perfect orchestra completed the picture of an ideal summer’s day.

This flawless setting that set fairies hard at work, Stark, at the conclusion of their martial practice, first sounded out Svein on the idea of marriage to Teuquob.  After receiving Svein’s surprised and tongue-tied response, he then informed his nephew of his own agreeable disposition towards the proposal.  This sent Svein into a paroxysm of joy.

 Later still, when Teuquob was consulted about the idea by Stark and her blushing, favorable response was also obtained, the inevitability of their future nuptials was confirmed. That evening, before sleep, Stark had compiled in his mind, a meticulous list (of itinerary) for the upcoming event.

The very next day they set out to complete the first item on the agenda. Not sparing any effort or expense, they worked long and hard till Teuquob’s room, Svein’s old room was within weeks, duly transformed: enlarged and appropriately refurbished to suit the future newlywed’s needs.

In the intervening time, whenever a moment could be speared, Stark perused the sacred annals, historical chronicles and as well, taking into account cosmic calculations, doctrinal, present ceremonial rites and procedures- to eventually arrive at the most auspicious day. Promptly then, as per ritual, he registered it (inscribed it) on a specific, premier quality parchment and stored it away in his locked drawer.

Certain preliminaries done, subsequently, one fine morning at sunrise, the Deity of the mountain witnessed the gathering for the engagement ceremony- the first part of the nuptial ritual-officiated by Stark, at which point the prospective couple verbally committed their hearts and mind to each other. Forgoing regular day’s schedule, they then feasted that entire day and talked without abandon.

Countless plans were endorsed and laid down, amongst which was Svein’s immediate departure for the nearest town called Karene the subsequent morning, for the procurement of the necessary provisions for the initial ceremony: the offerings to ancestors and mountain God, appropriate congratulatory gifts for the bride, certain conventional treats and few atypical ingredients for the prescribed menu of the wedding feast and so on and so forth. 

The decision of Svein’s prompt departure was agreeably the most prudent course- for in accordance with the time-honored tradition, from that moment on until the night of the wedding the prospective groom had to reside elsewhere. The firm belief was held by all three; to do otherwise, to prematurely share the same roof (while sleeping) as that of the prospective bride, would affect certain misfortune and adversity on the likely couple. Svein thus was instructed by Stark, upon completion of the preparations for his journey and the celebratory dinner that, he would have to spend that night in the stable.

Now after the day’s exhaustive and exciting course of events, the future lengthy separation dominating their thoughts, the evening’s repast happened to be comparatively somber.

Svein seated across form Teuquob at the dinner table, kept his head low, as his eyes swept the floor. Teuquob was no better; she had hardly touched her food. Even Stark, despite his pretense, pondered on pressing concerns, which had been the case each time Svein undertook the journey to town.  Naturally, with all their minds so absorbed (engrossed), apart from the sparse, intermittent bouts of conversation, most of the meal was consumed in utter silence. 

After Svein and Teuquob had retired, Stark, on the pretext of seeing to something, stayed up to meticulously go over the (list) inventory of supplies to ensure himself that nothing significant or essential had been left out.  That put aside, still too restless to retire, he’d then lit his pipe and settled himself in his usual chair; under the trimmed lamplight his eyes then perused the contents of the ancient manuscript.

Try as he might however, his mind kept wondering on other more pertinent concerns, one of which was the reaffirmation of the reasons why Svein’s upcoming marriage had done little to change his earlier conviction- to delay telling of the secret to Svein till he reached the age of twenty-five. As for Teuquob’s true heritage (birthright), he had kept this from his nephew also, though he was not entirely sure of his motives for doing so.

The subsequent morning, after a restless night’s sleep rising at first daylight, Svein after breakfasting, bid his farewells to his uncle and Teuquob then, taking the horse by the reins, led him down the path, soon to be swallowed by the thick foliage. 

Teuquob, with a heavy heart and teary eyes, simply gazed (stared) after him till he’d vanished from view.  Stark anticipating her concerns and wishing to placate her, in an even tone first used some conciliatory words, summating it with positive assertion: “We should expect his safe return after three and one-half weeks.  Now it won’t do, will it, for you to worry till then?” To this Teuquob nodded her acquiescence and turning, followed Stark back into the house.

                                                                                     ~

 For nearing half a day now, Svein and horse had negotiated the rough terrain, descending all the while as they followed invisible goat’s paths that led them further and further from home. At noon with the sun’s burning rays beating down on him, baking his skin, Svein felt particularly uncomfortable and rubbing his hand over the itchy chin, he scrunched up his face in disdain. It was bad enough he had endured the entire trip to the Temple and back under this disguise…. Of course, he had a longer beard than, which he had shaved off the minute he sat foot at home. He could not help but grin thinking of his (far thinking) uncle’s slight annoyance; though Stark had said nothing, his face had revealed that tinge of color at being clearly peeved. This had been Svein’s first inkling, first inference of Stark’s yet undisclosed plan.  For each time that Svein had undertaken these trips to town or other such, he had donned a beard and mustache, which made him look older, all for the purposes added security. 

 In truth Svein had always preferred to be clean shaven, and presently would have welcomed that cooling effects of the slight breeze which periodically caressed his cheeks. His face insulated with all that stubble (short beard, thin moustache), a necessary precaution, it did little else now, other than to annoy him. Svein ran his fingers over his stubble, thinking that by the time he reaches his designation, his beard and moustache should be more substantial and more incommodious (bothersome), though, enable him more effective disguise (camouflage).

Just endure this little inconvenience, he inwardly admonished self, for soon as this task is completed, I’ll be back to normal.  He was sure Teuquob would prefer him …. hmmm.  Svein pensively looked away as crimson hue had just then invaded his cheeks (he flushed); thankful that no one was about to witness this, he bit the corner of his lower lip, trying same time to drive away the vivid image from his mind, the image of him interlocking lips with his beloved. 

On this lengthy, lonely trek, to relieve boredom, Svein would always try resolving past disquiets (trepidations). Svein had become aware of his uncle’s presence bit too late on that particular night at the Temple, and not wishing a confrontation had acted oblivious, and quickly returned to his room. His Uncle had broached the subject and gently admonished him on the fact, few days ago; but Svein did not have the heart to disprove him and hence, contritely promised to be more sentient (alert) and astute (incisive) in future.

I am fortunate to have such a mentor! Stirring the ground ahead with his staff, Svein led his horse down the narrow, quite precipitous path.  He had opted for this shortcut to gain valuable time and perhaps surprise Stark and Teuquob with his early return.

 Presently his thoughts reverting to his future marriage (nuptial), Svein, with a slight grin, contemplated on the timing of Stark’s altered decision. He was certain Stark had been all along (against) contrary to such possibility; when had his uncle had the change of heart?  Was it at the Temple, had the Deity answered his request?

 Svein suddenly recalled to mind, that meaningful exchange between Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn and Stark at the purification ceremony after Svein’s lapsed guard (check, restraint) on his senses. Then there was that unscheduled, subsequent day’s private meeting with the Abbot, after which on his return, Stark had stolen, once or twice undecipherable, yet furtively pensive look at Svein and Teuquob.

The stallion just then as if reading Svein’s thoughts, neighed (whinnied, whickered) and stomped his foot, which made Svein grin even more broadly.

Svein knew that the next leg of the trek would be far worse, intensely grueling and more precarious, but he was primed for the challenge. Reaching this segment short time later, with all his senses on the alert, he had advanced warily on foot, thankful for the exceptional steed that he had, since this part of the arduous trail with its meandering, spiraling course was too rugged and unforgiving with sheer drops of thousands of feet, to negotiate alone, never mind his leading a spirited stallion through it all.  But when they (man and mount) finally, after an arduous stretch, emerged intact on the other end of the (fissure) ridge in the mountain, then after further descent (downward gradient), came to a more level clearing, Svein, with one swift leap, mounted the bridled steed and, holding the reins, impatiently galloped into the distance towards the direction of the certain (human habitation) town.

In his exalted spirits Svein, none the worse for wear, subsequently had pushed on relentlessly, day after day, needing only a brief rest or sleep.  If it were not for his consideration of his horse, he would have sped incessantly like the wind or like an arrow coursing through the air in one fell swoop, until he reached his destination.  As it was, they traveled as though they both had a pair of wings, with his magnificent horse sharing his exuberance and responding accordingly.

They halted only when the earth was mantled in absolute darkness that made any sort of advance difficult.  Only then Svein would dismount at a suitable spot, preferably by a stream with a sparsely populated forest nearby and let his steed loose to graze on the lush green vegetation.  Opting for a good, sturdy tree, he would lean his back against it and help himself to some dry rations, before closing his eyes in brief respite, under the blanket of stars.  Since dangers were paramount during the nocturnal period, Svein’s scant sleep would frequently be interrupted by his vigilant, unfettered stallion that always remained nearby.  When danger struck, more often than not, they would jointly, in one fell swoop, dispose of the offender.  At crack of dawn, unhampered by all the night’s disturbances, man and horse would refresh at the nearby stream, have some sustenance, then Svein once more mounted, they would speed away into distance.

Svein genuinely loved this stallion that he had so rightly named Fiery Comet.  From the very first he had felt most fortunate, indeed, to have come by such an acquisition.

This had happened on a day in the not-too-distant past.  Svein had journeyed to a faraway town, called Tanza, a place where horse trading occurred with frequency, after their last horse had met a tragic, premature end at the fangs of a fierce predatory animal during a stormy winter’s night.  This, by no means, had been his first trip there.  Despite his youth, Svein had undertaken the journey at least three other times, once with his uncle and twice alone, necessitated each time, after a horse had succumbed to some natural disaster.  The other transactions were not out of the ordinary; however, the fourth trip had been quite memorable, to say the least.

                                                                                  ~

 Originally Fiery Comet had belonged to an official of considerable wealth and of good standing in society.  Yered, as he was called, prized his horses above all else and therefore spared no expense in procuring himself a sizable collection.  His stables contained several choice breeds, which he never failed to proudly show off to all his friends and associates, or whomever he wished to impress, at every opportunity.

 Yered had come by this horse while on an official call to his superior, and after difficult negotiations, had finally persuaded the owner to part with it for a considerable sum of money.  Now, despite his knowledge and his experienced eye for selecting superior breeds, this time he had been properly duped by this horse trader, masquerading as a nobleman, who, unbeknownst to Yered, was in cahoots with his superior.  Because of extenuating circumstances, Yered failed to ride his prize acquisition before he reached his home district.

Upon his return he was promptly warned by his secretary and good friend that horses bearing such markings were considered, since time immemorial, to be ill-omened; therefore, urged him to dispose of the horse at once if he wished to escape disaster.  Though Yered admonished his friend and subordinate for frightening him so, when still others chimed in with the same sentiments as his secretary, the horse’s value gradually diminished in Yered’s eyes.

 Even after receiving further confirmation from books, though his heart succumbed to fear, Yered still refused to acknowledge his mistake and remained reluctant to part with the horse.

Now, by some coincidence, when Yered suffered serious setbacks to his position and his wealth, by degrees, declined until he was stripped of power and influence, he ultimately gave validity to these superstitions and, therefore, sought eventually to rid himself of this cursed horse.  Compounding his grievance was the fact that he had never been able to ride the steed to his own satisfaction.

 The stallion possessed a wild and strong nature, and from the first try, he had shown his defiance to his master’s will, by repeatedly throwing him off of his back.  Though Yered prided himself on being a most accomplished rider, his persistent endeavors to ride this horse had all ended up in disastrous failure; with the resultant numerous injuries and bruises, to say nothing of the shame and humiliation, that he’d been forced to endure upon every attempt.

 By now the horse had gained some local notoriety as a most dangerous animal, and so it foiled Yered’s attempts to make a present of the steed to any of his furtively loathed, nemesis associates or despised relatives.  Having already spent a small fortune on the acquisition and upkeep (maintenance) of the horse, but fearing prosecution, he dared not discard the horse to any official, merchant (horse- dealer), neighbor, or prevail upon his servants to simply sell the horse to any unsuspecting, foolish gentry, within the perimeter of his home district.  Eventually he was compelled to commission one of his trusted underlings, to covertly make the transaction for him in another, far away district.

He soon discovered, to his great dismay and shame, that others were not as ignorant of the superstition as he had been, this fact meanwhile obliterating his agent’s bargaining strength and eliminating any chance for the sale.  He cursed himself endlessly in silence for his prior negligence, which now so ruthlessly and persistently robbed him of all his peace and repute.  He became wary and suspected his friends and close associates of mocking him behind his back.  The good-hearted conscientious ones advised him to rid himself of this pest at all costs and without further delay, seeing the drain (stress) on his nerves already.  But, since he had already squandered quite a sum on the beast, avaricious (rapacious) man that he was, he did not heed their advice and adamantly refused to simply slay (slaughter) the horse or let him loose in the wild.  He still hoped to recover some small margin of his expenses and, by doing so, preserve some semblance of dignity.

Time passed and, as his fortunes further declined, at last the exasperated Yered conceded to sell the now disguised horse at an even further away region and at greatly reduced sum- practically giving it away for free. Long at last the stallion was sold off to another unsuspecting, affluent purchaser; but before the congratulatory toast had warmed the new owner Rayex, he’d awakened to realization (same as Yered), that the horse he had procured was, in fact, no great bargain.  Once more hence, the horse was put up for sale by a dispirited owner.

                             

The burly steward called Kurin, carrying the instructions of his cruel and unfeeling master had been forbidden to return unless he secured the satisfactory sale of the horse.  Each day that the sale was delayed he was told to expect ten lashes plus other reprisals upon his return.  But the greatest threat had been made in reference to his sole kin on this Earth; his beloved daughter Yasmin, that would be turning eleven years of age in three months’ time. If he failed to return by then, his spiteful master promised to covertly sell her to some unknown brothel where she would be lost to him forever.

 Kurin knew this was no idle threat, for in his lifetime, since he had been in his master’s service from the age of two, he had seen unspeakable atrocities being committed by that fiend, that to date, he would shudder at the very thought of any such. The danger he’d faced on this trip minuscule in comparison to his daily ordeals in that estate. Meanwhile, the deep, ugly scar on his face and body was sufficient visual advertisement, that he was not one easily to be reckoned with.

 The resolute steward who excelled hand to hand combat and fighting with a staff, had spared no effort and, in a very short span of time, had journeyed great distances, going from town to town, until he had reached this furthest outlying district.  He had been led to believe that in this region, especially in this unruly town, there was a ready market for horses, therefore a good chance for the sale.  Callous officials, iniquitous merchants, nefarious artisans, seditious landlords all in cahoots with the vile bandits that thrived in great numbers in the surrounding countryside made travel by foot extremely hazardous; this, coupled with harsh climate, precarious topography and the distance between towns necessitated ownership of a horse or donkey for every household. In this never-ending cycle of violence, the unfortunate victims of these brigands or thugs, subsequently, without due were forced to make good their losses (time after time), if they wish the continuance of survival.

Last few weeks, having undergone his share of the dangerous escapades, the robust steward, on this day, at this far outpost marketplace of a Town Temagus, had done his best to sell the horse.  Arriving at dawn, he had stationed himself at a most favorable junction and had stayed there, keeping up hope the entire time, refusing to embrace yet another day’s defeat.  But the receding sun’s rays, the approaching hours of dusk, brazenly and cruelly confronted him and along with the diminishing light, his heart succumbed to sorrow and despair.  Raising his eyes to the distant sky, he inwardly asked; Why, why?

Kurin had done everything humanly possible, yet to date success avoided (shunned) him.  No sooner did any prospective buyer draw near or try to mount the horse for a trial run than he immediately was discouraged from making the purchase and, in fright, took to his heels.  Others were not as timid, walking away cursing with clenched fists and threatening reprisals at the top of their voices for the steward’s brazenness in trying to sell such a dangerous animal.  Word spread like wildfire throughout the marketplace, discouraging any other prospective buyers from giving the horse even the slightest bit of consideration.

 All day long, some ruffians from safe distance had intermittently voiced their taunting jeers, as local thugs echoed the same hateful words and threats at him.  Irate steward, wishing to escape the ramifications of his impending, volatile, violent nature, had instead, quietly moved his stand to a more isolated section. Looking askance at the bane of his troubles, he ground his teeth. 

 May Heaven preserve my poor darling daughter; this blasted horse will be the end of us all! If it were up to me, I would chop him up, perhaps make mincemeat out of him, then sell it all to those that would revel in horse meat. Meat is meat…. Few more days, I may do just that…Kurin nodded his head determinedly; knowing few more hours and another day would be spent; trying therefore, in his desperation to convince himself of this likely recourse.

Hey, it should bring a bit of money, enough perhaps to satisfy my master. Any fib should do; anything credible sounding enough. His anger turned to sudden dismay as his thoughts once more reverted to his daughter Yasmin.  Oh, my poor, poor baby, wonder what you are doing now?

 As it were, his daughter’s welfare being paramount on his mind; he gave scant thought to the impending cruel whipping he’d receive on his return, regardless, just for the heck of it, more than hundred merciless lashes that would incapacitate him for weeks if not months.

Hope you are keeping safe, my poor, precious darling!  Once more raising his eyes to the boundless sky, he uttered a silent prayer for her well-being… Then almost instantly, he shook his head in defiant thought: God’s were blind to the likes of them!

Soon as I’m back, a certain determination ceased him then. Yes, he and his daughter will make good their escape this time, and live the rest of their lives, if need be, in hiding but determinedly safe, safer than being subjected to the impending, unpredictable whims of his brutal, vicious master. If that monster harbored such a thought, an idle threat this time may be, of selling her to the brothel…. A beauty she is growing up to be, the swine may find other fabricated reasons to carry out his vile plan!

From the moment she’d been born, such a dreadful fear had lived in the steward’s heart, and he could not stand by and allow his worst fears, this worst nightmare, to be realized. Such an ill fate must not befall his innocent daughter Yasmin.

As dusk fell, gradually, many of the buyers and sellers began to trickle away, clearing the market, leaving behind the desperate, dispirited souls and empty stalls, only a dim reminder of the day’s noisy bustle.  Occasionally a gusting wind rose up and rolled tumbleweed in a trail of dust down the almost isolated dirt road.  The sky, once a pristine blue, now dressed up in its finery, carrying brilliant hues of purple, orange and red attempting to impress the few idle pedestrians on the way home to fill rumbling bellies.  It was at this point when the sharp eyes of the steward suddenly caught an unsuspecting, impressionable youth’s interested look from afar.

 

(END OF SECTION 1)

                            

                                                                                         ~

THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY - SECTION 4

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

 THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY

SECTION 4

Before their visit to Heaven’s Gate Spiritual Temple, neither Teuquob nor Svein had ever smoked a pipe, let alone this type of ceremonial long pipe. At the start of all the religious ceremonies, during the compulsory cleansing ritual, cleansing of mind, body and soul - in a special room a selected group, including Svein and Teuquiob, were on this day, gathered around a blazing fire.  The prayers duly invoked, the long pipe containing a very specific herbal concoction next was passed round. 

Smoke within and without, filling the contained, restricted airspace had an almost hypnotic effect on those present, ultimately reducing all inhibitions and releasing the constraints of heart and mind. Under these circumstances, a young man with fire in his veins, his innermost desires barely contained, Svein had once, momentarily losing his composure (natural reserve), had fervently gazed at Teuquob, to the exclusion of all else around him.  Sensing the intensity of his feelings, her eyes had been drawn to meet his; consequently, both had been terribly embarrassed and the wash of red visibly spread over (stained) their cheeks.  Stark was relieved to see that this slight infringement (seeming incest) had gone unnoticed in the hall that was dimly lit, save for Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, who gave Stark a knowing wink and a lenient smile (grin).

                                                                         ~

 Following three to five days Stark, Svein and Teuquob had spent much of their time diligently offering suitable prayers to deities, burning incense and making sacrifices to their (seemingly same but cleverly disguised, respective) ancestors. 

His Eminence Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, extending his courtesy, frequently made himself available to guide, direct or simply converse- extrapolating on various topics- with his alleged illustrious guests, chiefly Stark.  Now with all that hectic schedule of prayers, offerings and feasting, the (two weeks) time was simply stolen away.

Then came the paramount, most auspicious night of all-determined by the moon’s cycle, where which the principal prayers would be cited before the representation of the

“All mighty Deity Mahek” in the holiest of shrines. As a rule, in a fastidious (meticulous) religious ceremony that lasted till dawn, all three: Stark, Svein and Teuquob, were conjoined by countless trusted priests who assisted His Eminence Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn.

The thick smoke, rising from countless incense sticks, shrouded the chamber with sweet smelling, undulating clouds that entirely placated all the spirits of this world and the next, souls so emancipated, to drift in heavenly peace.  The monks’ harmonious chants, the chiming of bells and throbbing of drums, and the echoing notes of long, brass horns resounded all night long till cockcrow, reverberating throughout the holy grounds of Heaven’s Gate Spiritual Temple. 

Subsequent day’s prescribed ceremonies, as Svein, Teuquob and Stark prayed together they found themselves bonding closer still, as though of one heart, mind, soul and now, ancestry.

In view all these elaborate, costly ceremonies, Svein felt certain trepidation that they would not be able to meet all the expenses they were incurring. One night, sharing a private time with Stark hence, he subtly voiced this concern.  Deciding that this was neither the time or the place for appraising Svein of the longstanding, covert benefactor’s (and the elaborate network’s) feats (deeds), Stark had simply smiled and gave his assurance in a brief reply, that there were more than enough adequate funds to cover it.  Trusting Stark, Svein rested easier in mind from then on, as did monk Fayet, who had eavesdropped on the conversation.

                                                                                            ~                                                                                                                

Now that the date of their departure had been announced the monk Fayet had become even more obsequious than before in his attempt to secure a good tip from them.  This behavior irritated both Svein and Stark, to the point that they came to view Fayet as little more than a pest and tried their best to avoid having any dealings with him.  On their last night, after excusing themselves early from yet another vegetarian feast, they retired early, ostensibly to gain much needed rest for the subsequent day’s journey. 

 Instead of slumbering snug in their soft beds however, when all was quiet and all the priests, monks and novices, other than the skeleton staff required for overnight duties, were fast asleep, all three at varied intervals, one by one had snuck outside.

In the small hours, Svein unable to sleep, quietly (soundlessly) and resolutely rose from his bed and hurriedly dressed. Carrying stick of incense and paper money for the offerings, he stole through the hallways and made his way stealthily to the Amber Room which contained the shrine of the Deity of Fulfillment and Love.  Unknown to Svein, upon reaching the Amber Room, he had been spotted by Stark, who was quietly seated at the far bench.  Stark was about to accost him, when on second thought, somewhat curious, he opted to remain in the shadows. 

Disappointingly however, distracted or otherwise, Svein had failed to note Stark’s presence, a serious concern, that of which Stark would broach the subject with his nephew later. For the moment setting aside his annoyance, Stark assiduously observed Svein’s actions- as latter carefully placing the lighted incense in designated holder and then burning the paper money offerings, after his subsequent prostrations, knelt upright before the Deity and offered, blushing, his whispered request: May I be united with my beloved Teuquob in blissful matrimony in the not-too-distant future.

What Svein did not know, and could not have guessed, was that he was following directly in the footsteps of Teuquob, who had also just completed a somewhat similar request. 

During the night Stark, a naturally light sleeper, had heard her stirring outside her room and had risen and dressed, in ready anticipation of receiving her to offer usual solace.  Contrastingly however, he had heard her quietly exiting her room; charged with her safety, he’d therefore followed her to this destination.  Not wishing to cause her undue fright or embarrassment, he had though reluctantly, espied on her curious activity. After invisibly escorting her back to the safety of her room, he had then returned to the scene of event to ponder on the concern.

Long after Svein had taken his leave, Stark remained rooted at the spot, going over the night’s incident in his head. 

For a long time, he had resisted the notion of Svein and Teuquob’s union.  His Eminence had even toyed with this concept, during one of their surreptitious conferences, calling him inflexible, unyielding being, as Stark persisted on his reluctance, though in truth he was not altogether averse to the idea.

 Still, how could he in good conscience condone it, when Svein’s uncertain future discouraged any normal course of life’s events: marriage and offspring?   Presently, perhaps because he was softened by the conciliatory amber light or by this pacific, sacred place that’d encouraged the impossible or truer still, swayed by the wholesome atmosphere of chaste love and unsullied affection- that Stark (finding himself favorable disposed,) now contemplated the idea of risking the unfeasible and uniting the two in holy matrimony?

He must have subconsciously anticipated this outcome…. Stark absently nodded his head. Why else back at the mountain abode, would he have contemplated building added provisions to Svein’s quarters, heedful of Teuquob’s expressed wish to stay with them indefinitely?

Now that the decision had been finalized, Stark with lightened heart and spirit, retreated his steps back to his quarters long enough to fetch some incense and paper money. Returning to the Amber Room anew, he lighted the incense and burned the offerings before the same Deity; then going down on his knees, he put forth his frank, silent requests.

In the small hours, as Svein and Teuquob, each snug in their respective beds, with their fancies, imaginations and hopes and dreams merging into one, drifted into blissful sleep, the pernickety fate was made to yield to God’s will- and thus it come to pass that all their prayers were answered.

                                                                                    ~                                                                                

Subsequent morning Stark had another lengthy private conference with Abbot Boqast Tzaneen where which he addressed (tackled) the probability of his charge’s future union, asked for His Holiness’s advice, his blessings and his instructions regarding the (nuptial) ceremony and so forth. 

Late afternoon, Stark concluded all other unfinished business, including donating enough funds (by way of most rare, highly sought after precious metal and gemstones, fortuitously discovered within specific caverns at the mountain) to the temple to cover all incurred expenses and provide a generous gratuity to be shared among the monks.  Lastly at dusk, as he thanked monk Fayet for his trouble, he additionally pressed a very generous sum (gold ingot) into the other’s hand. 

Fayet was beside himself with delight, and his hence unceasing flattery and well-wishes, flooded their ears, exasperating Stark, but at the same time, amusing Svein and Teuquob. 

On their final day, after the lengthy farewells from Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn, and then the assembled many well-wishers, Stark, Svein and Teuquob, their hearts weighed with melancholy, embarked on the long journey back to home.

As the distance was spread between them and the Heaven’s Gate Monastery, with each step, carrying contented hearts and lightened spirits, the return journey, though lengthier, (for as precautionary measure they’d adapted more circumlocutory route), it had felt much shorter, far less strenuous and dangerous.

 Before long they had reached the threshold of their home, and subsequently, returned to the happy, normal routines of secluded (remote) life.

                                                                                      ~

 (This concludes “The Trip to the Monastery”.  New adventures are unveiled in the next post, Legend of Nevetsecnuac - The Wedding.)

 

THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY- SECTION 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “But how did you ever manage it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, what,” Muro remained unimpressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                             ~

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