Beneath the silence was the burning breath of the torches. The long, silent waiting he was forced to endure was perhaps a studied attempt to increase his agitation. If this was the objective, he couldn’t deny it was effective. At a certain point a male voice spoke up which, despite the distance, was perfectly audible:
“You performed as we expected. You eliminated one of our most feared enemies, and you have returned as promised. Your behavior has been fitting,” he said coldly. Selot’s heartbeat sped up. They must have read the account he had written. His encounter with the Emissary, the sacrifice of the many men and women of Atiarav. The blood of his friends had only been sufficient because the Council considered what had been done, ‘fitting’.
“We expect you to proceed with the mission for which you have been designed.”
The energetic and crystal clear voice of a woman spoke out:
“The Xàmvetem rebels are making a strong alliance that they call ‘The Congregation’, and we fear they want to rush their plans to conquer now that you have killed the Emissary. You have drawn their attention. They are preparing to oppose us in a well thought-out and violent manner.”
This was something that had not crossed his mind.
“They are established in the centers of power in the Kingdoms of Dar and Kennan. They plan on overthrowing the reigning kings who are increasingly weakened and drained, and who plead with their emperor. If that happens, the kingdoms will collapse into a dark and violent defeat. Peoples’ freedom is at risk.”
“But... how many are there?” Selot asked. He was having a hard time trying to get a full grasp on the situation.
“We do not know for certain. We estimate about twenty, at least the ones we can identify. We cannot exclude that some of them are so powerful they are able to hide from our view. They have the command of armies and many governors of all major cities in their hands. However, some cities have networks of men who have not yet come under their influence. There are lands inhabited by populations that are not willing to come under the tyranny of a central power. Like Var of Atiarav, they could make for important allies.”
Selot tried to reason as quickly as possible. It was a matter of balancing governments in the known world. The job sounded like it was too big for him.
“The elimination of the Emissary of King Lotar has only slowed down their plans of dominating the north west, but for the first time ever, they understand that a strong force which opposes their schemes exists.”
Selot tried to rationalize.
“Which army have you at the ready?” he asked in order to find a logical thread to all he was hearing. He could feel their apprehension.
“We have decided to put a few Xàmvetem contenders into action. Our techniques are imprecise nevertheless,” another member of the Council responded at that point, and then went on:
“These are risky techniques, but on the other hand the objectives we had hoped to reach were very ambitious. It wasn’t easy to choose beings with the necessary characteristics to efficiently face the Xàmvetems who are not under our control. After successive failures, we stopped altogether, fearful of committing graver errors which could not be remedied.”
“I don’t understand,” Selot objected, perplexed.
“Of the five fetuses we generated from women, three died in the womb, one was born powerful but... unstable. The fifth is you, taken from your mother and hidden. We have not yet had time to ascertain the result of this last hybrid. Now that destiny has brought you to us, we still have reservations and we realize your birth does not correspond to the requisites we hoped to reach. In the meantime, we have trained and instructed the fourth, who has been ready to serve our purpose for some years now.”
Selot began to feel the anger pulse through his veins.
“Let me understand, lords of the Council,” he said with mocking respect. “You have packaged five specimens, of which three were miscarried, one is defective and one is not at the level of your expectations.”
“Yes,” the voice behind the torches replied simply. They are crazy, Selot thought. “And with what other means do you intend to lead an offensive against the Congregation? They are seated in the highest centers of power in the kingdoms and head the kingdoms’ armies? What army have you gathered? You have lived in your highest mountains in retreat for centuries, far from it all! Which military strategies have you adopted? How do you think to reach the powerful beings who are ready to confront every incursion?”
“We do not need to face the armies, but to drive out devils. You were born for this reason.” Selot’s heart leapt in his chest. He had been led here to this circle of fire, like the accused ready to receive his sentence.
“We calculated that a few Xàmvetems of the second generation would be sufficient. The old ones did not raise a second generation for themselves to carry on with their foolish plan. They intend to extend their life spans forever, with powers obtained by black magic. To ensure their own safety and that of their irrational machinations, they have not raised up a team of followers. They have not given life to a militia. They react as individuals. They subject people, functionaries, kings, and armies to their will, simply when they need to. They answer only to the internal hierarchy of the Congregation. They plan on wiping out any resistance of the people to then confront us, the foundation of their origin and the only ones who can stop them. Their weakness lies in their individuality. They are like parasites that live in the bodies of others without having one of their own. In this case, the bodies are the kingdoms; they gain power and suck life from it for their own means of survival. They are horrendous ticks that suck the blood out of the animal that hosts them, until it is killed. It is this fundamental weakness that made us decide to develop a limited number of Xàmvetem rivals. We have programmed the births at a distance of a few years apart, to evaluate the outcome of each one, and to correct any errors in the following one. We calculated that three or four years would suffice. A perfect solution to eliminate each powerful yet solitary individual. Very few dedicated Vetem warriors, all trained for one purpose.”
“To be pure assassins,” finished Selot tersely. No member of the Council passed comment on what Selot had said. The truth was far too obvious to be underlined.
“Not that perfect, though...” he added, trying to scrutinize their faces in vain from behind the barrier of torches that separated them. Dense smoke rose above the torches and began to make the air heavy. On the other hand, the Council was sitting in a comfortable and airy corner. From their positions they could observe Selot and his every movement and expression under the light of the torches.
“Unfortunate, yes,” confirmed a component of the Council, who was sitting at the center of the table, presumably the leader.
“What is wrong with me?” He was aware of alarm emanating from them, a ripple of wary surprise. Perhaps they thought he already knew. Nobody answered though. Selot lifted his eyebrows and pursed his lips slightly. “Is it that embarrassing?” he asked casually, feigning less importance than he really felt.
“What is wrong,” he continued in the hope of keeping their minds on the topic at hand, “aside from the fact that I can’t have children because I am a hybrid of the species?”
“Whether or not this is the case, you are in the condition to confront the remaining Xàmvetems and carry out your mission,” the one who seemed to be leader abruptly broke off, ignoring his question altogether.
My mission, so that’s what you call it thought Selot with rage.
No one could choose for him.
“I faced the Emissary of King Lotar simply because he threatened the survival of the Marquis of Atiarav and his people. That for me was a personal matter. The fact that it happens to coincide with your political goals is irrelevant to me. From now on you cannot count on my collaboration.” He coughed. The air was becoming impossible to breathe.
“You have not changed your position from the last time we met?”
“No.”
Sel
ot readied himself. His thoughts drifted towards that of the Zav switch inserted at the base of his nape, the mysterious object inside of him and through which the Uicics could control his body, and everything from physical sensations to vital organs. He was certain they would use it to remind him that his space and freedom was nonexistent. He remembered the painful sensations they had once inflicted, very well. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth in anticipation. He had made the decision to not give in. The bloodthirsty, out of control Xàmvetems could kill each other and all of humanity for all he cared. He only wanted to follow his dreams. Or else die and rid himself of the world he had been catapulted into, with this destiny which was a curse.
He waited at length, but nothing happened. He opened and closed his fists to keep his concentration under control, quite certain they were waiting for the moment he would least expect the pain to begin. He imagined the wait was part of the torture, because it was becoming ever more unbearable.
“We would like to dedicate several minutes for reflection,” an icy voice finally said.
Selot held his breath. He waited cautiously. Then:
“For many centuries, in the lands beyond the borders of the Kingdom of Dar, there lives a pacific and evolved people called the Rotmandi. They are not evolved technically or commercially. Their way of life is very similar to ours, simple and in deep contact with the Existent. They live by farming and gathering, at one with the land. They have peaceful relations with one other and they cannot conceive violence. They love the sun and natural elements. Their religion is based on friendship and reciprocal respect. They have a very articulate language, and literature too which descends from ours and remains similar in structure. It expresses their thoughts and feelings harmoniously and deeply. They preserve what they know in giant libraries, the only buildings which have been constructed to resist time. These are built in stone with a unique and astonishing technique. They are a species unto themselves, not man, not Uicic. We have been in contact with the Rotmandis for time immemorial. The two peoples exchange knowledge and techniques in a spirit of sharing.”
“I have heard of them before,” Selot interrupted. It looked like the Zav switch had been postponed for the time being. “But I always thought they were a primitive people.”
“They do not build cities and they do not construct weapons for war. They do not have a complex social structure like that of mankind, and they do not have commerce. They only make what is absolutely necessary, such as essential clothing and they do not know what pomp, luxury or superfluous actually are. They have no understanding of the accumulation of wealth. Their jewelry consists of objects, stones and gems that are found on their lands, and they wear them as they find them. They limit themselves to habitations immersed in the forests. They live in communion with all living beings. To the eyes of men who have lost almost all contact with the Existent, they look like primitives. They have craftsmanship which allows them to make wonderful books of which mankind knows nothing. Volumes which are finely detailed, decorated and created with superb technique. You can call them primitives, if you insist, but I believe you will see this word has two very different meanings.” Selot was ashamed of what he had said.
“The Rotmandis are a race descended from the Uicics. They settled in the north many centuries ago, giving life to its own lineage, an entirely different species. They have lost a few traits, for example they cannot breed Vetems, unless it is a hybrid breed with a Vetem Uicic. They have conserved the same physical characteristics as us. Your mother belonged to this people.” Selot was breathless upon hearing that revelation. He held his breath and listened to every syllable and inflection of the words that followed, in the hope the Uicic would reveal more information about her.
“An independent people with a vast knowledge of nature, on living beings and the art of medicine. Much of what we know comes from them. Healers from Rotmandi have no equal. There is no illness or infirmity they are not able to cure or relieve. They know how to calm pain and accompany one towards death without suffering. The Rotmandis are in perfect harmony with the Existent; from it they draw a vital life force and empathy for every living creature. Asheeba carried out her apprenticeship with them. We speak of this to you because she informed us of your natural inclination towards medicine.”
Selot listened as carefully as possible, although the fire and the black smoke from the torches were making the air thick and difficult to breathe.
“Some Xàmvetems are moving an army towards them with a very precise aim to conquer. Contrary to us, they have not developed a system of underground tunnels and livable caverns in which to hide. They are almost defenseless. The Congregation aims to eliminate them because they represent an intolerable resistance. Above all, they wish to eliminate all their knowledge from the face of the earth. They want to burn their libraries and kill their wise men, so there will be no trace of the culture that has illuminated the world for centuries.” Selot held his breath. “They are resisting stoically,” the voice continued, “they are not overpowered yet. They must defend their knowledge from extinction. They fight not only for themselves and their very lives, but also to preserve the techniques and knowledge they maintain for the well-being of all people. They know nothing of war and battle. We know they are doing their best not to succumb. They are defending themselves with the help of a few escaped warriors who seek refuge with them. These are the ones who have deserted the Kingdom of Dar and now fight by their side. Unfortunately they arrived late and wearied, and won’t resist long.” Selot was taken aback. He had received remnants of precious truth. His mother was a Rotmandi healer. He pictured her in action, near sick or wounded people, ready to help. It was as if he could almost hear her heart, feel her worries, sense her will to do whatever was possible to cure, relieve and comfort. He pictured her with a beautiful smile and he felt a tremendous loss. He suddenly felt akin to her, sharing the same spirit. He sensed the emptiness of all the kisses, caresses and embraces he’d never received from her; her glances, smiles, sweetness, and teachings. He felt the emptiness of all he never knew, all that he’d been missing his whole life.
“Is she still alive?” he asked with his heart in his throat, imploring with his eyes to give him an answer. They ignored him.
“It is evident your propensity and your strong motives come from her. This is the point that renders you inappropriate in our eyes. It represents your greatest limitations in your potential to ...” the Uicic did not know which word to use.
“... to kill,” finished Selot for him, “yes, now I understand. I am very sorry for you,” he said, clenching his fists. “I ask you, please tell me if she is alive,” he asked once more. Seconds of silence went by. Selot felt like he had no more air to breathe, nor strength in his heart to make it beat. “I beg you,” he added, his voice catching. He feared the worst. He didn’t think he could bear knowing she was dead so suddenly after imagining her first alive and splendid.
At the table, one of the Council members stood up. Selot’s intuition told him it was a male figure. He approached the circle of fire so his features could be distinguished by the light. As soon as he recognized him, Selot bowed deeply, as he had not done previously to the entire Council.
“Master Janavel, you ... you are one of them.” The surprise was mixed with disapproval. His master, the one person after Var who had helped him see the world and his life as it really was, was part of that hostile power that wanted to drag him far from his nature and condemn him to a terrible life.
“Janavel!” the leader thundered from behind the table, jumping to his feet suddenly. “This behavior violates our rules!”
Janavel was not perturbed. He smiled at Selot.
“By now you know well, my boy. You answer to your conscience and your conscience alone. It is futile to contrast your will which is stronger than rock. You have sufficiently demonstrated that. Your young age deceives solely those who do not know you.”
“Janavel, that is enough!” the leader called h
im once more, his voice laden with anger.
Janavel entered the circle of torches and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. The Council clamored, scandalized. “You dishonor us!” more than one member said. They had never seen anything of the kind. Selot was alarmed. Janavel had lowered himself to Selot’s level standing there with him, compromising the authority of the Council and violating the iron-bound rules of anonymity. He knelt down immediately so as not to be at his level. He was trying to calm the councilors.
“Selot, reflect,” the master began with a tranquil voice. “What you are does not depend on what will happen to you or what terrible circumstances you may be forced to live, but how you actually confront it all. Your heart will know how to discern, and it will lead you along your road, even through these very flames of hell.”
“Janavel... why me?” Selot asked desperately.
“That is a question that does not make any sense. You just are. The Existent has pronounced your name linking you to this life, therefore it has judged you to be worthy to live it. Now it’s up to you. Do not look for blame or cause: they do not exist; they are alibis made by those who are unable to look carefully into their own soul. Look closely into the emptiness which has blocked you.”
The Creed Page 3
