The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  That was when Marrhit picked up a heavy stick and started hitting him in the face, on his arms, his trunk and on his legs. “Defend yourself, imbecile.” Selot wheeled his head around frantically to seek out his sword which had finished up, who knows where. At the same time he tried to locate where the strikes were coming from. But the flashes of light and the tears of hurt concealed everything.

  “Stop trying to look for your weapon!” Marrhit hissed, “it’s obvious I have put it out of your reach. You move and think like a snail.”

  Selot heard those words between one blow and another, trying desperately to find something to take hold of. He tried to catch a glimpse of Marrhit’s arm movements to grab the stick with his hands, or at least to defend himself, but every attempt was in vain. The stick always materialized where he expected it least, flooring him every time. There was nothing he could do except take the blow that arrived without fail, immediately after. He had been struck scores of times.

  “That’s enough now,” Janavel’s voice was decisive, yet calm. Marrhit did not stop.

  “Marrhit, stop,” the master insisted. The Vetem ceased his flurry of blows. He fixed his eyes on Selot in disgust. He finally finished up with a final hit to his stomach. Selot fell forward, winded.

  “Marrhit!” Janavel reprimanded. The Vetem turned in the direction of the master with a forced smile. “Oh... master Janavel. He’s all yours. I wish you both a lovely evening.” He threw the stick on the broken figure of Selot laying on the ground. “Pathetic. Not even a beginner.” He left suddenly, just as he had arrived.

  The first star of the evening already stood out in the east, in a sky that was still lit by sunset. Spring was pushing the plants up from the ground and buds on the trees, in a frenzy. It often struck Selot that at times he could feel the unsettling and unstoppable hurry of life in spring, on his skin and in his innards. An urgent folly, almost damned in its fight to grow and flourish at all costs.

  At that moment all his efforts were focused on regaining his sight and his dignity. He glimpsed the trunk of a nearby tree. He reached it and sat down, leaning his back against it. He felt his temples pulsing painfully. Master Janavel approached him, but it was only a shadow, a little darker than the rest. His mouth was dry; but he still managed to spit out saliva and blood. He wiped away the sweat and blood from his eyes with his sleeve. The outcome of the fight hurt more than his wounds.

  Janavel echoed his thoughts. “You could not compete with him today. He has trained with us since he was six years old, and he is five years older than you.”

  Selot rounded up his strength and stood up in front of his master. He did this with the help of the tree trunk. His eyesight had not improved. The whole world was nothing more than a blur made up of shadows. He passed his hand in front of his eyes, disbelieving and worried.

  “It will pass,” Janavel said. “Marrhit knows where to strike with extreme precision in order to render the opponent invalid. He is able to incapacitate sight, hearing, word, movement of limbs, and balance. You could learn to do this too.”

  Selot tried to remain on his feet without leaning, but the earth wouldn’t stay still. He felt for the tree trunk with his hand. The blows to every part of his body began to scream their existence.

  “So I wasn’t ready. My training really wasn’t complete,” he said with fatigue. He realized at that moment, a tooth was moving in his mouth. Janavel smiled, but did not say a word. Selot could feel that smile, but he couldn’t see it. Janavel turned to leave. “Master... are you leaving?” he asked bitterly.

  “As always, you must find your own way home, alone.” He added nothing more and distanced himself.

  The village of the Uicics was not far, but with his eyesight practically out of use, Selot didn’t even know if he could find the beginning of the path to return home. His head hurt and he was having difficulties with his balance. He crouched down to look for the stick Marrhit had thrown at him. He got down on all fours and tentatively felt the ground. His hand finally touched it. He took it in his hand and pulled himself up onto his feet. Holding onto the stick and extending his other hand to feel for obstacles, he started moving in the direction that would presumably take him to the beginning of the path. His balance was precarious. The terrain was uneven in the woods, with holes, thorns and boulders that often made him trip. He grazed his legs, his arms and his face. He slipped badly down a small ditch and ended up in water up to his waist. That was good news though. It was a canal that followed the path which took him straight to the village. He lifted himself up onto the bank opposite the canal and found himself on the right path. Once he was out of the forest, the sky was visible. Selot lifted his eyes. Luckily a half moon had risen giving sufficient light, even in his half-blinded condition. Being familiar with the position of the moon in that season, he understood which direction to follow. He walked slowly with great fatigue, guessing every step of the way through foggy vision and nightfall. He remembered that the path broke off onto many minor paths. That is why he stopped at each tree along the way, so as not to mistake it for the main path and abandon it for some other. After three hours he reached the light of the village which appeared out of focus and confusing. He sent a silent thanks to the heavens he was almost there. Bearing in mind the positions of the tiny buildings and the layout of the streets, he managed at long last to reach the door of the hut that he had been assigned. He had enough time to catch his breath, when he was suddenly aware of a threatening presence behind him. His hand stopped where it was, on the handle of the door and Selot held his breath.

  He was certain it was Marrhit behind him. He had headed on before him and lay in wait.

  “You certainly took your time.” The tone of the Vetem’s voice entered his ears like fluid ice that made the hairs of his arms stand on edge. He clenched his fists and turned around. He blinked, but his eyesight had no intention of getting better.

  “Janavel cannot help you now.” Marrhit sneered. “Can you hear that, Selot? That is the sound of your fear.”

  Selot didn’t know what to expect. He had no idea of what Marrhit’s intentions were. He didn’t understand the reason for his evident hate. In his condition, it would be impossible for Selot to defend himself.

  He was defenseless and he knew it. He played nothing more than the role of prey, with no way of escape. He could barely stand on his feet without leaning on the staff, and in any case, his sense of balance would have been of no use if he couldn’t see where he was running to. The greatest disadvantage however, and that which made it most painful, was not knowing anything about his own life, while it was clear that Marrhit knew many things regarding him. Selot had picked up some scattered bits and pieces about his mother the day before, during the encounter he had had to endure in front of the Council. Marrhit, on the other hand, had his roots firmly tied to this place. Perhaps he knew his parents. Perhaps he knew everything about him, whereas Selot was apparently fated to beg for scraps. The oppressive superiority plastered on Marrhit’s crooked smile was proof of that.

  “Yes, Selot, I know everything about you. I know far more than master Janavel and many of the Council members can imagine. Much more than you can imagine.” He stood close, with the intention of making his presence feel as pressing and menacing as possible.

  “I want you to imprint this feeling into your mind,” he hissed; ‘the feeling of being prey’ they thought simultaneously.

  “It will always be like this for you, remember that.” Marrhit read his feelings, even though Selot had veiled his eyes. He held on tight to the walking stick, so he wouldn’t fall.

  “I know what you feel, Selot. I do not need to look in your eyes to reach down into your soul and into your brain,” he went on. “You have no chance of hiding from me.” He leaned in even closer, snickering. He pushed him forcefully against the wall. He searched for the fear through half-closed eyes, but he could not find any.

  “What do you want from me, Marrhit?”

  “I want you to disappea
r,” he answered, after a split second of surprise.

  “You would do better to leave me do the mission on my own.” Selot maintained his calm with great effort.

  “Yes...go to your mommy. Now that the Council has told you your mother is there at the Rotmandi siege, you want to run and save her, to get to know her,” Marrhit’s tone was contemptuous, “but you will be unable to, stupid. You won’t even make it to the borders of that land. Your presence is perceptible miles away. You are only a beginner. The Emissary you call the Hood of Death had caught wind of you well in advance. It was only surprise and fortune that allowed you to defeat him, but you will not be so lucky in the next encounter. You are so naive.”

  Marrhit tore the stick from Selot’s hand, and he could barely keep himself on his feet after losing equilibrium. The Vetem began to poke at his cheeks, forehead, ears, playing with him like a cat does with a mouse in a trap. Selot felt something sharp like the point of an arrow. He was unable to see where the sting was coming from, much like hours before. His added exhaustion had by now stopped him from moving. He tried to defend himself with his arms. He was still pushed up against the wall of the hut so he wouldn’t fall.

  “How can you be certain of what the Council told you?” Selot did not understand what he was getting at. Marrhit gripped the stick at both ends and held it at Selot’s throat, pushing him vehemently against the wall. He pressed his forehead against Selot’s, and breathed in his face.

  “Who do you trust?” he asked him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re so very stupid. Stupid and pathetic. And if the Council is lying? If your mother is not really there? If it’s all just a lie to get you to challenge the Vetems that have besieged the Rotmandis?”

  “You tell me, if you know,” Selot said in a strangled voice. Selot felt his strength ebbing away.

  Marrhit watched him faint to the ground. The eyes of the Vetem sparkled.

  Selot reawakened some hours later, dazed and thirsty. In the dark of the night he got up from the ground. He realized with much relief his sight had returned, and he could stand on his own two feet. He spied the stick with which Marrhit had tormented him, on the ground. He grabbed it angrily with the intention of breaking it in two and throwing it away, but he stopped himself. He examined it. It was marked with his blood in various points. It was heavy and straight. A piece of oak four cubits long, with a three inch diameter. A sharp bit that Marrhit had used to prod him before he fainted, stuck out from one of its knots. He took it inside the hut and placed it at the top of a shelf. He greedily drank water from a carafe and then slowly washed his wounds. He medicated them and went to sleep, overwhelmed by tiredness.

  He was awake before dawn, having slept only a quarter of an hour more than usual. He went over the thoughts of all that had happened the day before. He had to speak to Janavel. He found him around the bank of the lake where they trained every day. The master was carrying out several exercises. Selot approached him, maintaining a respectful distance. He waited for him to finish before taking a step forward.

  “You are late, Selot. I do not permit tardiness, you know that.” Selot didn’t know what to say so he stayed silent.

  “It doesn’t look like you’ve recovered from your encounter with Marrhit, very well.” Janavel threw him the sword. Selot grabbed it by the hilt, but didn’t stand on guard.

  “Master Janavel, I need to know.” There was an urgent blaze in those words that he tried to soften so he wasn’t showing a lack of respect.

  Janavel neared him. Selot allowed his stare to be transparent. Janavel witnessed the fight from the previous evening, and he heard Marrhit’s words, allowing him to learn the facts up till the moment Selot had lost consciousness.

  “Marrhit pushed his provocations too far,” he said. He plunged the sword into the ground.

  “He is right. He does know more than I do. And what’s more, I am not permitted to speak to you about anything.”

  “But you are part of the Council,” Selot objected.

  “Not anymore. I have been expelled.”

  Selot lowered his head. “Because of me.”

  “Because of my choice,” Janavel corrected him briskly. “In all cases, every member of the Council knows only a part of the truth, and it is only those who are leaders who know everything that is necessary to make decisions to govern. It is a system that maintains security of information. I am the least informed regarding your origins. I spent many years far from here, and I was not here when you were born. If you want to know why Marrhit harbors such hate for you, you must ask him. In any case,” he concluded, “the Council has decided that you shall leave together on this mission.”

  “I have the impression I will not survive.”

  “If Marrhit had wanted to kill you, he would have done it yesterday evening.”

  “Perhaps the fact that we are here, where he is under your supervision and that of the Council, stops him.”

  Janavel smiled. “Knowing Marrhit, I do not think that would pose a problem for him. He does not have qualms of this type. And believe me, you haven’t got the slightest idea of the powers he has developed. You must however understand him. It was disconcerting for him to meet you.”

  Selot opened his eyes wide. “For him? He has been here since he was born, strong in his roots of his world. He grew up with parents and teachers who have taught him everything, while I lived with no one, stuck behind the walls of an Abbey. Not even knowing who I was. He has always known of my existence while I know nothing. He is incomparably stronger than me and more evolved than me. He beat me to a pulp and then he suffocated me until I lost my senses. And he is the one who is disconcerted? Janavel had an amused air as he listened to the boy’s complaints. “Yes, Selot.”

  “And why might that be, if I’m allowed to know?”

  Janavel patted his shoulder. “Do not ask me, nor him, but only yourself. Look at you, Selot. Observe yourself. Can you not see the difference between you both?”

  “Quite clearly, I’d say,” he answered ironically. Janavel then laughed heartily. “You’re a laugh boy, really, a laugh! It’s time,” he added, lifting his sword, “let’s get back to training.”

  Selot concentrated on training, but during an attack he was struck by a thought and he lowered his guard instantly. Janavel managed to deviate his swing by a hair’s breadth, almost touching Selot’s skin.

  “Selot, for heaven’s sake, what are you doing?”

  “Is Marrhit my brother?” he asked suddenly.

  Janavel sighed. The day was not destined to be one of training, and he would never have found a way to avoid Selot’s constant interrogations regarding his birth. His desire to know had broken through the eggshell in which he had lived for years, and like a chick, he could never go back.

  Janavel pointed to a giant oak faraway. From where they were standing it was nothing more than a speck of green in surrounding fields. It was the largest tree in the valley of the Uicics. It was difficult to establish how old and how tall it really was. Its foliage was vast. Under its leafy branches the entire village could assemble there and stay in its shade in full summer. “Let’s go there,” he pronounced. They walked for some time, ascending into the valley. When they got to the tree, Selot was speechless. It was enormous. They neared its giant trunk. Around it, the Uicics had built a circular fence, decorating it with flowerbeds. Janavel opened the gate that led inside, and reverently crossed the small threshold. Selot followed him. Enormous roots emerged from the terrain, enveloping them. One could distinctly hear the flow of life in that giant living being. One could perceive it like a deep, rhythmic, visceral vibration. It shook Selot’s heart and made it feel like it was exploding inside his chest. An overflowing emotion filled every part of his body, creating a flow within his torso, joining to that which ran through the tree, through its trunk, its roots and then rushed back into him, to the uncontainable cadence of a drum, the heartbeat of the Existent. He let himself be overcome with the ecstasy.
Janavel knew this place of powerful energy would not be innocuous for the boy. He scrutinized him attentively. Just as he had imagined, Selot was able to perceive the enormous force unleashed by the tree, with a sensitivity superior to that of even the Uicics. He sensed a higher realm of the tree; he felt the energy from the ground itself that supplied the tree with its invincible vitality in that formidable place, even over the centuries as it grew. Selot was connected to the ground through his interior being. The tree was simply a bridge to grasp at the vibrant and infinite source.

  He let him listen for a little while longer, but he couldn’t let him stay there for too long.

  “Can you feel it, Selot?”

  The boy nodded. “Why are we here?” he asked with a hoarse voice, overwhelmed by its power.

  “You need to get closer to your heart and find your inner balance.” Selot had learned to reach his deepest and most united energy through prayer. He’d learned that at Affradatis. In a different way, and yet somehow similar, Janavel had taught him how to reach it through meditation. His energy was but a well of fresh water next to the limitless ocean in which he now felt immersed. He was fighting for breath in front of all that infinity. It was as if he could cross over any edge, and join himself to the stars and the sky, to the mountains, every single blade of grass, to every tiny ant that ventured on its enormous trunk and all of this within a few instants.

  “Breathe. Let it take you, do not oppose it.” Selot however, stiffened. He had the same fear as one who had to dive into a cup of water from a very great height. “Let yourself go, follow it.” Selot closed his eyes and opened his hands. “Can you feel how it lifts you up?”