“Yes.”
“Trust it. Remember this sensation every time someone, whoever it may be, known or unknown, friend or foe, speaks to you of who you are, how and why you were born, and of your parents. They might insult you, lie to you, mortify you, make you feel inferior. But this is the only truth. Can you feel it?” Selot felt the abyssal and primordial force, above and below everything; beyond everything. A powerful and deafening will, but at the same time, benevolent and infinitely compassionate.
“The truth of your existence has nothing to do with your parents. It has nothing to do with that business that took you to the Abbey of Affradatis while you were a baby, but only with the will that you perceive now. Only that. The rest is nothing. It is a weak lantern in front of a hot sun that warms the entire planet. Some people will want you to give grave importance to the flickering flame that goes out at the slightest wind, while you are instead immersed in the light of the sun at midday on a bright, summer’s day. Remember this sun; remember this drum beat that rises up from the deepest part of the earth and makes your heart dance to its same rhythm; it is for this you were born. Harness it and turn it into your own force.”
Selot felt a desire to touch the trunk of the tree; he wanted to be in touch with its energy as closely as possible. He turned towards Janavel, hesitating somewhat. “May I touch this tree? Is it permissible to...one like me?” Janavel nodded. Selot then approached it. He knelt down, raised his hands above his head, and silently asked the oak for permission. The contact was shocking. He rested his front against the tree. He became a part of that vibration which had impeded him from crossing it, only a moment before.
Janavel neared him and whispered:
“This oak does not know the seed from which it was generated, nor does it care. It follows the cycles of the seasons and it lives in the sun and in the earth. It knows that the universe in its entirety has generated it.”
Selot rested his head on his chest, saddened all of a sudden. He lifted his forehead off the bark.
“I’m not ready for this yet,” he confessed to Janavel, and to himself. “I’m not ready to leave the tie that binds me to all the things I don’t know about myself.” It was if he had failed a test. Janavel had brought him into contact with an energy that had no end, but he hadn’t been able to find a way to detach himself from this apprehension.
“Sooner or later you will be ready. Do not ever abandon this feeling.”
Selot removed his hands from the bark. He lifted himself up and turned towards Janavel. He let his eyes become completely transparent to let him witness his gratitude. Something however, darkened the moment.
“Selot...”
“Yes, master?”
“Do not confront Marrhit.” Janavel had read Selot’s intention within his soul, behind the bright rays of his gratitude. And he didn’t like it one bit.
Selot couldn’t answer. He bowed his head.
“Do not confront him,” Janavel repeated harshly.
Before dawn the morning after, Selot made his way to Marrhit’s abode. He positioned himself at the corner of a nearby home, about forty steps away from his front door. He watched as the figure of a very attractive girl slipped away into the darkness. A few instants later, Marrhit appeared at the door. Selot came forward.
“You interrupted something pleasant.” Marrhit had felt his presence and had come out to face him. That damn meddler had ruined the end of the night with his woman, and now, here he was in front of him, lying in wait. He held his stance, ready for the challenge, with eyes as smooth as stone, and impenetrable. Marrhit tried to wedge him into a position of defense, but he was surprised to find he couldn’t. With a few furious steps he stood in front of him, but Marrhit was left open-mouthed. Selot had evoked that immense chasm of emptiness that he had in his heart when he was searching for the peace he’d been denied since his birth. He called it forth, fighting against his own terror, forcing himself to bear the anxious cold that crept over him. When the emptiness was complete, he opened the windows to his soul and let Marrhit fall inside.
Marrhit was winded, but his lengthy training allowed him to pull back in time, just before being paralyzed by the illusion. An instant later he was back in control of his own emotions. He was still deciding how to make this bothersome novice pay, when it was too late. While he had been contained in that solitary instant, seconds away from being lost, Selot had turned the sharpened point of his sword to Marrhit’s throat with a gesture of lightening quick speed. It was a very silent move which he’d been unable to individuate while inside the empty abyss Selot had created. A sword that Marrhit didn’t remember seeing when he had pictured Selot. He couldn’t believe it. He had been defeated in a few seconds. All of those years of training, far superior powers, and the resonant lesson inflicted the day before to place fear in his heart, had not been enough. That wretch had managed to point a blade at his throat. He couldn’t read his intentions. Did he want to kill him? Selot’s expression was very harsh, and it gave Marrhit the impression of being as hard as a granite mountain.
Marrhit kept calm, pushing his anger aside. He evaluated the possibilities. He could attempt a side move with his hip, distancing his head swiftly to surprise the adversary. Perhaps he should risk it. Selot however, was so very focused on him that he would not be able to do it. He felt his concentration like an iron clamp, that gave him no chance of escape.
Selot’s words were unstressed and without emotion. They were used simply to request information without betraying any feeling.
“Are we brothers, Marrhit?”
Marrhit mulled over the question. A question. So, a weakness. A question about his origins. He could use this lever on the crack in the mountain of granite that threatened him.
But at that moment he caved in. Marrhit was aware of it and he cursed. Then the darkness got the upper hand and his conscience vanished.
Selot noticed it distinctly. He felt a quick lightning bolt cross Marrhit’s brain, blocking him out. It was like an electric charge when lightning strikes close or when woolen clothes are rubbed too hard on certain materials. Marrhit looked defenseless. His barriers melted away, evaporated in an instant, but behind this impression he saw eyes which were lost and forgetful. Vacant. A tiny drop of saliva dripped from his mouth. Selot thought it was a trick. Very complex, quite astonishing really. He remained tense, ready for anything. He didn’t move a millimeter. He sharpened his attention, every muscle ready to jump into action. His arm held the sword neatly against Marrhit’s trachea.
‘What the hell is this?’ he thought disconcerted. He could read Marrhit’s mind perfectly, but he could only see a suspended fog. How was that possible? Marrhit’s conscious mind was absent. He didn’t think that was even possible and his senses were on high alert.
“Leave him alone.” A female voice. Selot did not turn his head, nor did he take his eyes off Marrhit. It could be a diversion. His Xàmvetem instinct was at its peak. He could think of nothing else but a trap. He withdrew a long knife from his belt with his left hand. It was enough to hold back the woman who was approaching. Two simultaneous lunges would see them both dead easily. The woman stopped in her tracks. Selot sensed surprise and fear within her. He couldn’t look at her because he held his eyes fixed to those of Marrhit, in alert readiness. He recognized the harmonious shape that had snuck out of his adversary’s house. She must have returned.
“Please,” the woman said falteringly. Selot was aware her fear had increased, with the same level of worry she had for Marrhit.
“Are you his woman?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“He must answer me,” Selot pressed determinedly. He struggled to keep his anger under control. The assassin demon within him was agitated, barely resisting the urge to drive his sword into the enemy in retaliation for his defeat the day before, and the derision that had followed. The woman had probably sensed it because her fear was now becoming pure panic.
“Vetem, I beg you. He cannot tell you anything
now.” That was the moment that Selot saw Marrhit’s fog slowly dissipate and his conscious mind slowly re-emerge. Marrhit blinked and Selot saw that he was trying to understand where he was and what was happening. So it wasn’t a trap after all. Marrhit’s conscience had in truth retreated to some mysterious oblivion for a few moments, leaving him completely unarmed. The woman watched Marrhit with apprehension as he was regaining consciousness after his confusion. He was beaten. She would have preferred to not be present upon Marrhit’s ‘awakening’ bearing witness to his defeat. At the same time she feared for his life. She feared that the young Vetem would kill him and thought her presence and her prayers could keep his homicidal will at bay. Selot followed her emotions to understand everything in detail, keeping his attention vigilant as Marrhit’s conscience returned.
“I cannot promise anything,” he said. He lowered the long knife that was pointed in the woman’s direction, and put it back in its scabbard. “In any case, your presence here will not change a thing.” The woman understood, and left Marrhit his dignity to face his adversary alone. She slipped away quickly, her heart wrought with worry.
Marrhit had come round by now, enough to understand what had happened. He rendered his eyes impenetrable immediately.
“You didn’t kill me,” he said.
“You must give me an answer,” Selot pressed him icily.
“Ah, yes... your answer,” he retorted in his usual contemptuous tone.
“It’s the only reason you are still alive,” Selot pointed out.
“I will concede you this,” Marrhit hissed, “you caught me unaware.” The demon Xàmvetem in Selot couldn’t bear the patience that was keeping him back, with the desire to find out. Marrhit would have understood this, even if he were not a Vetem.
“If you can’t give me an answer, then you are of no use to me,” Selot continued callously, “and so you die.” Marrhit knew at that moment that he would give in. He knew that demon; he himself hosted one just like it; it lived deep inside of him and his brain. He couldn’t hope to get through this.
“I could lie to you,” he attempted.
“No, you won’t.” Selot was honing his instinct, made savage and formidable thanks to his furious demon. The clamp that Marrhit had first sensed before his conscience became suspended, was more tenacious now. Marrhit held his breath through clenched teeth.
“We are brothers,” he said reluctantly, “but only on our father’s side.” Selot heart skipped a beat and he bid the demon goodbye at once. That single sentence had just redrawn the entire world. Everything had to be redefined now. He was suspended in that fragile magic that envelops when life demonstrates its secrets. Of course it was Marrhit who stripped away the magic.
“That whore of a mother came after. You are only her little bastard.”
Selot could not see through the anger.
He didn’t know how to explain why he threw away the sword instead of thrusting it through him at that moment.
“I will kill you with these hands of mine!” he screamed, throwing himself into Marrhit in blind fury. “I will choke every word you said in your own blood!”
Marrhit was much bigger than Selot, taller, and better-trained in combat. Despite this however, he was unable to prevail. They wrangled like madmen, without holding back, each one trying to suffocate the life out of the other with bare hands. Marrhit tried to get near Selot’s sword, but the only response he got was a tremendous kick in the mouth and a knee to his temple which made him stagger.
“You are a villain and a coward,” Selot yelled at him, as he kicked away the sword for good. “You do not know how to win one on one, isn’t that right? You always want the advantage!”
At that moment, both were struck by a searing pain at the base of the nape. Their hands flew to the switches installed from their births, as they screamed. They couldn’t even draw air for breath. Then, they both fainted.
IV
They were awakened with buckets of icy water thrown over them. They were tied to the wall by heavy chains, in what looked to be a cell hewed directly out of a cavern. A tiny ray of light from an opening up high penetrated the restricted space. It was a crack in the overlying terrain. The only way out of the cell was a low tunnel by way of other underground spaces, closed off by an iron grate.
“In the clink, damn it,” Marrhit commented, pulling at his chains.
Selot looked over in the direction of whoever had thrown the bucket of water. It was against the light, but he recognized the outline of the figure.
“Master Janavel...” He got up in a show of respect. Marrhit remained seated, grumbling.
“Selot, you have disappointed me. I expressly asked you to avoid a dispute between the two of you.” He added nothing further, closed the bars of the cell behind him, and went away.
“Boohoo hoo,” whined Marrhit, with the permanent expression of sarcasm plastered on his face. “You disobeyed the master, now you’re in trouble! You won’t be winning the best student award, will you?”
Selot turned on him, hoping the chains were sufficiently long to allow him to strangle him. His momentum was cut short halfway across the cell by a sudden pull at his ankles and wrists.
“Thank the heavens they stopped us, because you’d be dead by now!”
Marrhit did not lose his calm. He searched for a sitting position that was more comfortable. Selot had the distinct feeling that this cell and method of correction was very familiar to ... his brother. On our father’s side, he thought. “One day I will kill you for what you said. And I will rip out this damn switch they have dug in my head with a knife.”
“You will die instantly,” Marrhit commented calmly. I’ve tried it. They’ve used it on me many times,” he added bitterly, hardly hiding the boast. “Once I even got as far as lifting it up with the blade but I saw all the stars in the sky and then I was unconscious for three days. Obviously, afterwards they found a way to make me regret it,” he concluded.
Selot remained seated, his eyes fixed on the thin crack that brought the little light there was, into the cell.
“How long will we be here?” he inquired, certain that Marrhit had had enough experience to answer.
“We’re talking about a fight, I think a couple of days ought to do it.”
“Well, you can start by taking back those words you said before, or I will kill you in two days.”
Marrhit lifted his gaze like one who is with a naughty child, looking for heaven sent patience. “What an outburst... but what do you care? You don’t even know your mother! You’re getting worked up over nothing.”
Selot took in a deep breath and tried to evoke the experience of his contact with the oak tree into his mind. His heart calmed itself at once.
“I do not think even you know her,” he replied quietly, “and how things really are concerning my birth.” Marrhit did not answer. “Hmmm,” Selot ended. “Your insult is worth very little. You’re right. I am getting worked up over nothing.”
“Ah, I must warn you: they do not give food here, only water,” Marrhit said, changing the course of the conversation completely.
Selot rolled his shoulders. “I’m used to going hungry.”
“I’m not. I’m always hungry and I get nervous if I don’t have food.”
They entrenched themselves in silence. Selot followed the imperceptible movement of the faint strip of light on the walls of the cavern. Marrhit’s fingers obsessively traced the rings of the chain, yanking it every once in awhile out of frustration, all the while grumbling. He banged his head against the wall where he was leaning.
From the movement of the slim ray of light, Selot understood that the opening was facing south and that is was mid-afternoon.
Before sunset, they heard the echo of footsteps in the tunnel that came to their cell. Marrhit was stunned. “They’re coming for us already?”
“What does it mean? Is that a good sign or a bad one?”
“Who knows?” Marrhit answered, smiling mischievously.
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They faced two Uicic guards, trained to keep the Vetem stare at bay. Marrhit was put out by this.
“Welcome back,” said one of the two, with a touch of annoyance. Marrhit returned a bow of artificial and exaggerated gallantry in response. The guards detached their chains from the walls but did not remove them from the prisoners’ wrists or ankles. As Marrhit and Selot were led through narrow underground passages, they were made to drag the heavy chains behind them until they reached a place familiar to both of them.
“The Judgment Room,” Selot commented. Marrhit said nothing. It was obvious he knew it very well. There were no lit torches. Two Uicics sat behind a simple table in full view. They were not a part of the Council but simple ‘judges’, a role usually reserved for the older Uicics, chosen for their wisdom and moderation. Janavel stood next to them.
“For heaven sake,” he said as soon as he saw them, “free them.”
“With all due respect Janavel, they are Xàmvetems with a tendency to violent behavior. We must be prudent,” the apparently older judge said. His slow and pompous cadence brought to Selot’s mind the memory of his superior friars at Affradatis.
“I am in control of the switches,” Janavel repeated, “and they have absolutely no intention of hurting anyone.”
“You will assume any responsibility,” said the first, withdrawing slightly from the edge of the table. He placed his hands in his lap, his mouth shaped in obvious irritation.
“As always,” Janavel confirmed. The Uicic guards complied.
“We would gladly occupy ourselves with other business,” the second judge commenced while facing Marrhit, “rather than take care of the excessive behavior that characterizes you. Too often we find ourselves in this situation, and we see now that this new Xàmvetem is following after your brilliant example,” he terminated, turning his inquisitive gaze in Selot’s direction. The Uicics generally did not care much for the fate of the human population which was so far removed and foreign to them. The Xàmvetems, including Janavel, did not belong to the army that defended the Uicic valley. They represented a tiny independent militia through which the Council intended to manage the fragile balance of human politics which was strangely hell bent on its own destruction. To be destined to take care of that matter was certainly not one of the more noble of occupations within Uicic society. Marrhit and Selot were just two hotheads with the aggravating habit of utilizing their Vetem abilities and training to create disorder in an otherwise calm and orderly life in the valley. Unbearable.
The Creed Page 6
