The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  The morning after it was still very dark when he presented himself to his master. Marrhit would arrive a little later.

  “I must teach you a few things about the illness that afflicts Marrhit. It does not occur infrequently. The Uicic medicine keeps any manifestation of his illness under control. Under normal conditions it happens once or twice every turn of the moon. It is, unfortunately, more likely to happen during battle. When Marrhit makes use of his Vetem powers it occurs very easily. It is as if the requirement of battle reinforces it.”

  “We were fighting each other when it happened,” Selot verified.

  “There is a way to anticipate it, to realize it is happening. He can help you to understand it. The world fades and loses its meaning. His sensations become dulled and everything becomes muffled. There’s unusual physical weakness and minor reflexes that precede the actual illness by a few seconds. In that brief arc of time, Marrhit is still in control of his conscience and he can warn you. It is not much, but in the frenzy of the battle it could make all the difference. To make it work you need to be able to read each other very well. He needs to know he can count on you as well as he can count on himself. It all depends on you. This is your task.” Selot listened with careful attention.

  “Marrhit’s Vetem ability to excel, is far better than yours, and yet yesterday morning you managed to get the better of him. This is before he froze. It is an exceptional fact that I am trying to analyze.” Janavel scrutinized the apparent immobile expression of his pupil.

  “This should not give sustenance to your pride...” It had not even crossed Selot’s mind and his expression confirmed it. Janavel was certain of it too. The boy had greater strength than any other person, but he avoided telling him that.

  “Of course, you caught him off guard. This has biased the outcome of the encounter. He didn’t expect you to confront him and he certainly didn’t expect that you wouldn’t be afraid of him, nor that you would go and bother him with your annoying questions in the middle of his amorous nocturnal endeavors. He was obviously feeble when you came,” Janavel laughed. “But even in a free fight under circumstances that are, let’s say... normal, it is not so certain that you would lose. Here’s the thing: I feel like I could bet a silver coin on you at a hundred to one, just to enjoy the show.” Janavel looked like he was having a ball. Selot couldn’t say the same thing.

  “We haven’t got much time,” he said, serious once more, “and in the little time we have, you must learn to fight together. To do that, you must get to know each other inside out. That is why you will train together until the day you are ready to depart. The Council will fix a date for your departure soon. You must act shrewdly. The Congregation is rounding up its forces. We have registered three Xàmvetems fighting against the Rotmandis. One is the General from the army of the North who is ravaging that land with his militia. Two are working in the shadows and are particularly adept at hiding from our Council. After your intervention against the Emissary sent to Solzhaz, they are alarmed and have reinforced their security measures. Now they know we are on their tracks and it will be impossible to catch them unawares.”

  “I understood that Marrhit had already acted against them...”

  “Marrhit was most excellent. He eliminated one without demonstrating himself to the others who were very close by at the moment he struck. No one understood the Xàmvetem had been killed. His death was put down to cardiac arrest. Marrhit managed to keep his presence hidden from them. The Congregation have not realized anything. They suspected the cause of death may not have been natural only after you killed the Emissary a few days later in part of the kingdom far away. Much like a different part of a chessboard but, they connected the two events. Marrhit’s preparation is very polished. More so than the one you started with when you set off for the Hidden Valley. Your involvement was very efficient, but also disorderly and evident. The use of the Cloak allowed you to save your friends, but it also alerted your presence to the whole Congregation. You were visible to all at that time. With your single-minded aim of saving Var and his people, you were exposed, putting all of us in jeopardy.” Selot didn’t realize he had caused such havoc.

  “Marrhit has the advantage of not caring for anything or anyone. He is a perfect killing machine. That is why he is much sharper and a more efficient instrument than you,” Janavel told him. He went on, knowing full well that he was hurting the boy. “You should not have friends among men; not with any other population. Your affection is a weakness. The reasons you went on your first mission and the motivations for accepting this second mission is a source of great concern to us. But I know you will not change them, and the Council does too. We therefore accept the risks that this entails.” Janavel neared Selot and put his hands on his shoulders. Selot looked at him.

  “You must know they won’t have pity on you, my boy. Marrhit is well-versed in that sense. You protect him from his illness and he will protect the outcome of the mission from your weakness shown in your inclination to love others. Be careful, I beg you. If you have feelings for a person, get rid of them. Marrhit could kill them, if necessary. Even your mother.”

  Selot felt his blood pulse in his veins all of a sudden. His sight became sharp and he felt his heart pump with the strength that would allow him to run to the top of Mount Kisov without stopping, and from there, continue down to the borders of the plains of Kennan. He was overcome with an energy he’d never felt before. He was sure he could break a sword in two with his bare hands, and crush a lion in his arms. He clenched his jaw and listened to the force that came up from the ground and down from the sky simultaneously within him. But it wasn’t just a physical force. It was a heightened awareness of his thoughts that was able to fathom everything he had lived in his life, and through all the scenes that made up his future in that very moment. Even his voice, when it came out, was transformed. Perfect in the language of the Uicics, low and vibrant, daughter of an energy, withdrawn from every place belonging to the Existent.

  “That is the reason they expelled you from the Council. Am I right, master?” Selot added, “Because you care for me and this is unacceptable. It is the reason you forgive me nothing; not a move or a gesture while I train, a second of hesitation in reacting or speaking; even thinking.”

  “That is so,” Janavel confessed.

  Selot took his master’s hands, and removed them from his own shoulders. He stepped back. “I will make sure the mission will be successful and I will not hold back. I will defend Marrhit, I will fight as it has been asked of me. The Council may give him the order to kill me if I put the mission at risk. I will let that happen. Me, and no one else.”

  Janavel took a deep breath. He was visibly shaken, bringing his hand to his mouth and his stomach as if he were suddenly ill. “They have heard you, right now, at this very moment. You activated the energy of the ground and you communicated directly with them.” He found it difficult to finish.

  Selot let the powerful flow run through him, and rested in quiet contemplation of his master. Janavel was breathless. He watched Selot as if he were seeing him for the first time.

  Far away dogs were barking and flocks were unsettled in fields. Night time birds had stopped hooting. The morning star lit up its infinite journey. Marrhit, who was making his way to the arena at the edge of the lake for training, stopped in alarm. He turned his head in the air like an animal looking for a faint trace of a smell that can’t be identified.

  Janavel had been overwhelmed by the energy called up by his pupil and he was having trouble regaining his balance. He took another couple of deep breaths, but he still had difficulty in standing on his feet. The young Vetem seemed quite unaware of what he had triggered. He went to Janavel’s aid and held him up, easing the man onto a nearby rock as if nothing had happened. He rested in front of him, waiting, calm and attentive as always, only this time slightly worried too. Janavel composed himself, ignoring the episode. It was too soon to speak of what had just occurred and who knew if they would
have the occasion to do so in the future. In all cases, he pretended it was nothing.

  “There is another element of the mission you must know. It has to do with the Marquis of Atiarav.”

  “Var...”

  “We are afraid the Cumbal might still fall into the hands of the Congregation. We cannot permit a power of that kind to serve them.”

  “I do not know what it is. I climbed Mount Kisov with Var and I know it is... he was guardian of one of the two keys that accessed something. Var confirmed he had destroyed it. He said that in front of a Xàmvetem. How could he hide the truth from him? Had he lied, he would have certainly been found out.”

  “Var of Atiarav learned from the Uicics to defend himself from the watchful gaze of the Vetems, like all descendants of his class. We have an agreement with his family. An agreement made centuries ago because their family was entrusted with the Cumbal. We are not sure he destroyed the key. And now the Congregation is not sure either.”

  So Var and his people are still in danger!” Selot exclaimed.

  “More than ever, Selot. I’m sorry. The Kingdom of Dar, which is manipulated by our enemies, is concentrating its militia of the east towards the western sector: to the north to wipe out the Rotmandis, and to the south to annihilate Atiarav. They want Var at all costs. Even after the Emissary’s failure, they haven’t given up. They will do anything to capture the marquis, including burning every blade of grass in Atiarav and killing every inhabitant. Today however, we consider the priority of our intervention with the Rotmandis, who in the eyes of the Congregation are guilty of having a culture with instruments of knowledge to defend themselves against their power. They fear this information will be passed on to other peoples. The Rotmandis possess techniques similar to ours which can resist Vetem influence, and they are teaching them to others. Many soldiers of the Kingdom of Dar, who have deserted the army, are joining their fight. This is an immediate threat for the Congregation and it must be contained quickly. The Rotmandis are desperate, and we must bring reinforcements, whereas the search for the Cumbal is more difficult and uncertain, and therefore its protection too. Finally, we believe Marquis Var can go on resisting for some time, to keep the secret in his care by hiding it in the belly of his lands.”

  Selot was elaborating this information, when Marrhit reached them with his usual air of disdain. He greeted Janavel and ignored Selot, as if he didn’t exist.

  “Well, Marrhit,” Janavel exclaimed. “We must begin training for two.” Marrhit didn’t bat an eye, but Selot felt electricity in the air. His brother was surely looking forward to getting even after his humiliation the previous morning. It was clear he couldn’t wait to make him pay. With interest.

  “There should be a perfect awareness of each other’s level and method of battle. The fastest way to do this is by direct encounter.” Marrhit’s eyes shone.

  “To the center of the arena!” the master invited them. He called out which arms were to be used. “Light swords only,” he said.

  The two brothers took up their arms and stood, one in front of the other, a distance of five steps away. They squared each other up.

  “Fight!”

  Marrhit immediately unsheathed his sword, waiting for Selot’s onslaught like a snake. They studied one another for some time. Then Marrhit unleashed his attack with a force made irresistible by his desire for revenge. Selot stepped back, finding it difficult to hold onto the hilt of his weapon. With another attack launched, Marrhit disarmed him with such violence that Selot lost his balance. Selot managed to remove himself from the direct line of action, rolling onto his back and picking up his sword; he was ready once more to defend himself. The sword of his adversary fell on him while he was not yet fully on his feet. The twisted maneuver he made due to the heavy blow made him lose his balance again. While falling, he attempted to grab Marrhit’s leg who easily managed to avoid the move. It was easy for Marrhit to repeat the same action, and Selot collapsed on the ground, face first in the dust. Marrhit placed a foot on his temple, pushing harder than what could be considered acceptable during a training session. He placed his sword on the back of Selot’s right hand.

  “Let it go.”

  Selot let go of his weapon. That was when Marrhit kicked him on the chin.

  “Marrhit!” Janavel warned him. “When the adversary is on the ground I do not want blows to be made. On your feet, Selot! Again. Change your guard.” Selot took up his sword with his left hand, and Marrhit, being left-handed, took it up with his right. The outcome of the encounter did not amount to much. Not long after, Selot found himself on the ground. Marrhit grabbed his head and pressed it firmly into the ground. “Eat this dirt and remember you are only a half breed bastard.” Janavel’s disapproval came to nothing. It went on for hours. Selot ended up on the ground scores of times between kicks of contempt, and insults from his rival.

  On Janavel’s indications, they went to a steep slope to experiment with how each one might combat an opponent standing above or below them. The result was always the same. Days passed by like this and Marrhit always had the upper hand. Selot found it difficult to keep up with the pace of training, while Marrhit looked like he was almost bored by the ease of it.

  One day, Janavel made them fight on a giant flat rock, and prohibited them from leaving it. The idea was to understand how each one fought in a very restricted space. At Marrhit’s first launch of attack, Selot rolled to the edge of the boulder and onto the ground, falling badly.

  “Can’t you see? You are a failure.” That day saw the same pitiful scene play out at least ten times. Selot couldn’t defend himself, let alone attack with so little space at hand. His movements were clumsy and his eyes were always distracted by the narrow borders outlining the edge where he fell constantly, and wretchedly. Marrhit on the other hand, had a precise grasp of the space around him and he made the most of it. Janavel asked him to fight blindfolded, but he got the better of Selot all the same. He disarmed him for the tenth time.

  “You’re a waste of space, a piece of rubbish,” he insulted. As Selot was bending down to reach for his sword, Marrhit surprised him with a violent kick which made him fly over the edge of the boulder, and he landed crumpled on the ground. Selot got up with fatigue; he was exhausted and in pain, and an eyebrow was split open. That evening, Janavel ordered Selot to restrain himself. The boy attempted to stop the flow of blood that gushed from his eyebrow, with a rag.

  “Marrhit’s insults make you lose sight of your lucidity. You must learn to ignore it. Can’t you see that after each insult you are weaker and less effective?” Selot clenched his teeth and wrinkled his forehead. “In either case, it makes little difference. I wind up on the ground anyway.”

  “It is essential you learn to dominate it.” Selot’s thoughts went over the days spent in training. Janavel never reprimanded Marrhit when he insulted Selot or when he lost control. Not even when he didn’t follow orders. In the meantime, he was absolutely inflexible with Selot, not allowing him to even move a facial muscle without his consent.

  The following day, Janavel ordered them to take up their swords with two hands. Because the exercise was very dangerous, they both wore heavy protection made out of leather and metal. The master commanded them to stop at the first sign of blood and to avoid the head area. A brief time later, Marrhit struck Selot’s right arm; he dropped the weapon and cried out in pain.

  “Why have you put down your weapon for such a shallow wound?” Janavel yelled furiously with great indignation. Selot picked up the sword from the ground, only to find himself seconds later disarmed once more by a blow that made his sword fly about ten paces away. Marrhit made an expression of disgust. “You are a piece of dung.”

  Selot had received scores of insults that day, as well as those from days past. He had had enough. Marrhit kept on cruelly.

  “Your mother tried to abort you, did you know that? But she got the concoction wrong and you were born; the demented son of a half-wit who was not even able to get rid of
her mistake.” Selot couldn’t swallow that insult as well. He stood in front of Marrhit to challenge him. They waited tensely like that for several moments. Janavel became alarmed.

  “What’s eating away at you, Marrhit? Your mother was frigid, isn’t that true? That’s why our father had to look for someone who could satisfy him.” A river of hate flooded from Marrhit’s eyes.

  “Selot!” Janavel pulled him up harshly, “go and collect your weapon and return immediately to your position!” Selot didn’t move. The demons of the two young Vetems were awake now, ready to maul one another. They were sniffing the enemy like animals before throwing themselves into battle. The demon inside Selot however was in a cage that the boy had forced upon him with the cross over his heart. Janavel knew it. Marrhit stretched out his arm with lightning speed and gripped Selot’s throat with an iron grip. Selot grabbed the wrist at his throat and bent it outwards. He kept his balance. Marrhit let go of his sword and brought his other hand to his brother’s throat. Selot twisted the wrist on that hand too, but neither of them prevailed. It was a test of strength of Selot’s fight for survival, made terrible by Marrhit’s hate. Janavel did not tarry, and asked for the Council’s immediate intervention, through the channels of communication to which he was connected. The Zav switches were activated. The two Xàmvetems let go, screaming in pain. Marrhit moaned in frustration. An infuriated Janavel put himself between them. He commanded Marrhit to distance himself. Marrhit felt the switch at the back of his head sizzle, ready to be reactivated at any time by the Council. He threw a look at Selot swearing to kill him. Once he was far enough away, Janavel jerked Selot forcibly.

  “I do not want to hear anymore insults come from your mouth. Your behavior is inadmissible! I do not want to see you react to his insults ever again!”