Lya placed a hand on his lowered head and declared the sentence of rite.
“Let us thank the heavens, the earth, all life, and every day which is born. Let us be grateful to those who love you, and to those who hate you, to your friend and to your enemy; to the waters that quench your thirst, and to the same waters that lash you in the storm; to the fire which warms you, and to the same fire that burns you. Rise to the excellence of your task.”
“I will,” Selot promised determinedly, and he got up.
Lya discharged the artisans, thanking them for their fine products. As they went away, Estela threw him a laughing look which made him redden once more.
“You have learnt our language well,” Lya told him proudly.
“Thanks to you, teacher,” Selot replied. Lya asked Janavel with a simple gesture if she could have a few minutes alone with the boy. The weapons master distanced himself straight away with a polite bow.
“Let me give you one last warning,” she said with her pure expression. “Beware of Marrhit’s voice. It could be lethal more than his swords. Everything within that man has been created to kill.” Selot lowered his eyes. “And so have I,” he murmured.
“Like everything, it depends on our choices,” she responded with a suddenly worried disposition. “You are profoundly different. Marrhit was my student, like you. I know every vibration of his voice and I know how he can use it. I know which intentions he is able to use it for. He has made it a lethal weapon.”
Selot bowed and thanked her. He would make good use of this information.
That evening they celebrated the beginning of summer and after dinner, giant bonfires were lit which the men had spent the whole day preparing. They were sacred fires and there was to be a special event held that night. That is what Estela said during dinner, making him curious.
It was the solstice and fires were lit when the sun set, which was quite late. Selot saw that the men and the boys of the village were warming up in front of the giant pyres. The blacksmith who had forged his weapons called him over to join them. Marrhit was joking around with others, not far away.
At a certain moment, the women positioned themselves beside the fires, their eyes bright. They laughed and exchanged comments regarding husbands, boyfriends, and the boys who were still single.
Lya handed out a pair of trousers and a white shirt with a colored belt to each of the participants. Everyone put them on. Like the others, Selot got into his party costume.
“What are we doing?” Selot asked those next to him.
“We’re going to jump the bonfires!” everybody answered him. “Jump and get chosen by your woman!”
Selot lifted an eyebrow. He started to think this might be fun. He soaked up the exciting, party atmosphere. He felt great, and decided that whatever was involved, he would give it his all. He understood it was a ritual to impress the women, in the hope of impressing the right woman. He searched for Estela amid the groups of females beside the big fires. He found her and smiled. Estela jumped for joy and pointed him out to the friend who was standing next to her, and waved to him.
Lya gave the signal with a giant horn.
The voices died down and the sense of tension and expectation rose.
A group of old men and women began beating drums. The evening air vibrated. Men shouted to the heavens in time with the drumbeat. The bonfires were of different dimensions, in order of the smallest to the biggest. The fifth one and the largest, had not yet been lit.
“Watch how it’s done!” the blacksmith yelled, putting himself in front of the fires. The men gave themselves space to run and jump, trying to leap over the flames without getting burnt. Three or four jumped over at a time.
There were no rules to follow. Anyone could jump when they felt like it, and lined up in front of the bonfire they wanted to challenge. The women encouraged the men. Asheeba was there with some of her apprentices. They had ointments ready, which made Selot understand that getting burnt was a risk one had to be willing to take. She too enjoyed watching the men jump, and applauded.
Selot observed the jumpers for a few minutes, to understand if there were any rules, or techniques to use. But he saw that everyone simply chose the best way that suited them. The youngest boys and the older men chose the smallest fires to leap, receiving the same amount of cries of congratulations as the ones who leaped the bigger ones. There were some female body guards from the tiny army of the Uicics who also participated. Selot admired them and clapped for them, but he only had eyes for Estela, whose gaze followed him wherever he went. Marrhit performed his first jump, choosing the biggest fire straight away. When he backed up allowing space to run, everyone looked on expectantly. He ran with a moderated pace, without any apparent breathlessness, took a very long jump, well above the flames, and landed by doing a somersault at the end. He lifted his hands to receive his well-deserved applause. The men studied the language of the flames, and passed comment on the strength of the breeze. Thinking that Selot was hesitant, the blacksmith approached him, “The flames sometimes die down, and sometimes they come alive. Finding the right moment to jump is an impossible act,” he said in amusement, “in the end, you must decide to jump and that’s it.” Selot smiled and nodded. He decided to tackle the biggest one. He took a long run and jumped agilely over the obstacle. While he was midair, above the ardent heat of the bonfire, he grasped the full meaning of that ceremony. It was an ode to life, and an ode to the courage needed to cross it. It was a cry to the heavens to affirm that one was alive. It was happiness in coming into the world, and the desire to live it fully. When he landed, he amused himself by jumping even the smallest ones. He too received applause, shouts of ‘Uch’ and admiring glances from Estela and other girls. It was a sweaty affair. Men could drink from stone basins nearby, and many dipped their heads underwater. On occasion the flames went too close to an arm or a leg. More than one person received a burn mark to the skin that year. It was often just a case of not jumping high enough or long enough, but they were usually only minor burns that Asheeba and her pupils healed with no trouble at all. Lya sounded the horn. The jumpers stopped their run-ups. They were all quite tired. Many said their goodbyes, renouncing any wish to go on, and went and took their place among the spectators. A group of young men, a few army guards and Marrhit and Selot remained.
A group of elders lit the biggest pyre of all, which roared into life quickly with a great crackling. The ones who remained drank copious amounts of water from the stone basins, getting their breaths back. Marrhit had jumped far more than the others, and he didn’t seem in the least bit tired. Selot knew him well by now and wasn’t surprised, while others wasted precious air underlining his incredible resistance.
The bonfire was remarkable. It instilled awe. Lya waited for the whole thing to be aflame before signaling once more with a sound of the horn, that jumping could begin. A few of the men, after weighing it up, shook their heads and renounced even trying, making it clear that whoever stayed was out of their minds. It had been built much too big this year to think that it could be leapt without getting burnt. They accepted their applause and left the run-up zone. A young man, a Uicic guard who had stood out earlier thanks to his exceptional jumping style made an attempt. He took a very long run-up, but once he reached the heat of the fire, he halted. The flames had sent off a burst of heat that had quenched his desire to continue. He too left; a woman met him, embraced him and kissed him. Apart from Marrhit and Selot, there was only one other left; a young man with a very athletic physique. He decided to give it a try and set off at full speed. He jumped well. His take off was very good and it took him past the fire, but the pyre was too high and his legs were immersed in the flames. The trousers, already warmed by previous leaps, caught fire. As soon as he landed, some friends were already at hand with buckets of water. The burns he suffered were not serious. Everybody praised his courage. Selot judged that he himself could not do much better. He was therefore certain that Asheeba’s providential ointments
would come in handy before too long. He hoped to find the right moment and a little bit of luck too. Marrhit’s hand made a gesture of ‘be my guest’. Selot nodded decidedly. Everyone knew they were Xàmvetems and took it for granted they would both want to prove their exceptional abilities. Estela, the blacksmith and the tanner were ready on the other side of the pyre with buckets of water. They lifted them up to show him, laughing and encouraging him. He moved well back from the fire for room to run, looked at it for a few seconds, spotted the point on the ground where he would take off with his right leg, and then gave himself the silent go ahead. It was a good jump, he lifted his legs as high as he could go, but it was not enough to avoid the flames, which bit at his feet and calves. The speed with which he leapt however was to his advantage and he made it to the other side, almost unharmed. He recognized the smell of burning skin and felt the heat of the devil on his legs. His pants smoked and fumed but had not caught fire. Despite this, Estela and the other two men threw buckets of water on him as they laughed, drenching him from head to toe. Selot smiled and raised his hands to accept the applause. Estela went to him and kissed him, unsurprisingly on the lips. Selot was speechless. His face, which was already red from the heat, turned a shade of purple.
“Come to me tonight.” Everyone around them laughed pleasantly at this very public proposal. They clapped and whistled to celebrate new love born during the summer fires. Selot could have collapsed in that instant because Estela had made her eyes transparent and he saw what she had in mind. He felt beads of sweat on his forehead and his overheated body. His lips were suddenly dry and he couldn’t get a word out. He distanced himself from the bonfire, finally joining the audience.
It was Marrhit’s turn. The drums picked up their frantic rhythm to encourage him. The audience clapped in time with the vibration of the drums. Marrhit did a few practice jumps on the spot, then he threw himself at the pyre. The run-up transformed into a series of somersaults which increased in height at the end of each one, until the last somersault pushed him as high as height of two men; he flew over the pyre, clearing the flames well and truly. He turned his body with the twist of an arm. Finally, he landed on his feet gracefully, and well away from the bonfire. Selot was left open-mouthed. He would never have imagined something like that could be achieved. The audience threw up a cry of ‘Uch’, proclaiming Marrhit winner of the bonfire leap once again this year. Selot recognized the woman who went to Marrhit and kissed him. It was the same woman he met the morning they had brawled. Marrhit did not have his usual fierce, sarcastic expression. Selot thought he might be in love and knew what it meant to have one’s heart at peace. The evening finished with dancing and drinking. When the fires were extinguished, each one returned towards home. Estela was easy to find in the crowd.
The next morning, Selot was on time for his training at the bank of the lake.
Janavel was observing the still waters. He joined him, standing a step away.
“You will leave tomorrow,” Janavel said. Selot held his breath. The moment for which they were preparing had arrived.
“Use this day to rest and pray. He turned towards Selot with a conspiratorial smile. “You made an impression on Estela,” he told him, “well done. She is a generous girl with a strong character. An excellent craftswoman. And she is already a wonderful woman. She has chosen you; she’s been watching you for awhile. I don’t think you’ll be able to get rid of her too easily.” Selot looked away. He was very embarrassed.
“I didn’t see you at the fire festival yesterday,” he said, to avoid any awkwardness.
“I wasn’t far away. I enjoyed the festivities, observing your leaps and your conquest.”
Janavel looked at him, serious all of a sudden. “You are now an adult Xàmvetem. Look at the warrior you have become.” Selot was aware of the hesitation in his voice, and a commotion he did not recognize. “You are like your father.”
The boy’s heart leapt in his chest. “But you still can’t speak to me of him, is that right?”
Janavel nodded. “I am not permitted.”
Selot clenched his teeth to keep his frustration at bay. The truth was a ghost that fled from him every time he thought he’d glimpsed it. He knew that Janavel had already paid a price for revealing too much. He was almost certain that as well as being expelled from the Council, he had also been subject to other consequences he had not mentioned.
“Marrhit and I are not yet ready to fight together. He does not trust me. He will not allow himself to be helped by me.”
“We have no choice,” Janavel objected. “It must work. You must act as if everything depends on you and you alone, and you must put your trust in the wisdom of God, that he will find the necessary roads for us. The Council has given you a task to be his shield and his armor bearer. You must protect him. He is able to bring the mission to fruition. You will have opportunity well enough to see why the Council has entrusted him with command.”
Selot felt his anxiety increase. The secondary circumstances of the mission were uncertain, and details hadn’t been communicated. He could feel thorns in his heart at the idea of leaving in the service of Marrhit, and for the undertaking in general.
“I need a big dose of courage.”
“Don’t give yourself too many airs, boy. Courage is only the knowledge there are no other acceptable alternatives. That which is acceptable or not depends entirely on our objectives. You have the objective to make sure Marrhit gets close to the unscathed Xàmvetems who are besieging the Rotmandis, and to fight by his side to ensure their elimination. Anything else is unacceptable. The bravery you must have is simply a consequence of this fact.”
Janavel wasn’t very sure he should add something more.
“Aside from the mission...” he halted. He seemed to hesitate. His tone had changed; it had become more serious.
Selot tilted his head, waiting. Janavel finally made up his mind to talk.
“An antique legend of men speaks about two brothers at the beginning of time. The eldest one hated the second born, who was also entrusted with the most onerous of jobs, that of taking care of the earth and collecting its fruits. The elder was invidious of the divine grace that lived within the younger one’s soul, and so he killed him.” Selot closed his eyes. It was the most direct warning he could give him. Who knows for how long the master had kept this weighing on his heart. Selot felt no fear.
“I know this legend very well, but I’m a different story altogether.” He said it with a certainty he definitely did not feel. Janavel changed the subject straight away.
“Asheeba would like you to say goodbye before your departure and you must demonstrate a few important things,” Janavel went on. Selot nodded and bowed to take his leave. The master held him back by the arm.
“The Council only just permits your contact with the First Healer; they are afraid her influence will take you far from your mission.” At the same time Janavel pronounced the word ‘mission’, Selot said the word ‘damnation’ overlapping the very word with that of the master, louder in tone, looking at him with a flash of rebellion in his eyes. Janavel raised an eyebrow, indicating strictness. It was a serious lack of respect to replace a word with another, even more so when it was between master and pupil. He fixed him with an icy stare He lifted his arm to give him a resonant slap. Selot opened his arms wide ready to accept it. He hadn’t meant to show Janavel disrespect, but he didn’t regret what he’d thought. He was motionless and silent. He had declared his truth over that which had been decreed by the Council: his existence to a predetermined destiny. Janavel had understood the meaning of his insubordination very well. He knew that Selot was very hard on himself, much more than anyone else could possibly press on him. After reaching his goal however, he reacted without hesitation or regret. Janavel would not hit him.
“Go. Prepare your spirit for tomorrow. I will wait for you and Marrhit at dawn, at the beginning of the path that leads towards the caves that access the valley.” There was nothing more to a
dd.
Selot went to Asheeba. The woman lived a little out of the way, in a stone house that included a herb-making lab. He found her there, busy making some ointments. As soon as she saw him she smiled widely. She invited him onto the little porch and offered him some fresh water with elder flower syrup.
“Are you scared?”
“Not for myself,” Selot responded.
“Naturally,” Asheeba commented. “There are many terrible events occurring,” she continued. “The Congregation is growing strong and wary. The centers of political power of the Kingdom of Dar are in their hands. It is believed that dark and difficult times are ahead in the lands of mankind.”
Selot felt his breath quicken, cut short by anxiety for the destiny of Var, his friends, and for the mother he had not met yet. That sentiment hit him as much as the news of their imminent departure. His training period represented a type of inlet where the thoughts that oppressed his heart had taken refuge. The festivities of the night before had been the most magnificent eulogy to life he could possibly imagine, which had all come to an ecstatic and inebriated end with his nocturnal encounter with Estela. He had experienced a sensation of complete belonging, of bright, fulfilling happiness. Every sufferance faded away, leaving him with a view of the new world, of himself, and of his life. And it had all lasted but a fleeting moment in the stars of the sky of the solstice, the shortest night of the year. The contrast of this sensation pitted against that of the anxiety that he felt now, was tremendous.
“Marrhit and I cannot be the only answer,” he said, trying to contain his breathlessness.
“You are not,” Asheeba responded, but gave no other explanation to her affirmation. “You are entrapped by this destiny of a warrior, but your heart is one of those who helps, of one who takes care of others. You are a healer, do not lose yourself.”
“How can I be, if that for which I am called is the exact opposite?”
The Creed Page 11
