The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  They remained in a corner of the square next to the cart and the horses, and spent the next few hours carefully watching the changing of the guard, the coming and going of the palace officials, and the chaotic goings on of the market. In the meantime, Marrhit was also working on a few acts in his head to perform for the private show. He sent Selot off to procure a trunk about two cubits in diameter, and another dozen logs of smaller dimensions, but big enough for a man’s foot to stand on. Selot didn’t even bother asking why. He had seen an ax in the cart. He grabbed it and spent the rest of the day chopping trees around the walls of Solzhaz. He got rid of the roots on the logs and evened them out so that they wouldn’t fall over when placed on the ground. To transport them, he paid a small fee to a farmer for use of his wheelbarrow. Marrhit weighed the logs one by one, dwelling on the biggest one. He nodded, satisfied. He ordered Selot to procure an ember that had been blackened by fire. Selot scoured the city and came back a while later, having satisfied his brother’s request.

  Towards evening, the merchants disassembled their stalls and headed towards the gates of the city to go back home.

  The wait was starting to press on them. At the very start of evening, three guards came and gave the orders for them to follow. They took their horses by the halters and set off behind them towards the great doors of the palace. They found themselves in a giant courtyard where they could leave their horses.

  The captain of the guards came and squared them up with a superior air.

  “Dinner will take place in the garden. Start preparing your...things” he said, with certain disgust, “more orders will follow. And remember to be on your best behavior in line with where you now find yourselves, or else I swear, I’ll whip you to within inch of your lives.” Selot bowed, whereas Marrhit put on his wide open stage smile and with an unreadable expression looked at the man insistently.

  “Is your companion an idiot?” he asked Selot with a sneer.

  “He has unfortunately been mute and deaf from birth,” the boy hurriedly reminded the man.

  “It bothers me when he looks at me like that,” he brusquely commented.

  “He’s only a deaf man who’s trying to understand things by looking around, I pray, forgive him.” The guard approached Marrhit, who masked his powerful physicality by bending over and twisting his body to one side, his muscular body being hidden under his ample shirt.

  “You’re an idiot, aren’t you?” the guard asked him point-blank, to verify he really was a deaf mute. Marrhit bent over even more, looking at the man from down below, sideways.

  “You’re not only a deaf mute, you’re also an idiot. You’re retarded, aren’t you?”

  Marrhit kept smiling as if it were true. The guard went on with his increased tirade.

  “I can’t stand retards. They fill me with loathing.” The guard pushed him against the wall. The other guards laughed along like fools, egging their superior on. Marrhit made a face of exaggerated sadness, confirming the impression the man had of him, of being demented. The man lifted his hands as if to hit him, and Marrhit raised his bent arms over his head to defend himself, with a fearful and resigned expression, as if he were used to being beaten. It was a remarkable piece of acting. Selot was afraid he was waiting for the right moment to explode and break every bone in the unfortunate recipient’s body. He put himself between the two in the hope of diffusing the situation.

  “Sir, sir! I beg you. I will keep my companion well away from your sight. I am sorry if his presence offends you. It won’t happen again.” The guard’s mouth twisted into a grimace.

  “I hate wretches like you. Do your clown act and then get out of here. If it were up to me, wretches like you would be marched straight into prison or expelled from the city. Parasites!” he concluded with abhorrence. He turned on his heel and left hurriedly.

  Selot looked at Marrhit, almost holding his breath. He couldn’t believe he had resisted a provocation of the like.

  “You’re an excellent thespian,” he finally said, once again stunned by his brother’s talent.

  “That man is already dead,” Marrhit commented serenely, returning to his full stature and rearranging a normal expression on his face. His eyes had a flash of the assassin to them.

  “I know,” Selot murmured.

  They were introduced to a wonderful inner terraced garden, embellished by garden beds filled with rare, and very colorful flowers, refreshed with complex waterfalls, and lit up by torches that unleashed intense aromas. A servant showed them the area reserved for the show. They set to work in decorating the scene, while numerous waiters and servants were waiting on a long and sumptuous table set for about forty guests. The table was sheltered from the evening air by splendid screens, and lit by numerous candelabras. More torches illuminated the surrounding area. An armchair of honor was set up in the center, and on each side were lesser important armchairs with the symbols of the Governor of the City and his consort on them. There was hence, an important guest of honor, a representative of the central power of the kingdom due this evening. To the rest of the guests, elegant chairs had been assigned.

  The two Vetems carefully observed every movement. An efficient butler led the preparations, verifying that every minute detail of the table and the garden was in perfect order; that the flowers were displayed pleasantly, that the distance between the chairs were identical; that there were no folds in the tablecloth. After about an hour, guests began to arrive. The butler guided each one to their assigned places, following a precise protocol, based on the social importance of each one. A richly dressed and bejeweled couple looked offended at the far end of the table, indicating the position they’d been assigned was too low. That end of the table was usually reserved for less important guests!

  The rectangle marked out for the stage of the show was about twenty steps from the dining table. The invited guests drifted in and were seated. The right to observe was in full motion: clothes and accessories dripping from the ladies and their consorts; subdued comments, little laughs, formal greetings, some forced and others hinted at; ostentation of wealth, futile boasts, men’s chatter on matters of political developments, nominations of this or that dignitary, of border wars, and the resistance of the peoples who would not accept subjugation. The Governor and his wife were the last to arrive. The guests crowded round to pay homage to them, to give compliments on the decorations, and to ask for special favors of patronage.

  The guest of honor was running late and the Governor appeared unsettled. At the ninth hour, after making the other guests wait far too long, he gave the signal to the butler to start serving dinner. A whole host of waiters hurriedly served the first dishes and poured the wine. Marrhit and Selot had already set up their scenery. Marrhit gave all the necessary information about the numbers in the show to Selot. They waited.

  Marrhit looked insistently at the young wife of the governor, who refused to give him any attention so as not to rouse any suspicion or gossip, but secretly, she was attracted to the young circus performer. At the Governor’s signal, the butler finally announced the imminent show, with a loud voice.

  “His excellence the Governor, in his magnanimity, offers his distinguished guests a special show of acrobatics which also made an excellent show today in the market square. We hope that this entertainment will lift your spirits.” Enthusiastic voices rose up in the night, some of which had already seen the exhibition that morning, and they started recounting the marvelous scenes to other guests, assuring them of something astounding. Marrhit began his exercise of juggling pins. His exceptional talent and his catlike movements caught everyone’s attention immediately. At the end of the act, he had advanced about four steps towards the table, but no one had realized. All eyes were already on the torches that turned in the air many meters high up, drawing shining trails in the dark of the night, making for a very effective display. Selot prepared the torches with different colors by mixing particular powders, as he also lent support by shaping various forms of light. No
one had ever seen anything like it. The wonder of it had captured stares and thoughts. Only the sound of the torches flying through the air could be heard. Even the greatest food lovers forgot all about the dishes and cutlery in front of them. Against the black setting of the night were great fiery circles, unworldly and changeable flowers as big as a house, columns of shimmering light, and the figure of a spouting fountain. Some of the torches reached dizzying heights. Nobody could count the exact number of torches suspended in air at any given moment, because eyes could only perceive the visible illusion of the trails left behind. As always, Marrhit carried out every single movement to perfection, with minimal effort. The sensation of watching something unique was palpable. The governor was proud to offer such a worthy show, even though he strongly regretted the guest of honor was not there to see it too. He damned him quietly under his breath. It hadn’t been the first time he’d not shown up for one of his parties; he almost scorned the governor. This performance was fascinating, and was sure to please; it would have given him prestige in his eyes. The absence of the representative was a humiliating defeat and a lost occasion. Not being a stupid man, he had already caught sight of his wife’s glances towards the artist. He was not a jealous man and the love interest was a mere clown; it would be nothing more than an innocuous past-time for his young wife. He didn’t feel like disapproving, and certainly they would not be in love with one another; he too had indulged in a few distractions after they had been married. In any case, her dignity would impede her from committing such evident adultery. He would have to have the two vagabonds locked up after the show, accusing them of theft, only to have them sent far away from Solzhaz.

  The exhibition with the torches was fascinating. Marrhit’s deft ability was extraordinary. At the end of the second act the acrobat neared the table by another five steps, followed closely but discreetly behind by the his assistant, as the exclusive audience applauded with rapt attention. At that point, Selot arranged the logs in the square space in geometrical patterns that twisted and wound around like a path towards the noble table. They placed the largest trunk at the end of that woody path. The distance between that log and the table was only three steps. The captain of the guards became alarmed. He threw a glance at the Governor who had remained in his seat, unfaltering. His wife was feasting her eyes on Marrhit’s agile, vigorous body well beyond what was considered decency. She was repaid with a smile that left no doubt to his intentions, and she had to cover her face with her fan because she felt herself blush like a stupid virgin. She could barely believe that man would have such a devastating effect on her; she was convinced of her power over men too well by now, and to be flummoxed by a plebeian in clown clothes was simply too much.

  Marrhit made Selot hand him his long knives. He had seen to the sharpening of them himself that very same day. To demonstrate that they were indeed real knives and very sharp, he signaled for one of the roast dishes served at the table to be brought to him. Marrhit divided the giant piece of meat in two, with a very fast, clean cut. He continued to slice the rest using the other knives. Then he bowed ceremoniously, pointing to the roast as if to say ‘dinner is now served’. Marrhit had had the occasion to collect information from the butler, but there wasn’t anything useful there. He only knew the secret movements of the governor’s lovers, but nothing else that they were searching for. Selot hurriedly cleaned the knives with a rag.

  The third part of the show was about to begin. Selot swiftly threw him twelve knives. Marrhit made them swing above him, moving with great skill from one log to the next in a spectacular acrobatic dance. The rhythm of the dance was bewitching and was carried along by the ringing of the little bells on the artist’s wrists and ankles. He was able to create music and coordinate it at the same time to his dancing, as the knives danced up in the air with incredible, natural ease; they appeared to directly obey the rhythm of the dance and not his hands. The hearts and stomachs of the guests began to vibrate with the same cadence as his movements. The guards became unsettled; too many knives, too close. Marrhit sensed their creeping apprehension. He had to be quick. He nodded to Selot to take his place on the largest trunk. Selot jumped up on top of it with a theatrical expression, smiling at the table. With the blackened ember he drew a tight circle around his feet at the base of the wood. Marrhit neared him, stopped his dance and for a single moment liberated himself from all the knives by throwing them very high into the air above him. That was enough time for him to go over to a log where he had placed another twenty-six knives. He had to narrow down his time so as not to alarm the guards any further. He gave a ready signal to Selot who nodded briefly in reply. He was ready. From that moment he would be absolutely immobile. The twelve knives were falling. Marrhit held a measured breath; there was no room for error. He caught them and then re-launched them with perfect timing, at an incredible height into the air. They were followed by the other twenty-six knives at exactly the same rhythm. For a moment, all thirty-eight knives were up in the air contemporarily. Selot could feel them falling towards him and he prayed Marrhit was infallible this time too. The first one fell with its point perfectly vertical, grazing and embedding itself with a thud into the log, with at least half the blade going into the wood. It was a sign of the beginning for Marrhit. In the successive instants, the knives fell one after the other in perfect rhythmic sequence, drawing a tight circle around the feet of the artist on the trunk with their metallic blades. Selot didn’t dare breathe. He knew that Marrhit had taken into account the position of his body at the instant he’d thrown the first knife. The guests held their breaths together with him. The knives poured down with blades pointing downwards, and came like a lethal rain. The boy on the trunk stayed completely still underneath it all. Defenseless. The eyes of all present were slave to the frightening spectacle, doors wide open for their kidnapped souls. The knives had, by now, undertaken their trajectory and would fatally carry through. To Marrhit’s mind, they were already a part of the past; now he had to take care of the most difficult part. At a short distance he could enter into the souls of each one, starting with the governor, and one by one, all the other dignitaries. None of them realized they were being observed, and no one sensed they were laying bare the deepest recesses of their minds; lives, memories, feelings. Marrhit scanned each soul, guided in the time allowed by the thudding sounds of the knives as they dug into the wood. Thirty-eight guests. Thirty-eight knives. Very few seconds available. In a corner of his mind he prayed that such a heavy drain on his powers would not set off his illness, but he went on without hesitation. The last knife fell, the last thud in the piece of wood, and the last soul read.

  I’m alive thought Selot. He silently analyzed his own body. There was a shallow wound along his left arm. It had been his lack of attention, imperceptibly leaning to the left towards the end of the cascade of knives. He couldn’t be more than impressed by the superhuman abilities of Marrhit. The very tense silence that had accompanied the exhibition melted away in a resounding applause. Everyone stood to their feet, forgetting the etiquette of the court, and their own roles in it. Even the guards clapped for the amazing skill and talent. Selot looked over at Marrhit who briefly grinned to let him know he’d got what he’d wanted. He couldn’t believe it: he was alive and Marrhit had managed to round up the collective information of thirty-eight people. He looked at him properly; now that the tension was dissipating, he looked tired. He leaped down and stood next to him. They bowed together to receive their applause. At that moment, as he was bowed down and no one could see him speak, Marrhit said in a quiet whisper:

  “We need to get out of here, and in a hurry.” Selot perceived grave preoccupation. He scrutinized his face and saw he was strained and drawn. Marrhit threw a look over at the captain of the guards. He was going towards their cart on the other side of the courtyard. The applause went on and on and they bowed. In their forced smiles, he told Selot in the same tiny voice:

  “They want to accuse us of theft.” Selot understood that
the man was planning on slipping some object or other in with their things to create evidence of a crime. And what’s more, their weapons and warrior clothes were hidden in the cart, underneath the circus gear. Marrhit got up from his last bow with difficulty and fatigue. He made a weary sign to let Selot know he was out of action.

  “Damn it, Marrhit. I can’t influence these people like you... they’ll find us out.” Marrhit grabbed his arm and pulled him close.

  “Bring him to me,” he said, leaning against the wall. He did his best to not show his malaise. The table of guests had got wind of nothing. The governor was overjoyed for this grand success and everyone was conveying their heartfelt compliments. They ate and drank, and commented with enthusiastic tones about how they would tell everyone for years to come that they had witnessed one of the most unique shows of its kind. Selot dashed towards the cart and reached it just before the captain of the guards touched it. He drew his attention. The guard turned in his direction. Marrhit was right. He held two gold cups under his cloak and he wanted to put them under the canvas that covered the cart.

  “Sir.” Selot bowed. He realized his men already had their hands on the hilts of their swords: the captain had forewarned them they should be ready to intervene at short notice. He pulled out his most flattering tone. “We have a special gift for you, sir, to make sure you have fond memories of us.” He’d used the right words. The guard halted. An exclusive gift. It could be worth postponing the trap so he could receive it. It might even be some object to make a positive impression on his girlfriend! And besides, this killjoy was already too close. He put the two cups back under his cloak quickly and followed him conceitedly. Once they were close to Marrhit, the man stared at him without changing his expression of abhorrence.