The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  “What is a ‘calendar’?” Marrhit asked.

  “It’s a system that keeps count of the days. It’s made up of...” Marrhit made a wave of his hand to show that he wasn’t interested in any of it. So Selot kept quiet. Marrhit stretched like a cat and looked about him. Selot understood he was searching for food. He’d made some flat, oily breads. His brother smelt the aroma and couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into it. In reply though he did not receive the inviting food, but a flask with his medicine instead.

  “You must take it on an empty stomach, as you know.”

  Marrhit looked askance at him. “I saw you preparing it last night.”

  “Drink a little. Afterwards you can eat.”

  “How can I trust you? How can I know you didn’t put poison in it.”

  “You’ve been eating my cooking for days now,” Selot responded, taking for granted the obviousness of the answer.

  “You eat it too.”

  “I prepared the broth with the root Asheeba gave me.”

  “I know what broth looks like. This stuff is much more ... complex.” Marrhit retorted like an capricious child.

  Marrhit insistence was absurd and confrontational. He must have woken up with the desire to annoy someone.

  “It’s for your health,” Selot attempted.

  “Did Asheeba tell you that after a long period of taking it I can also stay without that mix for a quarter of a moon?”

  “In a quarter of a moon, we will be in the middle of our mission. Marrhit, you’re being unreasonable. It’s a risk to not take it every day. Why not take it now while it’s still possible.”

  Marrhit approached Selot, who was unmovable and continued to hold out the flask to him. He stood over him menacingly.

  “I’ll repeat it, half-blood. I don’t trust you. I’d rather risk myself than throw back this mixture you’ve prepared.”

  “You’re only being a stubborn idiot,” Selot said through clenched teeth. “You won’t admit your weakness and you can’t stand the idea of having to depend on me.” Marrhit stiffened. Selot had pushed him too hard, hitting the nerve that uncovered his violent and irascible character. As always, he’d been precise and pertinent. Unbearable. They stood up to one another, each of them making calculations of the possibilities ahead. Selot decided to avoid stalling, or worse still, a direct confrontation.

  “Damn it Marrhit!” he pleaded. He grabbed the bowl energetically and poured half the contents of it down his throat. He then offered the medicine to Marrhit once more.

  “There’s enough for a single portion. Tomorrow I’ll prepare some more,” he said decisively.

  Marrhit took hold of the container roughly and drank from it, in disgust. It had a terrible taste, but exactly like the one he was used to. He was surprised and wary. He glanced at Selot sideways.

  “You’re not used to these substances. You do realize it’s poison to you, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. I was a herbalist at the Abbey.” Selot was furious that he’d had to get to this point to make Marrhit take his medicine; something that was so obvious and necessary.

  “What is the potion bringing on?” Marrhit asked, curious to know.

  “I’m not sure yet. I’ll find out shortly. Asheeba was fairly certain it wouldn’t be lethal. Now, we’ll see,” he said in reply. Then he drew breath to calm himself. He observed everything that was happening from within, just like the healer had taught him. He accepted it and did his utmost to transform the moment. He took out the flat bread from his bag and handed it to Marrhit.

  “Here it is, you can eat it in a little while.”

  Marrhit grasped it greedily. Selot added nothing more. He went in search of a corner where he could rest. He sat against a wall. He relaxed with his eyes shut. He didn’t lay down though, because he knew that at any moment he would feel bad. Probably very bad. After a bit, he started to sweat profusely and felt a strong nausea come over him. Then a searing pain took hold in his head. That was just the start of what was about to happen. He felt intense burning in his eyes and ears. The burning sensation then expanded to include his tongue, nose and then his lips and throat. It was like releasing fire with every breath. And it didn’t end there. A rain of splinters seemed to come down on his eyes, piercing his eyeballs. He pressed his hands against his tightly shut eyes with all his might, suffocating the buds of pain. Marrhit heard him groan; all of sudden stifled screams could be heard. He could sense that Selot was trying not to make too much noise, but it was obvious he was experiencing terrible moments. Marrhit recalled he’d had two years to get his body used to the same amount of poison Selot had just swallowed. Asheeba had administered the smallest quantities of the substance, getting him used to it very, very slowly. And yet, he could still remember the illness he’d had to bear.

  It went on for hours, until finally the effect seemed to dwindle. As soon as the level of pain allowed him to, Selot fell asleep exhausted.

  When he woke up, the sun was already high in the sky. He was drenched in sweat. Weighed down by so little sleep and still in the throes of the aftermath of intoxication, it took him a few moments to get his bearings on what hour of the morning it was. The light of the sun pierced his eyes like blades. He realized they’d lost at least two hours of travelling time. He was incredibly thirsty. He drained his water bottle. He saw that Marrhit was watching him, already in the saddle, ready to leave. Something didn’t add up in that scenario.

  “Why didn’t you kick me out of bed?” he asked getting up, as he rubbed his temples to chase away the last residue of that dreadful headache that had accompanied the effects of the poisoning.

  “I don’t know” Marrhit responded from up on high. “I was asking myself the same thing. Get a move on, we must make up time.”

  Selot collected his belongings, put on his weapons and lifted himself into the saddle. He went ahead and crossed his hands behind his back. Marrhit passed him on one side.

  “You can use your reins, I just need you to hurry up, you half Vetem mistake! ”he yelled and he was already spurring his horse on at a gallop.

  It took Selot half a second, and half a smile, to realize what he’d just said. He gripped the reins with satisfaction and urged his horse at full speed, barely keeping up with Marrhit’s tracks, who rode on with exceptional skill. Half way through the afternoon they had already covered twice the distance of the day before. They stopped only to water the horses and then went on until sundown. The Great Plain lay before them, seemingly endless.

  VI

  Var led the people of Avascen to a plain where a small center had once thrived, four miles upstream from the destroyed city. It was his intention to begin from there, at the antique settlement of his people. They made the most of the gentler side of the mountain which faced west, just before a wooded area that would initially be their sustenance. They made typical little stone houses with a fireplace to one side so they would be ready for the start of winter. Var had shared his worries with a few trusted men. He didn’t want his people to live in terror. He feared the threat that had almost wiped them out had not ceased, but simply retreated to feed upon hate and new reinforcements; to strike back even harder, like an evil flame that seemed to abate only to envelop its victims in a furious blaze. He had always feared this, and it was Ucal who confirmed it.

  The warrior had kept silent and distant for the days of mourning, which Var limited to five so that building could begin as soon as possible. He took part in the prayers and fasting, as set by the marquis for the adult population, making sure he stayed in the background so as not to bother anyone with his presence. When commemorative pyres were finally spent, the survivors started honoring the dead with their work. Some people kept him at a distance. Returning to their native lands had given rise once more to an intolerance to strangers. He didn’t pay much attention to the side-way glances and their standoffish manner. Many others actually greeted him with warmth and gratitude. He nourished himself with those gestures and let the others ro
ll off like water to a duck’s back. It was Flash who was mostly responsible for making him smile. The boy was leader of a small band of friends, and he was welcomed and loved by all.

  Once mourning had finished, and the men had taken up their tools to build, he went to Var. The marquis was torn and dirty like all the others, indistinguishable in respect to the other family leaders. He welcomed him with a hug.

  “My friend, come.”

  Ucal exchanged his invite with a worried glance. Var understood immediately that he had something grave to tell him. They distanced themselves from the flurry of activity, towards the side of the mountain where there was a source of fresh, sweet water.

  “I must show you something,” Ucal said with a dark expression on his face. “I could tell you, but I think you need to see this for yourself. It’s not far…”

  Var nodded decisively. “Let’s go,” he said without even asking for an explanation. He was certain he would have one very shortly. Ucal pointed to a rocky point to the northeast. Var recognized it. It was the range that looked over the wiped out town of Avascen. The ‘sierra’ was a mountain structure that rose up perpendicular to the underlying valley. There were no access routes. One could only climb up. They followed the lofty footholds used by mountain goats in search of tastier grass in that season, to clamber up with great difficulty. They finally made their way to the ridge of that long crest, and followed its winding and dangerous course to the top. When they were at the highest point, Var sharpened his sight because he couldn’t see anything at first, except for Ucal’s tense face. Then he picked out a type of thin metallic pipe stuck in the ground in the blinding afternoon light. It was perfectly smooth with no defects. Its shiny light grey color was initially camouflaged by the gray rock behind it. Var approached it, wordless and timorous.

  “What is this…thing?” he asked as if he’d just seen a sort of horrendous monster.

  “It’s a recall,” Ucal answered. “These pipes are used by the army of Dar and they are used to supply information, the first being the precise position of a place to hit.” He let Var take in that information. “Each pipe conveys different information. Look,” he pointed to something on the long metallic object. Var saw little quartz pieces set in the shape of prisms. Moving around the pipe he could see that the tiny prisms emanated bright rays amassed in very thin bands.

  “I’m not sure how they work,” Ucal continued, “but they create a kind of link towards other pipes placed at a distance.”

  Var was incredulous. He kept looking at the object as if it were the materialization of all his fears.

  “There was one in Avascen as well. They have been watching us and they now know we are here. They’re coming back, Var,” Ucal confirmed. He was very sorry to be the bearer of that news. He wished he hadn’t been.

  “Each pipe communicates a precise order. The command on this one is ‘exterminate’: kill all inhabitants: men, women…children,” Ucal added in a whisper. “It is the most terrible one used by the generals of Dar. It points to such a fierce determination I do not understand,” he finished. Var tried to rationalize this barrage of information.

  “Why have I never heard of these before?”

  “They are rarely used. I saw one at the southern borders where they explained to me what they were, and how they were utilized. They are extremely ‘precious’. They are used in extreme cases, like when the army carefully plans on the extermination of a group of people,” Ucal replied, even though he knew those words were terrible to hear. Var’s eyes flew wide open. It was as if the world had opened up and swallowed him whole.

  “When did they place it here?”

  “There are numbers etched here; that is the date it was installed. We were still in the Hidden Valley. Even if it looked as though there was no chance of survival, they put this ploy in act. They wanted to be certain that Atiarav was annihilated …every single element. That is what I don’t understand. Such a violent determination to wipe you out. I have the feeling it did not depend solely on the Hood of Death. There is more to it. Powerful forces are at work against this people.” It was painful for Ucal to say it, but they were both so used to looking at the facts head on, without hesitation of any sort.”

  “Let’s get rid of it!” Var suggested, looking at the pipe in hatred.

  “No,” Ucal said shaking his head. “It’s placed into the ground using a special technique. It creates a link with others like it. This is the ‘leader’, the other is found…”

  “… at the general headquarters to which it is linked,” Var ended tersely.

  “If the link breaks, they set off with a contingent straight away.”

  “So …” Var began without the strength to carry on.

  “They never went away, Var.” Ucal lowered his head. “They can’t be far. They could be laying low on some part of a plain. Or else here, in the mountains. In mountainous terrain, many pipes are needed to cover a link that is only a few miles in distance. But we cannot exclude that they are encamped in some valley or other, …very close by,” the warrior finished, his voice choked with sorrow. A shiver ran through the marquis.

  “What are they waiting for?”

  “Orders. Nothing else, I’m afraid. We can’t know who or when they will give the order. I don’t even have an hypothesis as to why they haven’t already done so. They wouldn’t waste these very precious pipes if they didn’t plan on attacking in a hurry. If they haven’t come to collect this, it means plans have not changed in the least after the death of the Emissary eliminated by Selot. The secret power you guard must be coveted by very powerful enemies.”

  Var hardened his expression, trying not to make the desperation he had fallen into be so transparent. He breathed in the air of his mountains; the thin smell of the grassy highlands that combined with that of the perennial glaciers, nestled in the peaks of Mount Kisov and the other high peaks of Atiarav.

  “Good, let’s play the best game we can,” he said lifting his eyes, “so that the heavens may see the courage of my people until the very end. And if it deems right, it will take each and every one of us up there to it!” It was as if he had grabbed hold of a sword to fight the enemy which had just taken form in front of him at that very moment. “I must arrange dispatch riders,” he said suddenly, setting in motion his practical sense.

  “What do you want to do?” Ucal asked. He had been familiar with Var’s fighting spirit for many years, but to see him react so decisively without even giving himself time to reflect on the news surprised him once more.

  “I will summon all the men of Atiarav, wherever they are. I have thousands of warriors who are shedding their blood for the Kingdom of Dar without knowing what is happening to us. They are to the north, south and east of this enemy that wants to exterminate us. I want to summon them all.”

  “There may not be enough time.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Var retorted with renewed energy.

  “First of all, they need to know. We will resist for as long as we can. They have committed a grave error in letting us come back here. We can easily spread out and hide in these mountains for months, even years. They won’t be able to flush us all out. Only we know every nook and cranny of these highlands. They are unclear and insidious to anyone else. We will resist until our last breath.” Ucal felt the same unexpected energy run though his veins that Var had invoked.

  “Consider me by your side.”

  “I will never have enough lives to thank you,” Var answered. Ucal shrugged his shoulders.

  “It has become a personal matter for me too.” Var nodded.

  Ucal tried to look for weak points in Var’s plans, examining it from every aspect. “With dispatch riders gone, we will be left dangerously undefended.”

  “That was the reason I never sent them when we left for the Hidden Valley. Now I realize it was a strategic error which I will not commit a second time. Furthermore, I want my army and my warriors to know what Atiarav is going through. They must know and und
erstand there is still time to fight. Perhaps some of them are no longer interested in events here in their homeland, just like the Hood of Death said. Many of them are married to women of faraway lands, and they have children and a new life now. I cannot blame them; this land made them fight foreign wars, which have nothing to do with us, far away. Who knows how many have died, that we don’t know yet. To all the rest, even if it’s just ten, I want them to have the opportunity to know what is happening. They must learn from me, by my hand written letters, and not from partial sources through the kingdom’s network of correspondents, when we are no more. The rubble of Atiarav has no voice, and those who win tell the whole world what they will, from their point of view. This is also my responsibility.”

  VII

  Var told Clen everything that evening, and what he planned on carrying out over the next few days. She was the woman who had stood by his side from the moment they had met and fallen in love. He wanted her to be the first to know. Clen’s strength was as expected. Var was certain he would find that resolution in her words and in her face, so very similar to his own. They embraced near the fire at the building site of where their dwelling would be, perhaps now, only in their dreams. There were no tears or surrender. The children came to find out what they were talking about. Clen smiled at Var.

  “You go call the men. I’ll explain it to them,” giving him the last bit of encouragement he needed.

  Var called for his brother, Bal, Nora and the other captains. He summoned the leaders of Ossbro and Ellem who had set up camp in another part of the valley. That evening, they drew up the general guidelines of the plan. They discussed it at length, then came to an agreement; the responsibility and authority to lead the people of Atiarav was left entirely up to Var. He took on the role and gave precise indications to prepare a place where they could assemble all the people of Avascen, Ellem and Ossbro; not even six hundred people in all, including the elderly and children too. Var remembered with a stab to the heart, how many were far from that place; how many fathers had never returned, and how many youths had never married in his lands; creating families and making children in other places, and choosing to not come back. He realized that the Kingdom of Dar had been crushing his people for a long time now in order to pursue an expansion of which no one understood the full scope. And to think they had sworn loyalty to the father of the current King of Dar. It suddenly seemed all so absurd. Ucal’s correct observation on the unusual doggedness by King Lotar with regards to his small population had set off a series of reflections that began to outline something that escaped him, but he was determined to get to the bottom of it, if it were the last thing he did.