He heard a breath and he had the distinct feeling that whoever had made it, had done so on purpose to confirm their existence. And then it disappeared. Var tried to stretch out his hand in the obscurity, overcoming his fear, but he found nothing but emptiness. It felt like he’d been waiting for hours. He sat down on the ground with his legs crossed. After some time which felt like forever, an echo could be heard. They had returned. He got up.
“The Council thanks you, Marquis, for the precious information you have brought us. Selot cannot come to you now because he is on another mission. You must oversee the Cumbal for two moons with your own forces, and impede the theft until Selot or another Vetem who we will assign comes to take it away. We will bring it to our Valley because there is a suitable place here for its safekeeping.” Var considered those words very carefully, and the sense of the request. They wanted the Cumbal with them. His mosaic began taking a comprehensible shape.
“You don’t understand. You don’t know what it means. I don’t have enough men to defend it and two moons is a preposterous amount of time. We will be wiped out way before then. Your decision will condemn my people to death. Hence, it is impossible for me to appease you.”
“It is the only proposal we have.”
“Are you deaf? You cannot understand. You’re either deaf, or dishonest,” Var went on the offensive. “I have warned you of grave and imminent danger, and I have given you a solution. I know that you are in constant contact with Selot. You must make him come back. There’s no other Vetem who can help me.” He did not elaborate on what he had just said. He felt their rock-hard silence. “Am I to imagine your aims are not those I have always believed?” Var insinuated.
“Marquis of Atiarav, we are not used to being treated with insolence.”
“You are speaking of letting my people be exterminated, women and children included for a choice you are not even willing to lower yourselves to explain to me. The insolence is yours alone.”
“This conversation finishes here,” said a voice.
“The agreement between our populations is broken,” Var said, articulating every syllable.
“Marquis, for us Uicis, words are truth and they reflect real intentions. These words are very grave, even though we know that, being said by a man, they are only a provocation to attempt to continue this futile meeting.”
The pact between our people is broken,” he repeated with even greater determination. “I am no longer the guardian of the Cumbal. I break all ties and every oath. The consequences are now entirely in your hands.”
“We are not in the habit of playing games, Marquis.”
“Nor me,” sighed Var. He had failed. He had played his last card, but it hadn’t been enough.
The Vetem who had examined him entered his mind again, even in the dark. He almost lost consciousness under his command.
He awoke a few hours later in another cavern, with a thin light that entered from a small circular hole above. His hands and feet were chained. Prisoner. And what’s more, prisoner to a people who he thought were allies. His father, his grandfather, and his forefathers had considered the Uicics a sort of guarantee for survival of men, and allies of Atiarav. He didn’t know if he would be alive to tell this tale to his children which had always seemed so real in the past, only now he wasn’t so sure. There was nothing more he could do except go over what had happened; to understand where he’d gone wrong. He’d made so many decisions since the Emissary of King Lotar had ordered him to Mount Kisov to withdraw the first Stele a year earlier. It felt like everything was so wrong. And it had to be that way, otherwise he wouldn’t be chained up in a cavern in the Valley of the Uicics while his marquisate stood in ashes and families were disinherited and hopelessly running for their lives. He had brought Atiarav to destruction. He started crying and asked forgiveness from his father.
The hours passed by slowly.
A shadow crossed the cavity above him. Fast and secretive. He lifted his eyes. He sensed a slight, graceful movement. It happened another two times. And then nothing. He went back to praying. After what seemed like an entire day, the Uicics arrived and the archers who had accompanied him within the Valley.
“You are free,” the Uicic said, making a sign to one of his men to loosen the chains. “You may go. The Council has decreed it.” They took him along the path that would lead him out of the Valley of the Uicics.
He was going away empty-handed, exactly as he had arrived the day before. He had obtained nothing, if not a scrap of information which helped him interpret the complexity of the arena of which he was a part. As he walked alongside the armed and scowling Uicics, he tried to understand the reason for this freedom. They were letting him go without any explanation, no agreement and without any indications for the future. He tried to make sense of it all. After retracing the long, underground track, he was pushed with spears outside the entrance and found himself once more in the rocky hollow from the evening before. The signs of the fire he had lit on the altar where still there. Under the ashes, embers still smoldered. The Uicics disappeared without a word, after brusquely throwing his sword on the ground. He breathed in the evening air deeply and at length. His encounter with these people had been a cold shower. He had not reached his goal, he had lost precious days, and he had left his family undefended. He knew all that when he made his decision. What he hadn’t counted on was getting killed by the people who were supposed to be a sort of guidance and protection for Atiarav. He bent down to pick up his sword. When he stood up again, a tall and powerful figure suddenly materialized before his very eyes. It was completely hidden by an ample black cloak and giant hood. It gave the impression of being made out of granite rock. He caught sight of the lower part of a face, of the mouth and chin of a man who could be the same age as him. He saw a sparkling, long sword that was richly fashioned.
The being did not speak. Var looked at him stunned.
“Who are you?”
“Go to Selot. He is the only one who can help you,” the black cape said without responding to his question. His accent had the musicality of the Uicics.
“Who are you?” Var insisted. He felt an incredible force in that presence, a favorable presence, not an enemy one.
“The Vetem who examined you last night.”
“Then you know the truth of why I came?” Var asked, with his heart in his throat.
“Yes. I lied to my Council when I reported what I saw in you. I no longer have a place here. I would like to help you, but I cannot come with you. I have another purpose. The Council has allowed you to go away, but the state of your destiny has only worsened.” The words came out indignantly.
“Why?”
“They have decided to extract the Cumbal from your protection. Your people will be of no use now.”
“I understand that. My question is: why are you helping me?” The Vetem did not answer.
“What do you know about all this?”
“Much less than I would like to know. It is an honor for me to know you, Marquis,” the man said bowing. “Selot told me a lot about you.” Var’s eyes opened wide. The kindness of this soul was the exact opposite of what he had experienced with the Uicics a moment ago. “You know that Selot is a Xàmvetem now with a power far superior to what you may have seen during your encounter with the Emissary.” Var smiled with affection. “But it hasn’t mutated his spirit in the least.” Var didn’t doubt it.
“So who are you?” he went back to asking.
“My name is Janavel. Selot will tell you I am his master, but I can assure you I learned as much from him as he did from me.”
“I know what you mean,” Var agreed. He was impressed. An expert Xàmvetem was standing in front of him. Selot’s teacher. He felt foolishly inferior. He could have wiped him out with a single breath.
Janavel heard these sensations within Var, and echoed them.
“Marquis, the value of a man is not measured by his possibility of prevailing over another with force or power, but of t
he decisions he makes in his life.” He removed the hood and showed his face, keeping his eyes lowered. Var couldn’t believe it. A Xàmvetem was in front of him. He had saved him and showed himself completely, offering his trust unconditionally, and giving him the advantage to recognize him, letting him observe him without using the powers of those lowered eyes. He had read his mind and he had decided to take his side, risking the ire of the Uicic Council. If he were to see two suns rise at dawn, he wouldn’t have been any more disconcerted.
“You have seen all of me and my intentions too. You have saved my life. You have given me the possibility to return and protect my family.” Janavel did not move.
“Unfortunately, I have no time to explain the reasons for my decision. We are now two fugitives, Marquis. You have procured powerful enemies aside from those you already had. I wish you well and you will need it. Selot is in the land of the Rotmandis, on the western front of the war. He has the mission of nearing the camp of the army of the kingdom, located on the Taur plain. You will find him there. You may make it in time. He is with another young one of our species, of which you must keep up your guard.” Janavel lifted his gaze; two clear eyes, filled with worry stared at him. They looked at one another and exchanged a strong grip of arms.
“I have found an exceptional friend; must I lose him so soon?” Var asked in anguish.
“There is no alternative,” Janavel answered. “I maintain it is improbable we will meet again. Take my regards to the boy. It has been a great honor to know you both.” Var had no time to reply. The Xàmvetem threw his hood over his head in a very swift motion, and went away on an unknown path that went upwards, towards the west.
X
Selot and Marrhit rode on for days, riding their horses at full speed along wide, convenient roads of the Great Plain, crossing large, sweeping fields. The hidden dangers lay in the swampy areas, which came up suddenly and without warning, where they risked getting their horses stuck. On the fourth day, they approached a jetty that stretched out over a placid meandering of the River Op. The current of water from that spot on was sailable. Selot asked the people around him and learned that a barge was leaving the next day at dawn, for the lands of Rotmandi. Their horses were permitted to travel, but at a highly elevated price. This means of transport would save them days of travel time and much fatigue. They decided hence to board. The next day they were waiting at the jetty. The crew of the barge was made up of a short, round man and his two sons. His face opened up into a wide smile when he saw the two warriors. He ushered them on board to accommodate themselves and placed them in the best seats of the rough barge. He was somewhat concerned as he weighed up the two giant bay horses they had with them, but he dared not refuse them. The owner of the barge approached Selot, seeing he was the only one who spoke.
“For transport of this type, I must leave at least ten people behind. It is a matter of sixty coins.” They didn’t have it. Marrhit had already boarded and was now standing at the stern, watching the movements of the river. He looked entranced by the waves and whirlpools of water that formed along the banks. He hadn’t even turned round. It looked like he wouldn’t be intervening with his usual Vetem methods. Selot scraped together the last twenty coins they’d made in Solzhaz.
“We will pay the rest at the end of the journey,” he said, not knowing how he could keep his promise. His steady tone and above all, the weapons strapped to the back of this young warrior was good enough for the man. Selot went up onto the wobbling gangway that linked the jetty and the barge. He boarded with a certain wariness. He’d never been on a boat before and the unsteady floor of the vessel was a new experience for him. He didn’t even know how to swim. He had no idea what happened when one was immersed in deep, bottomless water. Everything about the experience intrigued him. He inspected the barge, examined every detail, trying to understand how it was made, and how it maneuvered in the water. He studied the banks of the river and observed the movements of the three crew members.
Marrhit came up behind him all of a sudden, very silently, in a moment when there was no one around.
“Would you like to take a swim?” he whispered evilly. Selot turned to face him.
“You can’t resist, can you Marrhit? You simply can’t help yourself from making the most of every occasion to tormen…” He froze. Marrhit had read in his mind that he’d never learned how to swim; he injected the sensation of falling into the cold, wet river into his head; an enemy current swept him away; into a whirlpool that sucked him up and wouldn’t let go. Selot was not able to instruct his body to fight against the current, nor stay afloat. The feeling of drowning without the hope of being rescued came quickly. His breathing arrested. His mind, victim to the illusion, had ordered his lungs to stop breathing. Marrhit left him hanging like that for lengthy instants. He tore away the terrible hallucination only when Selot’s face became catatonic for long moments without air. He went away snickering, letting him crash to the floor of the barge, gasping for painful breaths. Selot regained his senses and managed to distance the feeling of panic. He replaced it with a violent, forceful rage. He groaned in frustration and pummeled the wall with his fist. He had to find a way so he wouldn’t be such easy prey to these terrible tricks of Marrhit’s. There had to be some technique that would shelter him. He thought of Janavel and asked himself why the master hadn’t given him the instruments to defend himself. Marrhit, from the stern kept on laughing at him.
There was an entire day of sailing ahead of them. Selot decided to spend his time with the older son of the owner of the barge, to learn everything he could about navigating on the river. The boy was on the prow, at the helm. They were more or less the same age and Selot liked him immediately because he wasn’t afraid of his weapons or standing. The perfect accent of the language of Dar did not create any such diffidence between them.
“Are you the son of a nobleman?” the boy asked naively. Selot smiled.
“Do I look like one?”
“I’d say! You’re dressed like a prince and you have weapons and horses which only the very richest knights can afford. Which city are you from?”
A simple question which he was unable to answer.
“Solzhaz,” he lied, not knowing what else to say.
“We went there with my father a little while ago,” the young helmsman said. “The governor of the city had a lot on his hands, what with suppressing the revolt of that marquisate that wants to be independent … what was it called …”
“Atiarav,” Selot offered.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“I don’t believe it was a revolt though,” Selot said, without letting on any personal feelings. The boy shrugged.
“I don’t know, I don’t know much about these things. And you, sir, where are you directed with your brother?” Selot was still for a moment, breathless. He had the sudden temptation to look into the eyes of the helmsman and read his thoughts, which was much easier than getting into a conversation with him. But he forced himself to give the boy the right to keep his own thoughts and his own life to himself. His question had however stumped him.
“My brother?” he asked, as if he didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Yes, of course. Your brother, the other knight. You look like each other a lot. Are you cousins then? You know, my brother looks more like our cousin on my mother’s side than he does me. Everybody says so,” and he smiled. Selot did not reply. The boy was an easy-going prattler and he rambled on for ages. He illustrated the peculiarities of the river, the fish that could be fished, the emergency moorings that could be used for boat or person in case they needed to stop before making it to the jetty of the next town. Selot listened carefully and pleasantly. It was all so new to him, but he couldn’t let the boy see that.
“So then,” the boy began after a good while of chatter, “where are you headed?”
“Far north,” Selot held himself back.
“Are you joining the army to crush the rebellion of the Rotmandis
?”
“It looks like you know many things,” Selot brushed aside.
“Everybody knows. The Rotmandis are a type of primitive beings who have got it into their heads they don’t want to be annexed by the kingdom. Can you believe any such thing? Do you know they adore idols? They’re pagans. Lucky for us King Lotar defends the borders of our civilization from those barbarians. They say they are wicked. Aren’t you afraid of going to war? I think we must be the same age. Your family has decided to send two sons who are quite young to the front. It sounds like it’s one of the worst. But I think you might know that already. I suppose you have lots of brothers and if your father loses you both, perhaps he doesn’t mind? I bet you are both cadets and the older son has been kept at home, safe and sound. Is that right?” he winked for confirmation and familiarity. “Your father must gain some favor or other from some Governor, and has sent you to the legion of the north for this reason?” Selot almost burst out laughing with this torrent of hypotheses. But then, upon thinking it over, the boy had a much clearer idea of life. Selot reflected on the fact that, in the end, the reasons for which he now found himself involved in that mission were decidedly less clear and less acceptable than those imagined by the boy. As was his habit, and not knowing what to say, Selot kept quiet. But the young boatman’s freewheeling chitchat made him reflect.
“Fine, fine,” he went on, “you don’t want to talk about it. You know, we all have something that hurts a little. Oh, look!” he said, changing the subject completely, “after this big bight, we will reach the jetty of Ark. But I don’t think you will get off there if you are going all the way to the lands of the Rotmandis.”
“Yes, we will go on,” Selot confirmed. They moored with more than a little difficulty. The giant vessel was not easy to maneuver with just three crew members. The man and the two youths utilized long, thick poles to near the jetty as best they could. It was hard work. After much shouting, orders and even a few jolts, the slow and cumbersome boat was finally moored. The horses were unsettled and trembled. Selot went over to calm them down, whereas Marrhit stayed at the stern and looked like he did not like all that confusion. Several passengers collected their items and got off, and others got on. The barge was always full. After the embarkation, the young boatman took up his position at the helm. He was drenched in sweat.
The Creed Page 22
