The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  “No,” Selot admitted, “not yet…”

  “You are an open book. This will not do. Work on it. It could be fatal in the presence of our enemies.”

  “Who are our enemies then?”

  “That is what I intend to find out. About your mother…” Marrhit left the sentence hanging in the air to verify the effect the mention of his mother had on Selot. This time, the boy had to actually gulp to control himself. Marrhit shook his head. He arched an eyebrow upwards to show his disapproval.

  “I must tell you two things about her. The first: she is the woman who broke my mother’s heart until it killed her. I’ll never forgive her for it. Keep that in mind.” It was a declaration of hate, but his brother also wanted, in some way, to put him on his guard.

  “The second: do not delude yourself. When you were born, she was rather young. After your wretched arrival in this world, she covered her tracks and went back to her people of origin. She did nothing more natural than make another family, a normal one. A husband, I mean. With legitimate children. Do not harbor any expectations whatsoever in her.” Selot sensed Marrhit’s inquiring and shameless gaze upon him. Those words had gone down into his heart like an icy dagger. And still, he recognized there was no malicious intent to hurt him, like the other times. Rather, it was a warning so he wouldn’t feel the disappointment quite so hard.

  “It had never occurred to you, am I right?” Marrhit asked him, undisturbed.

  “No, actually, it hadn’t. I’d never thought about it,” he answered, hoping that his brother’s grace towards him would continue.

  “I’m not saying that has happened. I’m simply saying, it’s likely. I mean to say, you are a bastard both for your father and your mother.”

  “Yes, of course…thank you for your clarification. I’ve grasped the concept.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Marrhit ended, putting the topic away for good. “We will find the largest settlement of the Rotmandi people in the forests of Saus, if you can call it a settlement. We cannot however, get there by way of the plain which is covered by the army. We must find a mountain pass. A pass from a lateral valley. We’ll have to evade the teams of trackers that the Dar military will have roaming. I have some new information regarding their position and tactics they use for combing the territory, which I picked from the brain of the Xàmvetem I eliminated yesterday.

  They reached the bank of a torrent.

  “We must keep watch,” Marrhit stated.

  Selot got down from his horse and started removing his weapons and clothes he wore, mindful of the total absence of embarrassment and modesty of the Uicics.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to clean myself up,” he replied naturally.

  Marrhit shrugged his shoulders. “There’s no hurry, But we shall take turns. We’re exposed here, don’t waste time.”

  A completely naked Selot immersed himself up to his waist in a placid recess, where the water formed a type of well. He washed away the battle of the day before. He rinsed his hair too, and lingered a few seconds to savor the air, the sun and the water on his body. It was one of the most beautiful sensations he’d ever experienced. He got out shortly after. Marrhit was watching the surrounding area with his senses on high alert, ready for action, standing erect on higher ground a short distance away. With him on the lookout there really was nothing to worry about. Selot stretched out on a rock to dry himself and let that one and only thought penetrate his mind: being immersed in the sunshine with his face turned to the sun’s rays.

  He became aware of a slight noise, practically inaudible, which had only been possible because he’d been perfectly still and his mind totally free. He opened his eyes and twisted his body to face the ground, ready to jump up. Marrhit was passing him, lighter than a hare, crouching as he moved. He made a sign with his finger to keep silent and he pointed in a direction. Selot swiftly put on his undershorts and took up his bow. He placed the quiver on his naked back and followed Marrhit. They made it to a boulder and crouched down behind it. Marrhit signaled ‘seven’ with his fingers and pointed to the same direction once again. Seven was the smallest number of bounty hunters in a team for the Kingdom of Dar. They had surely seen them. Marrhit made a sign to let Selot know he planned on attacking from one side, and Selot should do the same from the opposite side. They would use their bows on the figures who were still far away. In a corner of his mind, Selot thought of Estela, of the time she’d spent making that magnificent weapon, for all her care, skill and hard work she’d put into it. He swore to himself he would do all he could to make it back to her, alive. He nodded to Marrhit, signaling he was ready. They came out of their shelter at the same moment, with the first arrows already nocked. Selot distinctly saw seven knights in formation advancing swiftly. At this point, they were approximately seventy perches away. The arrows did not miss their targets, Marrhit having taken out the one furthest left and Selot the one furthest right. The others, seeing their companions on the ground, killed by very precise and powerful darts, immediately lifted their shields, but did not slow down their advance. They heard their war cries from afar. The two brothers prepared their next two arrows. They took aim very rapidly, looking for the weakest defense. The shields of the bounty hunters were very big and protected their bodies well. Both arrows reached the unprotected thighs of two knights, who cried out in pain. One of them managed to stay in the saddle; the other one was instead, thrown from his startled horse. Three remained, and they were by now, quite close. There would soon be hand-to-hand contact. Marrhit passed one of his swords to Selot. He looked at him and sneered: he was naked except for the fact the very short under trousers he wore, and he was barefoot. No protection. In the meantime, the knight who had been able to keep his balance in the saddle despite his injury, was sounding the hunting horn with all the air in his lungs. Very shortly, reinforcements would arrive and it was difficult to imagine how many.

  “Hurry!” Marrhit yelled. “We must eliminate them and then disappear!”

  As he spoke he was already throwing himself into the first of the aggressors. The two Xàmvetems were on foot, while the bounty hunters were on horseback and armed with pikes. Selot avoided a pike that was immediately followed by the swing of a sword, which one of the knights suddenly brandished to defeat him in the hope Selot would lose balance. With one sweeping movement he pulled the soldier along behind it, who had to make a swift turn of his horse to turn around and face him. In a short arc of time, Selot had weighed up the soldier’s distance and style of combat. The knight held his sword up high, ready to bring it down on Selot. He had aimed for his neck with the intention of decapitating him. The boy took the blow with ease, much to the surprise of the man who did not expect resistance of the sort from a boy. The hooves of the horses furiously trod the ground, lifting up a hell of a lot of dust. Selot regretfully thought about his long knives. Before striking him, the knight had lifted his guard, certain he would not be reachable from up there on his high mount. In that short instance, he exposed his uncovered side; with the use of a knife it would have been very easy to eliminate him. As if he had read his mind, Marrhit called him with a loud voice and without even looking, threw him one of his. Selot isolated the flight of the weapon in the clamor of the battle; he grabbed it, changed grip, and warded off the sword in the third lunge. When the knight lifted his sword again, exposing his side, Selot threw the knife, hard and precise. The blade pierced the man’s sternum, and he fell from his horse, asking himself how that weapon could appear from the naked body of his adversary. It was his last conscious thought. Selot got out of the way of the unguided horse and looked around at the action, spitting out blood and dirt from his mouth. Marrhit had easily eliminated the other two members of the team. He was lifting himself up onto one of their horses, so as not to waste more time calling for his own. He looked towards the sloping hills to the east. He was like a falcon launching itself on its prey. The wounded man had distanced himself in the fray with the hope of reachi
ng the rescuers he had called with the horn.

  “Go get dressed, I’ll get that one down there.”

  Selot went towards the bank of the torrent where only minutes before he had been enjoying the wonderful sensation of the sun drying his skin. He dressed and strapped on his weapons. He leaped onto his horse and took up the reins of Marrhit’s, following his tracks. He saw Marrhit slow his run only slightly as he took aim with his bow. The arrow hit its mark, straight into the back of the fugitive. At that point, he turned his horse and they were soon reunited. Marrhit jumped from the hunter’s horse to his own agilely.

  “Let’s go. We must disappear. Let’s reach that rocky slope, so we don’t leave hoof prints.” He indicated a wide area of rocky rubble that had formed at the foot of a jagged mountain. Its gravelly bottom would allow them to go on without leaving a trace.

  “Will someone have heard the horn?”

  “We won’t be able to know, but we cannot risk it.” He then looked Selot over. “You’re even dirtier than before.” Selot shrugged his shoulders. “Worst idea of the day.”

  “Let’s round up their horses,” Marrhit went on, “we’ll tie their bodies to the saddles and spur them on in different directions.” Selot nodded. They were quick to bring all the animals back together, using the Uicic calls to draw them in. After putting the bodies of the bounty hunters in the saddles, they sent them in opposite directions to put off any eventual pursuers. They then rode on at great speed towards the rocky slope. From there, they proceeded on foot, holding their horses by the reins and keeping off every path. They went back up the valley towards the west, and then headed towards a pass to the north. They went on until the darkness would no longer let them continue. At dawn the next morning, they were already walking along impervious passages, always higher up. Marrhit halted mid-morning, looking for his bearings. However, the memories he had absorbed from the Xàmvetem during their encounter evoked a path that was not found where he had expected. It might depend on the fact that no one knew the exact mountain access to the lands of the Rotmandis. He had half anticipated that. Selot understood his difficulty.

  “We haven’t got many alternatives, and there’s nothing more we can do except attempt to go over, and hope we won’t get stuck in a spot with no way out, like a gorge or an impossible wall.” Marrhit appeared to be thinking. “We have to leave the horses here.” Both of them looked at their two beautiful stallions with regret. They each went to their own horse to say goodbye, asking them to wait on those sweet summer fields until they returned. The horses neighed and watched their owners intensely. Selot and Marhhit took down their few belongings, and loaded them onto their backs, over their weapons. It would have been extremely awkward had the Uicic artisans not planned for this likelihood too, and not made sacks that could be strapped to their backs like the casings of their weapons. They removed the saddles and hid them in the recesses of rock, not far away. The horses, now free from their burdens, neighed and broke out into a frenzied run of freedom. Their happiness was their own farewell to the two Xàmvetems.

  “You’ve already been in these mountains,” Selot observed.

  “I came through from the plain. There was no army laid out then. Many things have changed over the last few months. Precious months we were at a standstill while we waited for your training to finish,” he remarked with a grudge.

  They wandered for the rest of the day; they always came up to a point where they could not go on, where very deep abysses or passages were impossible to get through, even for an ibex.

  “Now, let’s get some rest, tomorrow we’ll go down and try to look for another pass deeper in the valley. We’ll be more exposed to the bounty hunters, but we have no other choice. I’ll put this on your account that I will, one day or another, settle with you.”

  The next morning, on their descent, Selot spied a trace of a path that headed north; a path that was barely outlined with its scarcely trod grass. It was at a great distance and just visible to the naked eye was a small pyramid made of stones. Selot had managed to pick it out with his very sharp eye another small pyramid still further on. He remembered the same creation made by Var, when they had arrived at the foot of Mount Kisov, the previous summer.

  He pointed out the track to Marrhit. They decided to follow its faint path. Any other trace of the path quickly disappeared, but here and there, the tiny pile of stones remained. They went on, trusting their instincts, and hoping that the Rotmandi pioneers had the same sense of mountaineering they did. Each time they felt lost, they found it best to look for another trail mark. Some were painted yellow, and others, red.

  “The yellow ones,” Marrhit said with certainty. “The red ones are to put us off track; I hope the man I gathered this from was well-informed.”

  They proceeded like so for three days. They crossed an empty space. Nothing more than rugged mountainous landscapes, with little or nonexistent grass, moss and lichen. There was hardly any water, no animals to be hunted at that altitude, and very little food left in their sacks. Selot offered everything he had to his brother, understanding his insatiable appetite. Marrhit did not comment and gobbled up every crumb there was. At the end of the third day, they found the pass towards the north. They crossed it and walked until the night enveloped the earth. They found a shelter in a rocky ravine that protected them from the cold at that height. When Marrhit awoke, rubbing his eyes, Selot was already up. He was kneeling, facing the rising sun, as his lips moved in silent prayer.

  He approached him almost secretly, watching him like one watches a curious beast.

  “Why do you pray?”

  Selot turned to him.

  “Do you never pray?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know what it means. Why should I do something that I don’t understand?”

  “Have they never taught you?”

  “Yes, but they weren’t very at good at convincing me. I understand what it means to focus oneself. To meditate. To draw up energy from within. But I do not understand prayers. To ask for things which will never be granted from, I don’t know who.”

  “Prayer is not asking God to grant us our requests…” Selot pointed out hesitantly, not knowing where the conversation would go. He always had the sensation his brother had a tendency to absolute folly and he never knew when it would present itself.

  “No?” Marrhit asked, surprised. “What is it then?”

  “I can only tell you what it means to me…if you are interested.” Selot was quite sure that Marrhit would have let it go then and there. Marrhit would never be interested in such a topic, especially if it concerned Selot. His brother instead, sat down on the ground with his legs crossed. Looking for a comfortable position, he looked at Selot and said:

  “Tell me what prayer means to you.”

  The rocky ravine in which they’d found shelter for the night faced a steep decline, opening up towards the east. It was an ample, convenient space broken up with rocky crags. They needed to descend to the north in order to find the beginning of the immense Rotmandi forest. The early sun of that morning’s dawn, at the start of summer, was sweetly kissing the grassy expanses that would soon be bending under the first breeze of the morning, drawing soft, rustling waves over them. The still soft golden light lit up the giant drops of dew that quenched that high and silent domain. The first dances of insects had begun in the air, and because of the altitude, buds shyly pushed through the earth. Selot sat down next to his brother, and together they observed the landscape in front of them, bordered by the chain of mountain peaks, gullies and valleys. The peaks kept on without end, until they became nothing more than a faraway strip that petered off into a hue of blue. They’d never been so far away from the rest of the world.

  Selot bowed his head and answered.

  “Keep your heart open, ready for the teachings that can come from anyone and from any situation. Thank God for every good thing you receive. Prepare yourself to give to others the good you
have received. Ask for humility to find the right road to take, in a way that might favor others. Ask for forgiveness for those times it was difficult to take the right road, so that I might be ready on the next occasion.”

  Marrhit asked him to repeat it slowly. He was sure to be ready to show cynical derision, and yet Selot did as he asked and slowly repeated the sentences he had just stated.

  “Is it written in some…manual, or, I don’t know, from the friars at Affradatis?” Marrhit asked curiously.

  Selot thought it over. Marrhit did not hurry him and gave no sign of impatience, which was unusual. He let Selot be, in the silence of the dawn that kept on with its golden light over the slopes, bringing its warmth.

  “Not in so many words, not so…directly,” Selot concluded.

  “Well I don’t understand. You’re no longer in the Abbey, why do you remain so faithful to this creed?”

  “It’s what I believe,” he answered, this time without thinking about it for even a second.

  Marrhit got up with cool determination. The sun’s rays shone directly in their eyes, lighting them up.

  “Asheeba has something to do in all of this, hasn’t she?”

  “She allowed me to listen to some of her words that felt true for me and they helped me to clarify things.”

  “You’ve got mental problems, Selot. And it’s about time you knew it. Now let’s get a move on. I want to make it to Saus as soon as we can.”

  Selot got up straight away. It was not easy to stick to an itinerary. The mountains revealed no clues which could help them, and there were no tracks to follow. They could only trust their sense of direction, and the bits and pieces of images and memories that Marrhit had stored before killing the Xàmvetem. He also used the memories of one of the Governor’s guests in Solzhaz, which were quite clear and useful, but it was not easy to put the sensations and the memories of others together; they always remained a little confusing and vague. They wandered for three days, without knowing whether they would approach their objective. They were at quite a low altitude and there was game in abundance. Each evening, after Selot seasoned and roasted meat for dinner, he pulled out papers that he kept in a leather sack, and on them he noted everything they had seen during the day. He drew up their recent journeys in detail. He tried to draft a map of the territories they were crossing.