The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  “We must reach the pulleys.”

  “Pulleys?” Selot asked.

  “Yes, there is no way to reach the village, but I know there is a system of pulleys somewhere.” Sharpening his sight, he saw a giant cable about a hundred cubits away, that ran from the rocky wall and went along an inclination towards a circular platform, that was at least two hundred cubits away. Selot trembled. It couldn’t be the only way to reach the village, surely. They followed a ridge a little more than three hand spans wide, overhanging the emptiness. Marrhit walked as if the stable earth of a plain were beneath him. Selot went ahead, being watchful of his every step. He didn’t suffer from dizziness, but they were hanging at an impressive height. They made it to a natural terrace that stretched out over the void for about a dozen cubits. Selot went out with prudence and judged they were about a hundred cubits above the ground. A double cable hung from a rocky wall and ran through several pulleys, held in suspension by a system of stay rods. There was a broken and useless wooden pulley nearby, with an equally broken hook. Its shape was elongated towards the bottom, and had been designed to allow movement along the cable despite the barbed cords that had been placed on the lower part of the cable. They had been put there to make sure no one would get it into their heads to move along the cable, hanging by their arms and legs, sliding down until they reached the station post at the end of it. The hook was probably supposed to have a transport cabin attached to it, but there was no trace of one. Selot opened his eyes wide. He thought only someone who had a suicide death wish would decide to trust a means of transport like this to reach the settlement of the Rotmandis. Marrhit was calmly hanging out over the emptiness to evaluate the task. He came back shortly afterwards.

  “They’ve removed and broken the cabins to be sure no one will use it. Did you notice the barbed thorns they placed under the cable? Thorns that are half a hand high. I can’t even begin to picture the plants that produce those. They fear the army and anyone else could find this path.” The landing platform was quite far from the start of the Rotmandi settlement. It didn’t even look guarded. The Rotmandis were quite certain nobody could utilize that access point. For those who could see, half-hidden in the foliage of the trees, there were a series of bridges that led to the heart of the dwellings. On the landing platform, they could make out a pulley and a basket.

  Selot was silent. He was afraid of what Marrhit was about to say.

  “I can see only two possibilities: we grow wings…”

  “Or?” Selot asked, hoping the second option was not going back, walking for another week, avoiding army spies, and going up into the valley towards the forest. Marrhit had another idea however.

  “Let’s go tightrope walking.” A wide smile broke out over his face, which savored the folly and excitement of the endeavor. Selot looked at him aghast. “I’ve always thought you were a madman. It’s two hundred cubits, at least, on an inclined cable. It makes no difference to me, I’ll fall on my first attempt. I’m telling you this for your own good.” Marrhit raised an eyebrow.

  “It would be best to use a balance stick, I’ll give you that.”

  “Well. I’ll wait here until my wings grow.” Marrhit bowed, reprising his repertoire of street artist.

  “At your service, my lovely lady,” he teased him, but it lacked its usual maliciousness. He removed his boots and all the things he carried on his person. “Bring these down with you in the carriage I shall send you.” He laughed. “If you see the cable bounce for any reason, you must very delicately adjust the stay rods and try and stabilize it…without any great jolts.” He turned round. With a bound, he was on the cable, and he started walking along it slowly, one sure step after another, with no sense of hurry, an expression of concentration and calm simultaneously plastered on his face. Selot watched on, holding his breath, asking himself over and over again if he was truly seeing what he thought he was. Marrhit advanced without any fear, his arms open, from such a height that it would be near impossible to distinguish the outline of a man from below. He really was walking along that cable and was so far along it now, that it looked like he was walking on thin air.

  Marrhit was redefining the limits of possibility, dominating those skies, shattering every one of Selot’s convictions of what was humanly attainable.

  Halfway across, a malevolent breeze stirred, making the cable swing, even if only slightly. Marrhit took shorter and slower steps. Selot with his heart pulsing, neared the rods and with as much delicacy as he could muster, tightened the cable. He began praying to God. Marrhit risked falling off. If he fell, would he be able to catch the cable with his hands? And could he resist holding onto that thorny cable with his hands? Selot tightened the cable as far as he could; he didn’t dare tighten it any further, in case he caused a disturbance even greater than the one he was trying to rectify. Marrhit regained his composure magnificently and went back to walking with his same steady steps. He went on as if that scary moment had not even been. Three-quarters of the way across he stopped, he searched for balance in an intimidating step. Selot didn’t dare breathe. Marrhit stopped for an instant. Then, with great calm, he went back to taking unperturbed steps, until he finally placed his foot upon the wooden platform. Saved. Selot was drenched in sweat, and he had lost all sense of time and the number of times he had called upon God. He let himself sit down, while from very far away, Marrhit made a dramatic bow in his direction. Selot could all but hear the deranged, happy laugh from where he sat.

  “God is with you, brother,” he murmured, “or else something like that would not have been possible.” He watched Marrhit busy himself with something on that platform so far away. Then he disappeared beneath the foliage of the trees further down. He reemerged after a short time. He began fumbling to hook the pulley and basket. At that point, he yelled out and this time it even reached Selot’s ears clearly, as it echoed off the rocky walls. Selot worked on the pulley to make the basket ascend, just as Marrhit worked on the pulley at the bottom end. Soon enough the precarious container arrived at the rocky balcony where Selot was. The basket barely held one person, and the parapet only came up to his waist. He loaded the weapons first, Marrhit’s boots and luggage, and then his own. The load made it to its destination soon enough. When the basket came back to him, Selot prayed to a few angels and gave himself over to the transport. He threw himself into the void without looking down, holding tight to the hook of the pulley, being careful to keep his weight evenly in the center of the basket, which gave the impression of tipping easily. Halfway down, that fragile shell began bouncing precariously; he tried to re-balance it. After what felt like an eternity, he finally made it to the wooden floor. He got out of the basket like someone who’d been traumatized, as Marrhit’s unconstrained laughter echoed all around.

  “You should see yourself…” he greeted his brother, but his excessive hilarity stopped him from going on. He was doubled over with laughter. Selot sent up a thank you to the heavens for still being alive, caring very little if he seemed ridiculous to Marrhit. The laughter wore off and the two of them put on their weapons and bags. They looked around them, all of their senses on high alert. They proceeded to venture along the series of bridges and platforms built about twenty cubits off the ground, and made their way towards the center of the settlement. Marrhit’s expression hardened as they approached, seemingly on par with his alarm. He took up his bow, arrow at the ready.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to send out a signal of simplicity rather than belligerence? They will find us sooner or later. We are not here to combat…” Marrhit grunted, as means of response. They walked on, attentively looking around. They were quite close to the real ‘city’ now. They had just started spying the first woodland constructions among the foliage of the trees. These might have been houses or in any case, small inhabited dwellings.

  At a certain point, Marrhit halted. He closed his eyes, with a grimace of displeasure. Selot did not understand. He looked around, but saw nothing. Marrhit placed his bow and ar
row slowly on the ground.

  “Lift up your arms, Selot,” he told his brother, as he raised his own. Selot watched him, stunned. Then he realized that all around them, above, below, everywhere, scores of arrows were already pointed in their direction, ready to be launched. They were very close. The closest one was behind Selot and he was only a span away. He lifted his hands at that stage.

  How did they manage that? He asked himself. Was it possible Marrhit had not been aware of them?

  “Your turn,” Marrhit told him. “You’re better than me at this kind of thing.” Selot was not so sure.

  “We are here in peace,” he said, in the official language of Dar. “We are Vetem Uicics and we are searching for help.” He watched as some of the men took a step back, afraid. Weren’t the two populations friends? Hadn’t they been in contact for centuries?

  Initially, nothing happened. They then heard a soft murmur rise up in front of them. Selot felt a slight rustling and with a very silent movement, a man stepped forward. He wore a green tunic used to camouflage himself in the vegetation. He was barefoot, and had a short, white beard. His impenetrable black eyes were of those who knew how to defend themselves against Vetems.

  “You are Xàmvetems and your Council has sent you.” It was not a question. It was an affirmation without intonation. The man had used the Uicic language correctly, only with a very bitter inflection.

  “No,” Selot answered, immediately switching to the Uicic language the Rotmandi man had just demonstrated he knew well. “We are…here for reasons of our own,” he looked at Marrhit before going on and saw his nod of agreement. “We are not here for anyone. We answer to no one. We are free,” he concluded. He said it with a tremor in his voice. He’d never introduced himself as a free man before. He found the experience magnificent. He knew in that moment he would never again renounce being free.

  “Though, yes: we are Xàmvetems,” he declared. The two brothers heard the fear sweep through all those around them, and the slight tightening of the archers’ bows that they held. “We are here with the intention of peace and collaboration,” he hastily added. Selot exchanged glances with Marrhit once more, who reluctantly agreed. Together they bowed their heads and closed their eyes, their arms opened up away from their bodies in a sign they did not intend on using their penetrative stares or their weapons. Selot was immobile, as Marrhit opened and closed his hands nervously.

  “Your race is our enemy,” the Rotmandi answered.

  “The Congregations is your enemy. Old Xàmvetems who are out of control, who desire to conquer the world.”

  “You also want the same thing,” he answered, underlining the first word. The harshness in his accent rendered the words shrill.

  “We are not them,” Selot insisted. He became aware of Marrhit’s nervousness. He wanted to tell him to control himself. “On the contrary, we can help you. We will disarm…”

  “Keep still!” the Rotmandi screamed. “Your race is full of deceit and lies.” Selot sensed distinct fear and rage.

  “Sir,” he began with a calm voice, full of respect, “show us what we can do to demonstrate our good faith.” The Rotmandi appeared to hesitate. It was a request he did not expect to hear.

  “You can start by telling us your names and why you have come.” The Rotmandi knew full well what it meant for a Vetem to reveal his proper name. The younger one did not hesitate.

  “I am Selot…” he intercepted a surge of surprise, but he couldn’t be sure. The Rotmandis were weighing him up closely. He waited for his brother to tell them his name, but Marrhit had no such intention. He had already calculated how many men surrounded them, and his trained mind had already laid out how many moves it would take him to kill them all without being struck. He was having trouble submitting himself to being in the firing line; he was chomping at the bit. He wanted to establish their positions and could hardly stand the situation as it was. He hated being blind, with his eyes shut and lowered; he could simply attack them all. They had just relaxed after hearing Selot’s words. He lifted his head to reconfirm the Rotmandis’ positions. He wish he didn’t feel so inferior.

  “No! Don’t…” Selot didn’t have time to finish.

  There was an acute pain in his neck, and then everything faded. The world became muffled and then everything turned black.

  XIII

  Selot awoke confused and with his head in pain. He moved to find out what condition he was in. Blindfolded. Damn it. The typical treatment reserved for Xàmvetems. He was sitting on the ground, his legs stretched out before him. He wriggled to test the physical state of his body. His hands were tied behind his back and bound to something which could be a giant pole or perhaps the trunk of a very smooth tree. He tried to break free; they weren’t chains, but a very strong rope. They were out in the open, because he could smell the vegetation and hear the woodland sounds. His ankles were tied to something in front of him.

  “Marrhit…” he whispered. He heard a groan.

  “Oh…my head,” he heard him say. “Where are we?” From the sound of his voice, he knew Marrhit was behind him and that they were not very close to one another; there was at least five or six paces between them.

  “I don’t know. I am blindfolded and tied to a pole.”

  “Oh right…”

  “Damn it Marrhit, why didn’t you stay still?”

  “I hate staying still.”

  “We were under fire, we were asking for help. You should have stayed still.”

  “I didn’t see the blow pipe.”

  “That’s what they used to take us out?”

  “Yes. It’s a poison I’m familiar with. It depends on how much they injected us with, but I think it will leave us in a weakened state for the rest of the day.”

  “You only had to stay still,” Selot repeated.

  “I hate these people!” Marrhit yelled. If someone were close by, they would certainly have heard him.

  “Marrhit, please use your reason. We are Xàmvetems and they are under attack by an army guided by individuals of our species. We are enemies until we demonstrate the contrary. It’s up to us to make ourselves understood. They saw you move after they told us to keep still. They are afraid of us…”

  “You were the one who told them we came in peace. If you free me I will kill them all!” He began to rage. He was trying to free his wrists, jerking the thick cords that bound him. Selot sighed. He saw things were taking a turn for the worse. He didn’t even know if someone was witnessing or listening to those exchanges. It would be prudent to keep silent, but sometimes Marrhit lacked basic logical thought.

  “We must understand their reasons,” Selot insisted. Marrhit did not answer. He snarled and huffed in his attempts to free himself. “I’m thirsty! And I’m hungry!” he started shouting. “Understand their reasoning, you say? They laid us out flat and tied us up. They put these damned blindfolds on us. And we have to understand their reasoning? I’ll cause bloodshed!”

  “We told them the Council has not sent us, that we act for ourselves. Perhaps this is the motive,” Selot tried to rationalize.

  “What are you blabbering on about? That man was spitting hate. Whether we come in the name of the Council or not, what do you think would change for them? The fact is they knocked us out and tied us up. That’s what counts. Damn it.”

  “Marrhit, please. Calm down. These cords are far too strong, even for you.” Marrhit went on for a good while in his attempts to free himself, before finally giving up with a cry of frustration. Selot tried to examine what they were sitting on. He could feel it was a wooden surface. Boards, with rather wide gaps in between. He imagined they were on one of the platforms that made up part of the city. He felt the sun on his body and got his bearings.

  “That man however, was absolutely certain we came from the Council, as if he knew it, as if someone had told him…and at the same time, he hated us for it, just like you said.”

  “Stop asking questions. You’re making my headache worse.”
<
br />   “Tell me the orders the Council gave you.”

  “Damn it Selot, you’re annoying, worse than a cockroach.”

  “What will it cost you? Have you got anything else to do?”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “I want to understand.”

  “Damn you and everything you put me through!”

  Marrhit pulled once more at the ropes around his wrists, with the result that the knots tightened even more. He yelled out of frustration again. He repeatedly beat his head backwards against the pole he was tied to, pouring out the powerless rage he felt. There was a pause. There was no groaning and no movement. Selot heard Marrhit’s breathing regain its regular rhythm, less frantic now. His brother was trying to calm himself. Finally, Marrhit started speaking with indifference, reciting the orders committed to memory.

  “My orders are: ‘You are to lead the mission. Go to the army lines and eliminate the Xàmvetems. The first is at the head of the rear ranks of the army, to the south east, whose task is to face any incursions that trouble the main body of the besieging army of the forests of the Rotmandis.’ That is the one I eliminated,” Marrhit remarked at that point. “‘The second is leading the northern garrison which is camped on the plain and coordinating the offensive. He is in the center of the camp, in a plain red tent, protected by a hundred praetorian guards identified by a symbol of a griffon on their chests. The third, the furthest advanced, is guiding the legions into the forest to flush out the Rotmandis one by one, with the purpose of allowing armed forces into the heart of their settlement to destroy it together with the Towers. He moves without a cape and his face is uncovered. He is the most dangerous. He is bald; one eye has a black pupil and the other is yellow like gold. He is mute, his vocal cords are cut off. The salvation of the settlement and the Towers is not the objective. The objective is the death of the three Xàmvetems. The order is: swift, precise; there’s to be no contact with the Rotmandi population. No survivors must witness your incursion. Selot is your shield and must let you eliminate the three enemies. Selot is sacrificial, do not hesitate to expose him to risk if necessary to save yourself. Eliminate all those who are obstacles to these orders, humans and Rotmandis included, and anyone else Selot wants to protect. Eliminate Selot if he opposes orders. Collect as much information as possible on other Xàmvetems of the Congregation. Return to the Valley by the next moon even if you haven’t eliminated all enemies. If he is still alive, bring Selot back with you. If he is dead, bring back his head as testimony.” Marrhit had repeated the orders with a speed and mechanical coldness without a single interruption or hesitation.