The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  For several seconds, Selot kept silent, then he asked:

  “How many times did they make you repeat it?”

  “Until I was nauseous.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. Have you nothing else to say?”

  “I’m chilled to the bone at the moment.”

  “You more or less knew it would be like this. I mean to say, the part where you are concerned.”

  “Yes, but to hear it so coldly and precisely stated, puts me somewhat in discomfort.”

  “I understand.”

  Selot re-analyzed every order, word by word.

  “Don’t you think, one moon is far too short for a mission of this type, so far away and so challenging?” Marrhit shrugged. He was annoyed as he sighed. “They are orders. They are never easy.”

  “The objective is the deaths of three enemies, but more importantly to return by the next moon. Why?”

  “That’s enough Selot, I’ve had enough of you. I’m hungry, and I’m thirsty. Leave me in peace for a while.”

  “We left three quarters of a moon ago and we have only carried out the first and easiest…termination. It would however, be impossible to manage both of those who remain…”

  “Well, what’s changed now? Marrhit replied in a hostile tone.

  “Would you have honestly killed me, had I opposed you.”

  “Yes. If I could, I would do it now if it meant you’d shut up.”

  Selot smiled.

  They heard footsteps approach. They shut up immediately. Once again, they had not been aware of the presence of anyone up till the last minute. Selot heard Marrhit tighten like the chord of a musical instrument.

  The steps halted. They belonged to one person. Then they came closer. The person positioned themselves between the two, at an equal distance from the poles to which they were tied. They heard the person sit on the ground and sigh.

  “You are not a well-matched pair…” the relaxed voice began. It was the man who had first approached them. “I heard everything you said.”

  “Well then, you understand that we haven’t come to kill you!” Marrhit screamed. “But I will now, I swear it! Free me and fight, you nothing but a half man!” He convulsively twisted in an attempt to turn in the direction of the voice. Selot shook his head sorrowfully.

  “Free me!” Marrhit said, using the power of persuasion in his voice, even though the anger would not allow him to control it very well. The Rotmandi man however, was able to defend himself from both the stare and the voice of Vetems. In response, he got up and put a gag on Marrhit with unexpected strength in his arms for a man of his apparent age.

  “You must teach me how to do that,” said Selot laughing, “so as not to fall victim to his voice. I haven’t understood how to do it yet.” The Rotmandi smiled in reply.

  “Yes, if you like. Willingly.” In the meantime, he removed Selot’s blindfold and sat beside him with his legs crossed. Marrhit, full of rage, moaned with the gag.

  Selot turned towards the Rotmandi. His gaze crossed the sharp, black eyes of the man and his serene smile, then Selot lowered his eyes out of respect. The Rotmandi sat to his side, a few spans away. Selot let those black eyes examine him and weigh him up as they wanted.

  “Sir, I pray, will you extend the same courtesy to my companion, or else gag and blindfold me again. I have bound my destiny to his by my own will.” The Rotmandi raised an eyebrow. He understood that this was another way the boy used to invite the other Xàmvetem to remain calm and in peace. Another attempt to add to the earlier attempts and he was leaning on him, the captor, to obtain such a result. The Rotmandi was unsure. The older Vetem appeared dangerous and uncontrollable. He then decided to trust the younger one. He removed the blindfold and gag from Marrhit, who exchanged a glance full of anger, but remained quiet and still. The Rotmandi went back to sitting next to Selot and waited in silence. Selot thought carefully about what he would say and asked his spirit to pronounce the words correctly.

  “Sir, forgive us. We were not able to explain the reason for our presence here. Allow us the possibility to now do so.”

  “You already are.” He took a knife and freed him from the cords, continuing to stay seated beside him. Selot remained on the ground. He sat with his legs crossed too. He moved slowly and rested his head on his chest, keeping his hands well in sight, on his knees. Marrhit looked calm and followed with keen interest.

  “I am at your disposal to explain why we are here, to supply you with any details you want to know.”

  “Not now.” The Rotmandi put his own palms on the back of the boy’s hands.

  “I saw you nursing in the arms of your mother. Welcome back, Selot,” he said with a very sweet, profound tone.

  Selot suddenly lifted his head, breathless, and looked at him as if he had just seen a rainbow for the first time in his life. Tears brimmed in his eyes; they felt like they’d been there for centuries, behind a curtain, trapped, waiting to hear those very words. Through their hands, the Rotmandi was transmitting a shaking energy, even greater than that he had experienced at the giant oak tree in the Valley. He let it fill him with that ecstasy until it exploded. His head tipped backwards and he screamed like a madman with all the pain of his life. It was a very long, desperate and excruciating scream. First angry, and then liberating. Finally, it broke off into hiccups. From where Marrhit was sitting, tied up, he felt that very strong energy vibrate through him, and he decided to let it cross into him, and fulfill the union of their destinies. He screamed with Selot, echoing the same painful, tremendous, almost beautiful sensation. The man accompanied Selot, holding his hands as tightly as he could, finally crying alongside him. The whole forest vibrated with that freed pain. Selot hiccuped without any qualms, without modesty. He went back to screaming, because his very young age was so burdened by chains, trouble and darkness. He took all the time he needed. There was nothing else around him. Finally, he calmed down and felt that maternal warmth. The sensation of being held by his mother was found in some remote corner of his soul.

  The Rotmandi took his hands away from Selot’s.

  “The Existent and your heart have led you here. I am glad to see you again. My name is Gules.” Selot dried his tears with his sleeve, trying to regain his balance. He commanded his hands and legs to not tremble so much. He still could not talk. The man allowed him more time to regain his composure. He finally asked:

  “Who is your companion in arms?”

  “My brother,” he answered with a low voice.

  “From father’s side,” Marrhit clarified dryly. He’d been exercising his self-control to distance himself from his brother’s emotions.

  “I should have guessed,” Gules commented, enjoying himself. He got up and freed Marrhit too, who massaged his wrists and ankles without looking at him. Now Selot wanted to ask a thousand questions. He was about to open his mouth, but the man anticipated him, placing a hand on Selot’s arm.

  “”There is a time for everything. Now we must go. There is much we need to talk about, but you must rest first and put something in your stomachs…”

  “Finally, some common sense,” Marrhit commented.

  “… but before that” Gules went on, “you must meet our Sages, and to do that, you must clean yourselves up.”

  They followed him along an intricate series of bridges, platforms and rope ladders. They were stunned as they looked around them, enraptured by the city that was not a city, and by the unlikely fusion of forest and humanity. Young soldiers joined them, men and women, no longer hostile, but very curious. Marrhit could barely stand their astounded and inquisitive stares. He felt like a circus animal. Selot was captured by every single thing, his soul in a dreamy state. At a certain point, they reached a giant balcony that looked over a deep, wide well of smoking water. An inviting warmth came from it and a slightly pungent, but pleasant smell. It was a paradise immersed in the forest. He closed his eyes following the aroma. He couldn’t tell if he was remembering or dreamin
g.

  “You must wash yourselves. Do not tarry, there’s not much time,” Gules said in a practical manner. Someone had placed their luggage nearby. There was however, no trace of their weapons. The invite could not be any more welcoming. Selot and Marrhit stripped and slid down into the hot thermal waters with pleasure. Marrhit had his senses alert. Selot risked falling asleep.

  “Stay awake, Selot. You’ve still got the poison in your body and these hot waters induce sleep. Get out quickly and go rinse off under that cold cascade over there.” Marrhit pointed to where dark, dense water surged without emanating vapor, indicating that the temperature was very cold. Selot couldn’t disagree with him. He was losing his senses and instead, he wanted to stay alert. He dived under the waterfall of icy water and was invigorated in just a few instants. They got out to dry themselves and discovered instead that a substantial group of young boys and girls, roughly the same age as them, were observing the newcomers. Selot reddened. Marrhit, after judging there was no danger, started searching out the girls instinctively. Some of them gladly held his gaze, between stifled giggles and the fluttering of lashes. The boys spoke among themselves in the Rotmandi dialect, looking on and pointing.

  “Why are you blushing?” Marrhit asked Selot, only making him more embarrassed. “You are half Rotmandi…” They got dressed. Selot was fast about it while Marrhit took his time and did it with a certain sense of brazenness. It was clear he enjoyed showing off his athletic, muscular build. He was anticipating the possibility of transforming those wishful gazes of the girls into something more concrete. One of the youths who had been watching them as they bathed approached, and made a sign for them to follow him. He spoke in the Rotmandi language. He asked them not to wear boots or other footwear. They understood through his gestures, but Selot also guessed at a few words here and there in the construction of the sentences. The language could be a type of dialect derived from the Uicic language and he didn’t think it would be too difficult to pick up. All of the Rotmandis were barefoot. It was pleasant walking barefoot in that woody world. He felt a pleasant sensation rise up through his skin and spread itself over his entire body. Smiling yet armed soldiers joined the youth. The feeling was more of being escorted rather than accompanied. No one showed them where their weapons were. At a secure distance, discreetly crouched down on the branches of giant forest trees, the marksmen followed them with their blowpipes. He and Marrhit exchanged looks. Marrhit promised him with the slight twist of his lip that he would be behave. They reached a giant platform, built at the highest point of the forest, supported by at least seven giant plants. It was covered by a very high curved roof, made by carpenters with a technique unknown by both Uicics and humans. Selot lifted his head to observe it, intrigued by the mastery with which it had been built. It was an unimaginable structure; its roughly rounded platform which could easily have measure forty cubits in diameter had a cover that resembled a giant walnut shell. It was a mystery to him as to how such a big and complex element could hold itself up and give a sense of both firmness and lightness at the same time. There was a long bench in front of them, slightly raised. Ten people came in, men and women, who silently took up their places on it.

  “Why do I have the same feeling I do when I am summoned by the Council?” Marrhit asked nervously. Selot tore his eyes away from the marvelous construction that now welcomed them and brought his attention back to the present.

  “I believe it is more or less the same thing,” he agreed.

  “So we’re not eating yet…” Marrhit concluded, somewhat disappointed, as if his horizon of understanding finished there.

  Gules was a member of the ten who had come in, and he sat on the right.

  “You may remain standing, or if you prefer, be seated,” an old woman, who was sitting to the left, said. The two Xàmvetems preferred to remain standing. Their alert state would not allow them to do differently. At the center was an old Rotmandi man, with a long staff decorated with gems. He was the leader of the Sages.

  “You came to our city armed,” he said.

  Selot glanced at Marrhit to silently ask him to follow his lead. Marrhit lifted an eyebrow and motioned with his face that let him know he would comply; unwillingly, but he would do it.

  “We were wrong,” Selot affirmed turning to the people in front of them. He kept his head lifted, and his eyes lowered. His arms hung along his sides. Marrhit diligently copied him, keeping his face expressionless.

  “Gules believes you have no hostile intentions,” the Sage continued, “and he maintains we must extend our trust. Nevertheless, we have no intention of tolerating any intemperance.”

  “There will be none of that, Sir,” Selot replied. Marrhit did not bat an eye.

  “Like Gules, we too remember you, Selot. We know who you are,” the old man restarted. Emotion could be traced in his voice. There was a barely felt tremor. “We welcome you in peace, even if you do not fully belong to our people.” Selot pursed his lips ever so slightly. He registered that the second part of the sentence was more emphasized than the first. It was more important to underline that he was only in part Rotmandi, rather than the fact they were welcomed in peace.

  Here we go again; another place where I can feel like a stranger. It looked like there was no place on earth he could call ‘home’.

  “We see that the attempt by your mother to keep you away from the Council of the Uicics has been in vain. You have been led to their services finally, together with this man you claim is your brother.”

  “On our father’s side,” Marrhit interrupted, but he immediately reverted to a neutral expression.

  “Doubtlessly,” remarked the Rotmandi who was leading the conversation. He sighed, and to Selot he suddenly appeared very tired.

  “Feel free to tell us everything. Who are you and why are you here?”

  “I can tell you much less about myself than you can,” Selot began. Once more, he was forced to make the ignorance of his birth public. Once more, he was before people who knew, whereas he only had partial, incomplete pieces. “I don’t…know the name of my mother, nor that of my father.” He felt humiliated and tried to breathe as he broke off.

  “It is only recently that I have been informed by the fact my mother is a Rotmandi woman. Only a few days ago, my brother and I guessed that she and his…our father, attempted to take us away from the Uicic Council. We have been trained and sent to defeat the Xàmvetems who belong to the Congregation. The same ones who have taken power in the Kingdom of Dar and who are bringing war to destroy you. We decided however, to try and understand why our parents wanted to keep us from the Council. Since we have no information regarding the whereabouts of our father, we decided to come here, to look for my mother, that she might help us. I am here because I would like to see her. I would like to meet her. I would like…to understand.”

  “You are hired assassins for the Council.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are violating your given orders.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are deserters.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are Xàmvetems.”

  “Yes, both of us.”

  “Your brother knows your mother. She stayed with the Uicics in the Valley for several years. Did he never speak to you about her? He never told you her name?” Selot took a few seconds. Marrhit maintained his perfectly immobile mask.

  “No, he hasn’t told me her name. Yes, he spoke to me of her, but only in relation to the fact that…” Selot broke off. Speaking about his mother troubled him. He tried to regain composure. He wanted to stay objective. He wanted to be helpful to the person who was asking questions, but he had no intention of offending Marrhit with his words, nor putting him in a bad light.

  “With relation to the fact that my birth has been, for him…a painful wound.” He didn’t know how else to express it plainly. Involuntarily, he brought his hand to his heart. He realized his gesture only afterwards when Marrhit, initially hesitant, imitated him. The ey
es of the Rotmandis shifted to the latter. Marrhit then knew he must speak.

  “The Council forbid me to speak to him about his mother, just as they forbid me to speak about my father,” he reported impassibly. The old Rotmandi nodded thoughtfully.

  “Of course. It all makes sense.” He appeared to be collecting his thoughts. Then he returned to speaking.

  “The Rotmandis and the Uicics are bound by a common origin, and unfortunately, the same sad destiny. For some unknown reason we are unable to explain, our peoples for the last few generations have stopped being prolific. Women rarely give light to more than two children and many couples do not produce offspring. In a few generations, the vital life-blood of our peoples will be forever spent. You, who are still young, will be the last of us.” The old man halted. The weight of his words appeared to darken the atmosphere.