“Unlike mankind,” he continued, “notwithstanding their incomprehensible instinct of self-destruction, they are most prolific and they have conquered all the lands left. They are a population however, without any link to the Existent and without the special capabilities of Vetems which manifest themselves among the Uicics. They are full of constrictions, fears, hate. They are enemies, one against the other. We must surrender to the fact that the Existent, for some reason or other, has decided to destine their species with a lack of wisdom. Their personified God, who bestows punishment and fear, and for whose name they kill and bring violence to their own kind, will overwhelm us all.” Selot reflected. He was amazed that he’d never noticed that among the Uicics, many families only had one, possibly two children at most, and that the elders outnumbered the young ones. It was such an evident and important fact…
“We know that we are nearing the end of our adventure here on this planet. And likewise, so do the Uicics and their Council. Obviously, the Congregation knows it too. That is why prolonging their lives, even through black magic, has become their obsession. They know they are the last living beings to have powers mankind consider to be supernatural, and they want to exploit these powers to dominate and rule the world in the absolute. It is incomprehensible for us to understand this frantic folly, which renders them just the foolish as the human race. They are corrupt, and unfortunately it is no longer possible to save them. They were to be a guide for the human race, but they have transformed themselves into the worst nightmare imaginable. Many serious mistakes were made and now it is too late to remedy these.” The profound bitterness in the words of the old Rotmandi reached everyone’s hearts.
“The Council of the Uicics made this last, desperate attempt, giving the go ahead for a plan to knowingly interbreed Vetems that would bring into creation a sort of chosen ‘militia’ to oppose the rebel Xàmvetems. But you already know this. Hence, you were born, for this objective, for which you have surely been told. We know both of you. You are Marrhit, son of two Xàmvetems who in turn were knowingly selected, both being very powerful. And Selot, child of a male Xàmvetem and a female Rotmandi, one of the closest elements to the source of the Existent. Both of your births were preordained according to a plan established more than two centuries ago.”
Marrhit didn’t make a single sign of acknowledgment, his face being a surface of sculpted wood. Selot felt his heart race and his face change color. He took in the news, adding it to the treasure chest of knowledge about his origins.
“Unfortunately, things did not go as we had hoped…the Uicic Council over time, began showing anomalous behavior. Nobody knows precisely who belongs to it. There is maximum reservation for its members. But with the passing of the years it has slowly demonstrated a lack of clear and unambiguous communication from them. We fear, for some reason we do not know but which terrifies us, it is slowly corroding just as it did with the generation of the old Xàmvetems. This is a terrible scenario which fills us with unease. Certain terrible facts have occurred in the last few years that push us to be certain of this situation.” He then turned to the older Vetem.
“Marrhit, your father came to us. It was five years ago. He was being hunted by the Council, so he said, and he came seeking refuge. He was trying to understand what he should do. He stayed with us for a few months. Before leaving, he gave Selot’s mother a small wooden case with a message for you. Perhaps he knew, or perhaps he hoped you would one day come here to us. He left when he realized his presence put all of us, and above all the woman he loved, in grave danger.” Selot trembled. Marrhit maintained his steely self-control.
“In the meantime, the army of Dar has devastated us. They have burnt our forests and they hunt us relentlessly. They are led by hardened militias who answer directly to the Xàmvetems of the Congregation. This is the darkest hour of the history of our people. Selot, your mother, our best healer, has always remained at the most dangerous battle fronts to cure and relieve our wounded soldiers and our civilians who are involved in this tremendous war. But only a few months ago, she was kidnapped by a Xàmvetem who was leading the foremost assault troops, a devil with a yellow eye, like a cat. We attempted to free her, but our forces are miserable compared to those of our enemies. We are so very sorry. We know she is alive, we can feel it through the Existent, but she is held prisoner. We do not know where.” Selot paled. He harbored the illusion he would have the chance of meeting that woman, and now, once again, she had become a distant and untouchable image. Knowing she was a prisoner of war was the worst news he could receive. His heart beat wildly out of control. He couldn’t hide his searing disappointment and his immense pain. The worry made his hands shake. The old man who spoke, stood up at that point and went to him. He placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Selot, bring Prasheema back to us.” He heard that name for the first time in his life. Something rose up within him in that very instant. His demon razed the bars of its cage. He lifted his eyes, his stare suddenly hard as rock.
“Give me my weapons. Now.” His words already had a hint of battle to them and were, without a doubt, an order. Marrhit raised his eyes at the same moment, as if the decision had been mutual and synchronized. His gaze was identical.
The old man looked in Gules’s direction, who nodded to the two soldiers on guard. The old man moved towards Marrhit and handed him a small cylindrical case made of wood. “Prasheema expressly told us to give this to you in person.” Marrhit saw the seal with his father’s symbol on it. He grabbed it without a word and without showing any emotion. The soldiers brought them their weapons. It took the two Xàmvetems very few moments to strap them on.
“May there be peace between us,” the old man said as he gave them leave, with a typical expression of his race. The Sages distanced themselves, while Gules joined them.
“Now join us to eat,” he invited. Marrhit clutched the small wooden case and placed it inside his waistcoat to one side. Selot appeared to hesitate. It was clear he wanted to leave immediately.
“A few hours will not make a difference,” Gules said interpreting his hesitation. “While it could provide you with some valuable information.” Selot clenched his teeth and consented. He had to stay lucid. Impulsiveness would do him no favors. Marrhit was unreadable.
They reached a platform where dinner had been set up; much food flavored with lively spices were on offer, and juices pressed from fruits and flowers as well. The light from small torches soon lit the area, as the sunlight dipped behind the mountains. The food was on low tables where scores of people had taken up their place to eat.
“We are able to remain at the front thanks to the deserters of the army. They are not a small number. They understand how absurd this war is and how senseless the violence used against us is,” Gules began. “The congregation wishes to wipe us out completely, wipe us off the face of the earth so they are free to dominate mankind. At the same time, the Council of the Uicics are not interested in coming to our defense, but only in the destruction of the old Xàmvetems. Within the Uicic Council there is division. Some remain faithful to the mandate and have possibly understood that evil is infiltrating their ranks. But many components, and we fear they are the most important ones, clearly demonstrate similar choices to those made decades ago that pushed the Congregation to its folly.”
“Does the army usually take prisoners?” Selot asked.
“No” Gules replied, “their habit is to kill and advance. They have no use for living enemies. We believe your mother was kidnapped because over the years she has made a name for herself. It has been long-known there is an exceptional Rotmandi healer at the front. I think they captured her to make her work for them.”
“So she is nearby…” Selot reasoned.
“We believe so,” the Rotmandi confirmed.
Marrhit ate in silence, quickly downing his food.
“Have they asked for a ransom or an exchange of prisoners?” Selot asked trying to stay focused.
“No. Nothing.
They saw her captured by a militia led by the Xàmvetem as he gave instructions to distance her without injury. In his way, by gesturing. That being does not ever speak.”
“His vocal cords have been cut.”
“Really?” commented Gules. “I knew nothing. But now that I think about it, no one has ever heard him talk or scream, not even during attacks…you know a lot of things.”
“Very little truth be told. Tell me more about him.”
Gules squeezed his eyes slightly, as if putting his memories into focus.
“Yellow Eye, as I call him, obeys the Xàmvetem installed in the main camp on the Taur plain, the one we have never seen. Sometimes we do not even think he exists, such is his phantom like being. Yellow Eye is ruthlessly inhumane. I have seen him carry out the worst atrocities a man can imagine. He is the epitome of evil. It is he who plans and leads the incursions through our forests, following his honed instincts, where he can unearth us despite our training in shielding ourselves from Vetems. He does not hesitate to sacrifice an entire troop of his own even if it means killing just one of ours. We have frustrated many of his attacks, hiding and putting out the fires that are lit in order to flush us out. It drives him to madness. We believe Prasheema is in his hands and… we have no idea how he might use her, nor what he forces her to do.” Selot would not touch his food. He stared at a spot on the table without moving his gaze.
“It’s rare to see him in the day. He moves willing through the night. That’s when he strikes. He is often at the front of the army. He often wears necklaces made out of body parts of humans he has killed. I once happened to see him up close. He has a spirited, terrifying look to him. His Vetem stare can penetrate the defenses of our best trained. That is how he was able to find a way into the heart of our city, stealing secrets from our minds before killing us. He wipes away any last resistance with torture.” Selot shivered.
“So he could know about our father, about me and Marrhit.”
“Yes, if he sought this information from Prasheema. She is very clever though. She could have hidden that information very deeply, but we cannot possibly imagine the conditions in which she has been held all these months. We cannot hope for anything. We can only pray.” Selot clenched the hilt of his sword.
“Tell me more about this Xàmvetem,” he asked. He had to learn everything.
“They say he feeds off human flesh and drinks the blood of his victims. He carries out horrific rites. His appearance makes him look young, but the oldest of us remember the tales of a Vetem with irregular eyes over a century ago. Some of us have survived encounters with him. They recall having felt like their vital strength was being sucked out by him. They recall being paralyzed but having no fear, as if being imprisoned in a type of enchantment.”
“Speak to me of how the army is laid out now. How many are there? How are they organized, how do they attack and which weapons do they use?”
Gules cleared a space on the table and drew a map on it with a knife, supplying all the details he could remember. Gules had been one of the Rotmandi leaders that commanded the defenses of the people, and one of the few who had unfortunately learnt the art of war. He gave precise information on the whereabouts of the adversaries, on their techniques of war and how they readied their defenses. The oppressive difference of overwhelming numbers and techniques was counterbalanced by the Rotmandis perfect knowledge of the territory and the forest.
Selot registered every word.
“In extreme cases, we request help from the animal populations.” Selot tilted his head to one side. He didn’t understand.
Gules smiled. “Yes. We do not exploit them notwithstanding, they must not be involved in the lunacy of our species, but in extreme cases we do ask for help from bears, wolves, and eagles. You cannot know, young Selot, because you have never lived with us and you do not know your bloodline yet, but we are profoundly connected with all forms of life in this forest.” Selot tried to remember that a year ago he had been closed away in an Abbey where stories of this type were considered heretical fairy tales, that would only get you a good punishment, whether you told the tale or whether you listened. It seemed impossible. His world had expanded to dizzying heights and didn’t look like it was slowing down.
“Do you know where…our father is?” he asked with a certain amount of trepidation in his voice. He didn’t want to replace Marrhit from asking it, but his brother didn’t seem to want to join in the conversation. He ate as he stared at his plate, without speaking a word to anyone nor exchanging a glance, no matter who it might be.
“He came through here a few years ago, as our Sage told you. He feared whoever was hunting him would hurt us. Nobody knows where he went. If anyone knows anything, it will be Prasheema. Perhaps that scroll he left could be useful for your search.” Selot turned towards Marrhit, but he was no longer at his place. He’d taken a torch and was heading towards a small platform very far from the others.
“I think he needs some time alone,” Gules said pointing to him. “He barely tolerates us. I imagine the hate he extends to our whole people is based on the hate he feels for your mother. It is clear he abhors us,” Gules observed. “I believe he has decided not to speak a word to us.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Selot.
“And yet, you believe he is not entirely mistaken, am I right?” Gules asked.
“It’s not easy for either of us. I wish it weren’t like this. I wish everything was different.” He hid his face in his hands. He felt the blame was on him. “God only knows how much I want to relieve the suffering my birth has caused him.”
“Stay strong Selot, just like I see and feel you to be.” Selot shook his head slightly, as if he were shaking away bad thoughts. He picked up a clean bowl and poured some water into it. He took out the ingredients necessary for Marrhit’s medicine and started preparing it. Gules watched him attentively.
“Do you need that?” he asked, amazed.
“Not me. Marrhit. He has a sort of illness, but this medicine keeps it under control.”
“Prasheema never wanted to speak to me about you…” Gules whispered, “but sometimes she had a faraway look in her eyes and I am certain she was thinking about you.”
“What does she look like?” Selot asked without taking his eyes from his work.
“She is a very beautiful woman, not very tall, with brown eyes and hair. She has a very sweet face, perfectly oval, high cheekbones, defined lips, her nose turns up a little. She has strong hands with tapered fingers. You look like her a little, even if you resemble your father much more. The thing that strikes you most in her is the way she moves. It’s like a dance, fluid and harmonious. She has a unique way of moving her body, her head and her hands. It’s as if she is permanently connected to a sound and she’s following the melody. You’re immediately aware of something pleasant in her, then you realize it has to do with her way of moving and her voice which has a warm and energetic timbre. Everything within her is for good; towards helping others; of being happy.” Selot hadn’t lost any part of that description, not the intonation, nor the pauses between one word and the next.
Gules wavered. Then he asked a question.
“Do you know why the Uicic Council asked for the union between your father and Prasheema?”
“I don’t have any clear ideas,” he admitted, slightly embarrassed. “Marrhit is a weapon of war, but he has this illness. They define it as an ‘instability’. Perhaps they were looking for a way to balance it.” A black and white cat jumped onto the table at that precise moment. It smelt the medicine Selot was preparing, and the boy gently sent it away. The cat rubbed itself against his hand to be stroked.
Selot finished his work.
“I’ll leave before dawn,” he said.
“Will your brother join you?”
“I don’t know. I believe it will depend greatly on that message from his father.”
“He makes my skin crawl. He is very much like the Xàmvetems we know. Are you certain you k
now him? I mean…are you afraid of him? How can you trust him? We risked freeing him, but I would never have done so had you not been with him. His spirit seems to be filled with hate and rancor in my opinion. Sometimes, I think your race has a natural inclination towards evil.” Gules shut up. He’d given himself too much liberty in being sincere.
Selot hardened his expression. He poured the liquid he had prepared into a leather flask. He stood up and bowed.
“I thank you for all you have done for us. Your hospitality, this dinner, and your openness to peace. I thank you for this conversation.” He spoke in tone that was just a little too high and a little too harsh. Almost lashing out. Many heads turned in his direction, dimming the volume of the communal chatter. Gules looked at him wordlessly. He understood he had hurt his feelings. Selot perceived his apprehension and the fear that ran through the tables. After all, he was a Xàmvetem and, despite the kind words, he seemed to have some hostility. He controlled himself.
“My manner has not been appropriate,” he said in an apologetic tone towards everyone. “Forgive me,” he added humbly. He crossed his hands over his chest and bent his head once more to signal that he was willing to remedy the situation.
“No, it doesn’t matter,” Gules hurried to say. “You can however, help old Galot to return to his home,” he said, pointing to an old man, who moved so he could be identified. “He is paralyzed from the waist down and needs someone to carry him, but his cousin who usually assists him has a sore back today and had great difficulty in carrying him here.” It was a way to soften the embarrassment that had been created, and to tranquilize souls. Selot was ready and willing. He went towards the old man. He smiled briefly and crouched down to take him on his shoulders. The old man’s cousin helped him up onto his back and led him to their tiny dwelling.
They went towards the far platform where Marrhit sat. He picked him out because he was the tallest and because he could see Marrhit’s profile against the twilight sky. He joined him after some time; the distances were deceiving in that city mixed in with the forest. From up there, the view opened up onto the entire forest and onto the nearby mountains that rose up to the east. Sunset would soon be coming. The air, combined the pungent air of resin with the cold breath of perennial snow and rock that swept down from the mountain peaks on the wind. Selot filled his nostrils and lungs. He felt a sharp, sparkling energy. He spied Marrhit. His back was to him, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling in the emptiness. He was staring straight ahead towards the endless plains of Taur. Marrhit could pick out part of the army with his eagle eye vision, even if the widespread mountains to the east blocked most of the view in that direction.
The Creed Page 33
