The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  Marrhit refused to speak to anyone. It was probably the treatment that would be reserved for Selot too.

  He placed the flask with the medicine on the ground and strung it on a plank with a cord. He feared it might fall.

  “Marrhit, it’s me…” he said, taking only half a step towards him.

  “Who else could it be?” Marrhit retorted. There was a hint of something in his voice that Selot had never heard before. The inflection in a voice was never casual for a Uicic. Selot became alert. He saw the unrolled scroll beside his brother, no longer in its wooden case. The message from father. The change that had come over him was due to nothing else but the letter. Selot stopped. Perhaps the moment of truth had arrived. That was why he had picked up on that unusual accent: a cold threat, without the impulse and ferocious sarcasm that characterized Marrhit, and to which he’d been accustomed. Perhaps Marrhit’s hate had finally found the authority it needed to pour itself out on Selot and on the whole world. He was unarmed while Marrhit had his sword with him. He waited to find out what would become of him. Marrhit didn’t move. The air suddenly turned colder. After what seemed like an eternity to Selot, Marrit spoke in a flat and icy tone.

  “Do you remember the beginning of our journey, Selot? In that tavern in Neuk you told me: ‘fix your price and make me pay it’.”

  “Yes,” Selot answered, certain by now that that evening, in one way or another, would put everything concerning him in a clear light. Instinctively, his heart resigned itself to losing everything he was sorry to see go in death: another embrace from Estela, and seeing his mother’s face.

  “I told you: ‘let’s finish our mission, I will kill you afterwards’.”

  Selot felt the ice paralyze his body. He realized it was an effect of his brother’s lethal voice.

  “Yes,” he said, purposefully forcing himself not to tremble. It seemed that everything he had done and all that he had attempted to do to ‘transform’ his brother’s hate had been of no use. He’d been following an illusion, like an idiot. He’d been foolish to think he could fulfill the task Janavel had given him: to modify his own behavior in order to change Marrhit’s. He’d fallen prey to his predator. He felt like he did on that first day they had met. He recalled those terrifying words.

  I want you to get it into your head that you are the prey.

  He’d been tremendously naive. Now he was going to pay the price. His brother had likely laid hold of what he needed to trace his father, and could finally get rid of him once and for all.

  Marrhit turned his head slowly in Selot’s direction. He saw the flask of medicine placed carefully on the plank, then he looked up at Selot who was fighting the terror he had instilled, catching Selot off guard. The boy’s soul was prisoner to his brother’s voice. He’d reacted deviously. Selot had come to bring him his medicine and to speak to him about how they should act, now that they’d gathered information. He’d lowered his Vetem defenses to come and talk to his brother. He would never have expected to find an enemy sitting there right now. Selot was at a great disadvantage. And yet, he’d rounded up his fighting spirit. Marrhit saw him analyzing strategies so he could face him.

  “There’s no doubt, Selot. As I have always said, you’re a pathetic simpleton.” He lifted his eyes to the sky, detaching himself from Selot. “You are however, an extraordinary Xàmvetem. Even like this, having the upper hand over you, even though you are disarmed, I know I would find it hard to prevail against you and may not even be able to manage it. I confess this to you. I would like to challenge you out of curiosity, to find out how you would face me this time.” He smiled. And in that smile, it appeared to Selot that all of his hate melted away. His warrior instinct had been activated though. It could be a trap, even more disloyal than outright hostility, to make him lower his guard.

  Marrhit’s gaze went back towards the horizon in front of him. He placed a hand on his sword. Selot trembled. He kept his eyes glued on his brother’s every move. He watched him as he unsheathed his weapon. With a lightning speed motion, he changed his grip as if the sword were a javelin; without getting up, he bent his arm back powerfully, and launched it at Selot with a mighty twist of his upper body. The blade rammed itself deeply into a tree trunk, as there was an explosion of splinters. Selot instinctively bent his body to dodge it, but he also realized that if he had not done it, the trajectory of the sword would not have struck him. He found the sword instead, perfectly within reach, at the right height and in a convenient position for him to extract it from the wood, without even needing to take half a step. Marrhit turned his back to him once more. He had not attacked him. On the contrary. He had disarmed himself to Selot’s advantage. It was his way of offering the hilt of his sword to him. Spectacular and unbearable, which was his style. Selot couldn’t believe it. He remained where he was for a few more instants, his muscles still tense. Then he took a deep and silent breath. He slowly turned his head and extracted the sword. He had to use all his strength because it had penetrated at least a couple of spans into the very hard wood.

  “My father wrote to me,” Marrhit said, shifting the case and scroll towards him. He had called the father ‘my’, and he had underlined the fact that he had written directly to him. The message was very clear to Selot. He knelt down next to Marrhit. He laid the sword down next to him, giving it back. He picked up the scroll very carefully. He closed his eyes to avoid seeing the words it contained, rolled it up and placed it ever so carefully in the case so as not to ruin it. He closed the case. He placed it on the ground delicately, and waited. Marrhit let him do it, step by step, right up to the end.

  “I didn’t give it to you so you could put it away like a servant. I want you to read it because you are my brother.” Selot faltered.

  “I thought that…”

  “I’ll admit it, Selot. I enjoy teasing you. I’m guaranteed fun with you.” Selot put his hand to his mouth and chin, still wounded from the encounter the day before. “You’re driving me crazy,” he said, searching for a logical explanation for his brother’s behavior.

  “I like doing it, yes,” Marrhit replied. “I told you, it’s fun.” With a gesture of his hand he invited Selot to read the scroll. So Selot did, reopening the case he had just closed. He looked at the seal and the elegant, sure writing. He noted the color and thickness of the ink, the quality of the scroll. He stroked it with his hands, as if he might be able to feel his father’s hands in his own.

  “What’s his name?” he asked, before finding the courage to start reading.

  “Sabre.” Marrhit pronounced it affectionately.

  Selot nodded. It was a very old name which indicated a type of curved sword. He began to read silently.

  My beloved son,

  Read these words until the end, even if you find them painful.

  Destiny and your search for the truth has led you here to this scroll that I have written in the fifteenth year of the rule of King Lotar II, on this day of the equinox after winter’s passage.

  I have given this scroll to Prasheema, the mother of the brother you have never met. She, or someone on her behalf, has delivered it to you.

  It is very painful, but at the same time precious, to leave these words for you, after our farewell. It was the most difficult moment of my life, but our enemies were very close and far too numerous and strong, even for me. They would have captured me and set aside a terrible fate for you. It is for this reason I left you with the Urds. I knew they would keep you hidden. It was essential you cut off all ties with me; it was necessary that you always kept me far from your mind and far from your heart so it wouldn’t enter your head to come look for me. That’s why I made you hate me. I had hoped to avoid that moment right up till the very end, but the circle was closing in on us. I went away so they would follow and hunt me, staying remote from those I meant to protect: you, your brother, and his mother. I was tempted to come see you at least once, how this son of mine whom I hadn’t embraced all these years, had grown. Though I would have
committed a grave error.

  After your birth, the Council became convinced that the purity of our race had reached its limits and that it was necessary to dilute my blood. They thought of creating a crossbreed with the Rotmandis; to deliver several powers tying the newborn to the closeness of the Existent which this population manifests very deeply. They hoped by doing so they would annul the effect of the close bloodline between Vetem descendants, as well as adding together in one sole Xàmvetem, the greatest possibility of offense. I joined with Prasheema out of duty, but through her I eventually learned what it means to love. May the heavens one day bless you with this same blessing; I am unable to describe it in the blunt language of my warrior heart.

  When your brother was born, I took him in my arms and analyzed his soul, just like I did when you were born five years earlier. I knew immediately he had taken the spirit of his mother, and that he would never be detached, nor have the necessary insensibility needed to be an assassin and to do his job well.

  Selot stopped there. He could no longer read on. He couldn’t hold the scroll in his trembling hands. Tears filled his eyes. He held the letter away for fear the tears would fall and ruin the paper. He remained kneeling and kept still. He placed a thumb at the height of the word where he had stopped reading.

  Marrhit took the letter from his hands gently, and proceeded reading out loud, right from where Selot had stopped.

  I told Prasheema. She decided to take him away from his destiny. She had intuitively sensed many things that I was unable to at that time. She took him to the Abbey of Affradatis and entrusted him to that human order for reasons that perhaps even I didn’t wasn’t fully aware. There were other solutions, but I trusted her vision of life which was always clear and very deep. I always trust her. Forgive me if she took the place of your mother in my heart. I loved your mother till the end, but I couldn’t lie to myself. If you love in your adult age, you will know what I’m talking about.

  It is imperative I put you on your guard with regards to the mortal danger you now risk.

  Do not place your loyalty with the Council. Our most terrible enemies hide within it. They move like poisonous serpents between the Council and the Congregation, in a plan to pit one against the other, which will bring our people to destruction before the natural designated time set out by the Existent. Three of them hunt me down relentlessly and they will keep on until they eliminate me. You know their names because they were my closest friends. Before the madness took over their minds, they visited our home when you were a child. If you’re reading this, perhaps the Council has found you and trained you to eliminate the Congregation, but you must know there are infiltrators who know everything about you and me, and who are informed of the Council’s every move. The corrupt members of the Council will engage in any astuteness to impose their supremacy. If you are reading this letter, go to the place you know, the one I pointed out to you many years ago. I will be there twice a year, every year, at each equinox. Remember, only during the hours that precede the night, and then I will return once more to roaming.

  An important warning: if you are reading this scroll, you are in Saus. Even if you are trained and have fully developed your capabilities, you will never be able to defeat the Xàmvetem with the strange eyes alone, nor his leader. They are both beyond your reach. The Council may have brought you to this part of the kingdom to confront them. Stay away from them.

  My very beloved son, even though we have been chosen to kill, we have not been condemned to hate, nor to slide into evil. Do not hate Prasheema. Do not hate your brother, if you ever meet him. If you wish, if you cannot forgive, keep hating me, as I was unable to protect you in any way, apart from abandoning you in the cruelest way possible.

  Your father.

  Marrhit’s last words reechoed in the evening, as the sun hid itself behind the mountain peaks, expanding its last golden rays and forming long shadows. Marrhit replaced the scroll into its container. He had read it calmly, pronouncing each word, and dulling his emotions to remain clear and true to the message. His father would not have trembled, nor would he have lingered over the more painful passages. And so, neither would he. Selot asked himself how it was possible that Marrhit had allowed him to read that letter, and that he himself had read it so serenely. He tried to imagine how much it had cost him. The world had just changed. He remained kneeling in the same position he had when Marrhit had started reading. He could barely breathe. He wanted those words to repeat themselves and echo, over and over again, in his ears and in his mind. He had met his father; he’d felt him vibrate in his heart.

  The sun at that point had disappeared. The first stars sparkled to the east.

  “Fine,” Marrhit commented drily, as if nothing significant had occurred. “It’s getting late. I’m going to find a place to sleep,” he said with a candor that was completely out of place. “I suggest you do the same thing.” He took up the flask with the medicine, and gulped down the contents only to disappear via a rope ladder towards the lower levels. Selot stood up dazed and confused, and followed him. They went back to the center of the settlement without exchanging a word. A woman met them and pointed to some hammocks hanging between the branches of the trees, sheltered by a covering of twigs. Marrhit adored being up high and the feeling of emptiness below his feet. He chose the hammock which hung highest and furthest away from the tree trunks. He reached it by walking along a rope that kept it hanging, much to the surprise of the Rotmandis present. He liked to garner praise and admiration. Selot carefully chose a hammock just a few feet away, above the biggest fork in a giant tree, which almost left him with the impression of a floor beneath him. He reached it by means of the wooden walkway made solely for that purpose. Once he’d found a comfortable position, Marrhit fell asleep immediately. Selot prayed at length, going over the words in Sabre’s letter. He finally fell asleep, won over by the light swinging motion of the hammock.

  Gules woke him. Dawn had just begun.

  “We have fifteen men. All of them experts. We are ready to leave.” Selot was promptly alert. Gules handed him food for the approaching march to the front lines of the Kingdom of Dar. The fifteen Rotmandis were silent, armed with spears, bows and blowpipes. They had painted their faces and their hair with blue and red berry extracts. They were barefoot. They wore short jackets and pants of a fabric Selot could not identify, but looked far too light. They also wore equally thin cloaks to shelter them from the cold air. Selot was perplexed as he observed them: it truly did not look like suitable clothing for battle.

  “We will not directly face our adversaries, as we are not made for war. We defend, we hide. We prepare the traps to keep them back. That is all. We have no fear of dying though, because we know that it is a necessary condition for rebirth.” Selot nodded. He was determined and very concentrated. He packed up his warrior gear from the Uicics and put on all his weapons. He’d gathered a lot of information between the conversation with Gules and the letter from his father that had appeared from the past like a miracle. Marrhit was missing. He had to ask him what he planned on doing. He looked for him in his hammock, but he was not there, and nor were his weapons. He asked several Rotmandis if they had seen him, but they shook their heads. He couldn’t have disappeared like that. He asked again, but no one could give him any information. He searched for him, calling out his name, however the sun was rising and he could not tarry his departure any longer. He gave up in the end to the fact his brother had decided to start his search for father without him. Without even a farewell.

  Damn it, Marrhit. You’ve left me high and dry.

  He heard a laugh from behind.

  “You’re such a laugh, second-hand brother.”

  He wheeled round. Marrhit was hanging onto a beautiful girl who he held tight with one arm, a languid stare on his face. It was evident they had spent the last few hours together. They emitted a warm odor of intimacy.

  “It’s late,” he cut off without passing comment. “I must know if you’re coming w
ith me or not.” Marrhit shrugged, unconcerned.

  “The next equinox is far away and I have no other plans at the moment. And remember what our father wrote: that Xàmvetem is out of my reach and I cannot face him alone. It would be a joke if you could. We go together, or not at all.”

  Selot furrowed his brow. “Let’s go then.”

  The girl had already detached herself from Marrhit with a certain ease. Selot guessed neither of them had developed a particular affection for the other, but that both wouldn’t mind seeing each other again. Marrhit went and fetched his weapons, which were well-hidden in a cavity of a big trunk not far from there.

  “It looks like your brother has happily overcome his aversion to our people…” Gules said, smiling.

  “One hour in the body of a woman is worth more than twenty years in conversation with the Sages,” one of the men snorted in the Rotmandi tongue, raising laughter in the group. Selot had worked out the meaning of the phrase for its similarities with several Uicic words and its tone.

  “Apparently so,” he confirmed, remaining serious, “but let’s avoid making him nervous,” he ended with his usual practical sense. His expression settled all of them immediately.