The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  Gules put himself at the head of the group, next to Selot.

  Marrhit stayed at the back, taking up the most dangerous position when it came to crossing the middle of a forest.

  Gules set a steady pace; wherever the undergrowth permitted them, they ran. They made it to the edge of the forest. At that point, Gules halted as if something was out of place. He looked around him disoriented. The others in the group were also aware of something that left them perplexed.

  “What is it?” Gules asked, more to himself than to anyone in particular. “Why does everything seem so…muffled? As if there is less color…like when you have a fever and the world seems to waver…”

  “It’s only your perception,” whispered Selot close by, “it’s got something to do with Marrhit. He is shielding us. He must have felt a Vetem nearby.” Marrhit approached them and looked insistently at Gules.

  “I must access your memories,” he ordered. Gules gulped. He wasn’t sure he trusted that Xàmvetem. “I can do it anyway,” Marrhit said, seeing his hesitation. “I can break through your defenses, even if they are very strong. Lower them; it will be easier for both of us. I will only take that which I need.” Gules looked to Selot, who asked his brother, “Is it necessary?”

  “It’s useful,” he answered, even though he was not normally used to giving explanations for his actions. “There were two dignitaries from the army that evening of the dinner of the Governor of Solzhaz who had just recently returned from service near Taur. They had heard something very precise regarding the kidnapping of a very important woman from the Rotmandi people. Now I am certain it was about your mother. If that is the case, I have reliable information on how and where they are keeping her, but I must be certain it is her.”

  “What do you need?” Gules asked ready to collaborate. Marrhit looked at him.

  “Your memories of Prasheema. I must compare them with the ones I have.”

  “Agreed,” he said. He lowered his defenses. He let his eyes become transparent for the Vetem. He didn’t even blink.

  “It’s her,” Marrhit confirmed. Selot felt a ripple of excitement.

  “What? How?” Gules asked disbelieving. “I didn’t even have time to evoke the image of her face,” but Marrhit was already looking straight to the west, like a predator that had located its prey. Selot followed his line of sight. Their demons were perfectly devoted, ready, and turned in the same direction.

  They ran along a not so distant promontory. The view was impressive. The numerous army lines were lost from sight on the extending plains below. Marrhit pointed to a row of black tents placed in a circle near there.

  “Look at the uniforms of the soldiers. Yellow and black. It’s difficult to tell at this distance, but they must be Praetorians.”

  “Gules,” he ordered. The Rotmandi came forward, his wizened experience already at the service of the young Xàmvetem, ready for battle. “You and your men must wait for us to the east, on the Locat saddle. Station your men along the way so they are ready to trap the enemy; you and at least three others must instead stay near the monolith.”

  “How can you know…” Gules began to object, but he stopped himself. “Yes, of course.”

  “Selot and I will go free Prasheema. We will be with you by tomorrow morning. We will act tonight.” He then turned to his brother, who already quivered.

  “Selot,” he called, looking him straight in the eye. “No yielding, no weakness, no pity. We are assassins.” Selot nodded, but Marrhit was not satisfied.

  “When you see your mother, do not hesitate, do not stop, do not waste time feeling emotions. You must concentrate every drop of energy on getting out of there with her alive. Prasheema is a strong woman, and you must not be overwhelmed with weakness even if you see her in a very bad state.” Selot felt the avalanche of energy that came from Marrhit. He realized he was preparing him to be efficient because there was no room for mistakes.

  “Your mother is being held prisoner in the largest tent, the one with the insignia of the General where she must cure Yellow Eye and his trusted followers. She is under their control. I do not know if Yellow Eye is in there or somewhere else. The objective is not to kill him, but to save your mother. We will take her and make our way to the Locat saddle.” He pointed to the road they would travel.

  “Why are you showing me? I will follow you.”

  “Who’s to say we will both be alive at that point?” It was a banal objection. Though it did mean that he was willing to die for this cause. For his mother. “Marrhit…” His brother squeezed his shoulder.

  “Selot, we don’t have time to talk now. They know the Council has sent us here to them, and they know which orders we have and so they are awaiting our assault. That is what I read in the mind of the first Xàmvetem we eliminated. It was the incoherence that called everything into questions that night. They won’t expect an attack like this however. It is unexpected, and mad, and it is for reasons least expected from us. We have a different objective to the one the Council gave us and this will make our movements extraordinary.” Selot nodded, clenching his teeth. The excitement was growing and had now reached its peak. They were ready. It had to be now. Gules handed them color for their faces. The two brothers streaked their faces with the red and blue battle stripes of the Rotmandis.

  “According to the Council, we were not to have any contact with them,” Marrhit nodded, “identifying ourselves as Rotmandis will confuse them even more.”

  As Gules and his group set off towards the saddle of Locat, Selot and Marrhit chose a sheltered spot, very close to the front line of soldiers in the enormous encampment. The black tents of the leader were only about a quarter of a mile from there. There were two lines of ordinary soldiers in the middle, while the praetorians guarded the officials. They were not expecting an attack on their most advanced front line, because it also coincided with a road that didn’t seem logical to use for whoever came from the south, as was in their case.

  There was nothing left to do except wait for the sun to set.

  They sat with their backs against a giant boulder, where the forest transformed into a clearing, characterized by tall shrubs and brambles interspersed with big stones. There was a dry stream bed a short distance away.

  Selot was able to endure that sensation of detachment from reality procured by Marrhit’s shield. Gules and his group, instead, had been freed of it as soon as they had left the two Vetems. As time went by, Selot noticed a growing unease.

  “You must resist it,” Marrhit said, as if Selot had questioned him out loud.

  “How do you shield us?”

  “It’s always come to me naturally; it wasn’t a technique I had to learn. You can learn it though. It’s as if you must project yourself far away. You can also do it for someone who is near you, but you must…‘capture’ them. Seize a little energy. We have no alternative. Maybe I can show you…that is if we get out of here alive.”

  “Thank you,” Selot said.

  Marrhit raised an eyebrow.

  “Today is the second time you have answered one of my questions, instead of insulting me or ignoring me,” Selot explained. Marrhit lifted his head and looked at the changing shapes of the clouds that passed quickly in that part of the atmosphere, swept along by the mountain winds. They ate the fruit Gules had offered them before leaving. They sat in silence the entire time, until sunset. When the last rays of sunshine were swallowed up by the mountains, Marrhit grabbed Selot’s temples between his hands without warning. He looked at him as if he were a devil. Selot stared at him with the same expression. Marrhit poured out all the necessary information he’d acquired from the officials of the Kingdom of Dar that evening in Solzhaz at the Governor’s dinner, into Selot’s mind: the position of the garrison and the rules of military life within the encampment, weapons at their disposition, their number, the names and faces of those closest to Yellow Eye; there was also a presence of an independent militia provided by the Marquisate of Atiarav, which was used to reinfor
ce the Praetorians. Finally, the vision of his mother held prisoner in the tent, with an ankle devastated by the ring of iron that kept her bound.

  “We will near them after the first changing of the night guard,” he then said, communicating his plan. “We’ll head straight for Yellow Eye’s tent. I’ll give you a sign to let you know if he is inside, or if we are lucky enough to have him busy elsewhere. Very silently, we kill instantly, striking the heart and throat, no scream, no alarm. We’ll put the bodies in a position as if they are sleeping. We will proceed, parallel to one another. Whoever sees the dead must die. After the second row of soldiers I will no longer have energy to shield us; it will be easier for you to move and combat, but we’ll know then that Yellow Eye will be able to locate us. We must be swift, eliminate the praetorians and slip into the tent even if many of them are behind us at that stage.” Selot took a deep breath. It already sounded like the endeavor was bordering on impossible.

  “I will confront Yellow Eye as you free the woman. Once you have done so, I will shout because I won’t be able to look at you, nor locate your presence. If necessary, you’ll have to throw me down. There are some stables not far from there. We must take horses: we can run, but the woman can’t.” Selot noticed that he didn’t call her by name, nor ‘your mother’. He was creating the predisposition necessary to get rid of all emotion within. He remembered what father had written in the letter. Marrhit was injecting into Selot that ‘imperative detachment and insensibility so the assassin could do the task for which he was created’. He used the power of his voice to put Selot in a condition of carrying out his task as best he could.

  “Is that it?” Selot asked ironically.

  “That’s it,” Marrhit confirmed seriously.

  Selot looked up at the stars; not long now. The precision with which he read the stars had come in handy. Marrhit couldn’t help shake his head for the constant fixation men had to register and mark everything.

  They watched as the stars streaked across the sky, preparing their souls for battle, each in his own way. Selot pulled out the symbol Estela had given him from his waistcoat, held it for a few seconds in the palm of his hand, then placed it around his neck. He went over Marrhit’s instructions once more. He prayed. Not able to do anything more, he prayed he could carry out his task as best he could. As he prayed, he put himself into the hands of the Existent, or God as men called him, knowing that every violent action executed that evening, would be atoned one way or another. When it was time, he made a sign to Marrhit. “Baìah,” he said, offering his arm.

  “Baìah!” Marrhit responded, grasping it. “We are one warrior.”

  It was a warm summer night, almost without moon. In the tents, the stuffy heat of the day had just worn off. Selot and Marrhit began their most foolish dash, running silently through the first lines of defense; their long knives provided by the Uicics had been unsheathed and were rained down on the first men. They were precise. Several men saw two shadows move at a supernatural speed near them, but before they could realize what was happening, they felt the warmth flow from their hearts and throats, followed by nothing else. One of them, before being struck by a mortal blow, let out a cry. He did not finish the shout, but it was sufficient to put the second line of defense and the praetorians on alert. Their presence had been detected. At that point they screamed a loud battle cry and reacted even more rapidly. The commander of the praetorians immediately called out for defense tactics. Their relentless training was immediately evident, as the ranks closed in as if they were confronting an entire garrison of an enemy army, while the sentinels had set off to raise the alarm. Marrhit gave a sign to Selot, who crouched down offering Marrhit his back as a trampoline. Marrhit flew high above the heads of closest group and landed behind them, as the first of them fell to the ground, pierced by his blades. Selot took out his lighter sword and a long knife. He engaged in combat with six adversaries, because a higher number of men would not be able to encircle him. Marrhit fought a short distance away under the same circumstances. Marrhit’s shield was broken down. Selot, free from that dense fog which had rendered his movements difficult, acquired a greater energy which surprised his enemies. Marrhit suddenly called for the formation of back to back combat. They anticipated every move and were immeasurably faster than any adversary. They made strikes that were unthinkable for a human being. They united in Baìah. They became a single, coordinated warrior. Selot began to shield Marrhit, taking on the attacks meant for him so he didn’t have to worry about his own defenses. He calculated in a fraction of a second how many blows he could receive without being disabled for the rest of the battle. That way, Marrhit could push towards their objective while Selot advanced behind him. Soon, the second line of soldiers had been defeated. The praetorians stepped forward. They saw the colors of the Rotmandis painted on their faces. They were still unable to come to terms with the fact that these warriors were breaking so deeply through their defenses. And yet, it couldn’t be an attack, there were only two of them. Where were the others? They heard the commander give the order to prepare the archers. Selot had never understood that habit of the military to aim at adversaries, even if there were comrades in the trajectory. The praetorians did not cease their attack, despite knowing that their companions would soon be pouring their arrows on them. Fools Selot thought without admiration and without pity. Marrhit’s conditioning of him for battle mode was effective. He pierced the man closest to him and used him as a shield to protect them as soon as he’d heard the sinister swish that he knew so well. The Commander gave the same order, two, three, four times. Selot and Marrhit continued using the cadavers of the praetorians around them. They waited for the archers to realize how useless that strategy was. As soon as the Commander gave the order for a new assault of body to body combat, and another line was ready to confront them with the sword, they jumped out from behind their macabre shields and got ready for a frontal attack, standing side by side. They broke the lines of attack and changed to the position of back to back again. They fought so, gaining ground inch by inch, while the entire encampment had been alerted by the sentinels by now. They’d taken too much time. Selot presumed they would not make it. The metal that crunched, and the disturbed cries were the only sounds in the night. The soldiers had united the long horns to call for even more reinforcements. Soon there would be an unimaginable number of men upon them, and sooner or later, before dawn or perhaps after, their exhaustion would break their superhuman resistance, and they would be beaten. Selot turned to Marrhit to receive instructions, but his brother kept on fighting with no sign of giving up, as if they still had all the cards in their hands. He clenched his teeth and kept at it. If that was the way it was meant to be, so be it.

  Step by step they made ground, until they reached the officers’ tents. Marrhit turned to Selot and pointed to that of the General. Then he began screaming at the top of his lungs. Selot felt him use the power of his voice. Several Praetorians dropped their swords, suddenly terrorized, and others ceased, confused. But Selot knew that scream was needed above all to flush out Yellow Eye. Marrhit had felt his presence and now wanted him to come out into the open, so Selot would have free reign. He took advantage of that moment of disorientation of the praetorians and ran like a devil in the direction of the tent. He saw Marrhit overpowered by many men, but Selot held true to his instructions. He got to the tent where the disciplined sentinels kept their positions, despite the terror that enveloped them. He eliminated two of them. He stopped in front of another two and penetrated his stare into their souls in search of the woman who was the objective of the mission; he saw no trace of her through their eyes. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a menacing figure approach Marrhit. In the weak light of the night, lit up only by the fires of the encampment, he spied the movement of the rebel Xàmvetem. He stood in front of Marrhit. His face was uncovered and he wore a terrible sneer on his face. Selot couldn’t waste time. He slipped into the tent, wheeling his swords in wait for many assailants. And so
it was. There were ten on top of him all at once. Of those ten, two of them wore the uniform of the independent militia of the Marquisate of Atiarav. Selot lunged and struck blows, trying at the same to work out the space and size of the tent. In a corner of his mind he kept on asking himself how they could possibly manage a situation of this type, but the answer rested in his faith in Marrhit’s determination. He hoped he knew what they were doing. He pushed the doubts into the mouth of his demon and kept on fighting. He eliminated eight of his ten adversaries. He left the two men of Atiarav alive. Marrhit’s conditioning had not reached that far.

  He leaned in close after having injured and disarmed them. They were on the ground, defenseless. They waited for the mercy blow.

  “I know your Marquis, in truth my Lord,” he said staring straight into their eyes, to completely capture their attention with his words. He knelt down in front of them. “I have little time. I will not kill you. Leave this army and return to Var. He needs your help.” The two looked at each other dismayed, as if they were seeing a ghost. It all seemed absurd to them. One of them, with a trembling and bloody hand, extracted a letter from a tiny pocket on his belt and handed it over to that devil warrior, without a word. He’d already killed ten men and left only them alive. Selot recognized the symbol of the marquis. He opened it in haste and read. It was a recall to the homeland that Var had made a few weeks earlier throughout the Kingdom of Dar. He opened his eyes wide, as a shiver ran through his body. Var was in very grave danger if he’d attempted to recall all his men as his last defense. At that moment, more praetorians threw themselves against him, seeing he was inactive, hoping he had been finally wounded. None of them remained alive. Under the wide open stares of the two men from Atiarav, he made as many fatal strikes as there were adversaries, moving through them in his harmonious yet lethal dance. “Do all citizens of Atiarav at this camp know about this?” Selot then asked, as other soldiers entered the tent. His eyes moved feverishly in search of the chained woman, but he couldn’t see her.