The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  “I told you you must not talk to one another!” screamed the Commander. Then he let out a long breath. He ordered one of his men to replace the gags of the two prisoners, as tightly as possible. He couldn't recall very well, but he must surely return to the General. He turned on his heels and left.

  Immediately after the third changing of the guard, they heard howling from afar. A few minutes later the howling sounds multiplied. The sounds seemed to be coming nearer. The Praetorian guards started looking around them. How strange that wolves would press in so close to the encampment. It was curious rather than a real preoccupation. The camp was well-defended and lit up by fires. A commander gave the precautionary order to light more bonfires along the side perimeters, which is where the beasts seemed to be coming from. It would avoid letting a particularly hungry pack come much closer. The night went back to silence. A short time later however, a long, lone, very high-pitched howl rose up, which pierced the ears of all who heard. Marrhit sniffed at the night air in search of some clue. It was something very out of the ordinary. The howl repeated itself, turning the praetorians' blood to ice. Selot was the only one who understood that it was not a wolf. Something told him it was a human being, as much as it resembled a real wolf sound amazingly. The howl repeated itself. He turned his head until he was certain as to where it was coming from precisely. Marrhit had done the same thing. From the opposite side, a feverish response rose up, the howls of many wolves, so close now. Marrhit and Selot's developed sense of smell could almost pick up the odor. There was a third chorus of howls from another direction, very similar to the previous chorus, but perceptibly different. Selot was sure they were wolves as well as men. He tried tugging at the chains that bound him, and to move his head to remove the damned blindfold from his eyes, but it was too tight. Something in that howl made him uneasy. Very uneasy. It was if something antique and animal-like stirred inside him; something that he had never encountered in his life, not even during his very hard training sessions with Janavel. He searched for that sensation. He felt it like an internal heat, an all-new force, without conscious thought, without human words. Something purely wild.

  Once more, there was a moment of silence. Selot felt the praetorians' distress, as they spoke between themselves, and started wielding their swords. The lone howl repeated itself. Selot could not tolerate the gag, and began tearing at it with his teeth, grinding his teeth, and moving the muscles of his mouth to bite at the cloth. He began frothing at the mouth like an animal gone mad. Marrhit felt his outcry of agitation. He followed the provenance of every single sound and readied himself for anything.

  At a certain moment, all of the howls united into one single chorus which followed a syncopated rhythm, evermore insistent and threatening. The lone wolf cry finally joined in, making a solitary, terrifying animal sound. Selot and Marrhit suddenly felt their chains struck by a metal blow and they realized they were free. In a split second, they removed their gags and blindfolds. They jumped to their feet and looked around, on guard, ready to face any adversary. Selot could not resist the instinct: he breathed in the night air, threw his head back, and joined in with the howls, their rhythm and their timbre. He felt a wild happiness. Marrhit caught a glimpse of 'something' that had liberated them. It was a four-legged being with strange fur, which could have been a wolf, but he wasn't sure. Before he managed a better look, the being disappeared. Selot grabbed him by the arm.

  “I've found my mother.” Marrhit understood instantly. Together they headed in the direction of the solitary wolf cry, with its timbre higher and clearer than the others. As he ran, Selot found himself inside the protection of Marrhit's shield all of a sudden. They had to be quick so they wouldn't fall into the hands of Yellow Eye again. They reached a specific point. There was only a very small tent, set back from all the others. It was completely anonymous, and it was made to look like a storage space for provisions. Selot threw himself inside. A woman was chained by the leg, just as Marrhit had pictured her. And she had the same aspect of the vision his brother had installed in his mind just before their surprise attack. She was beautiful, even if she was no longer young, with signs of mistreatment on her face and body. The conditioning worked perfectly, and he felt no emotions. The woman looked at him with a fiery expression and went back to howling. Selot broke open the lock on the iron ring that held her prisoner, and turned to leave in haste, followed by the woman. Once they were outside the tent, he saw a spectacle he would never forget. Packs of wolves kept the praetorians at bay, baring their long fangs, muscles taut, ready to attack. There were scores and scores of them. They came out of nowhere. Marrhit's eyes flew wide open. They heard a cry to their right, towards the external perimeter of the encampment. They followed it. They spied strange beings, similar to the one Marrhit had glimpsed at the moment of their liberation. The woman ran on ahead of them, following those strange creatures. After a while, they understood they were people. Rotmandis and men covered in wolf furs stitched together. They moved on all fours to create confusion. Soon though, they returned to walking on two feet. Two of them neared Selot and Marrhit without breaking their stride and handed them their weapons which, who knows how, had been recovered. The entire group jumped the lines of the encampment. A few soldiers and praetorians who were not so terrified made one last attempt to block them, but they were cut down by the swords of the two Xàmvetems. They ran without looking back, without asking questions, without thinking, simply keeping their eyes glued to the backs of the men who had come out of nowhere, and who were leading them to salvation. The woman was agile and kept up with everyone, calibrated by her own strength. Behind her, three Rotmandis shielded her back. They heard the infuriated cries of the commanders, and the horns that gathered the troops, along with the pacing of the horses. Though they would never have reached them; they were already in the deep and intricate recesses of the forest. They were in the motherland of the Rotmandis, not far, but already impossible to find. Selot and Marrhit went on in the total dark, following the breaths rather than the indistinguishable outlines in the night. They ran without knowing where they placed their feet, blindly trusting the men in front of them. In the damp recesses of the forest, one could not see the moon, nor the stars. They still couldn't believe they were free. Marrhit believed he now owed them more than an apology to this extraordinary people. Selot felt Marrhit's protective shield slacken before finally dissolving altogether. They were out of the reach of Yellow Eye. Without saying a word, the group reached the saddle of Locat, where they joined forces with Gules and his men. The forest freed them from its sensual embrace and the night sky opened up above them. Marrhit and Selot were breathless as a score of wolves gathered around them, and danced a type of reciprocal dance with the men. Then, a wild howl towards the stars exploded in unison, together with Rotmandis, humans and wolves. Selot mirrored the energy. He threw his head backwards, giving himself completely over to the extraordinary animal vitality that was shaking his body and soul. Marrhit was infected and did the same thing, following that wild and disturbing exultation. It was a celebration of living beings, of freedom, and of life. Prasheema's voice rose above all others and set the rhythm. The night vibrated along that unstoppable, sensual joy, liberated by every constriction, every limitation, every discrimination. It was one solitary animal that cried out its absolute freedom.

  Prasheema and the leader of the pack of wolves exchanged sniffs and licks of thanks and greetings, while the others, men and wolves alike circled their leaders of this assembly in excitement. The wolves finally distanced themselves and went to their own territories. One of them, with eyes of intense blue, stared long and hard at Selot. It had fair-colored fur, with white streaks. It was a very young wolf. Selot held his breath out of surprise and gratitude for such a great honor. He knew that he would never be allowed to approach it and so he stayed still, until the wolf turned to follow the rest of the pack.

  The extraordinary experience of that night had also liberated him from the conditioning for war
that Marrhit had placed him under. He turned to his mother, allowing himself to gaze at her as if a miracle had appeared. She was truly, very beautiful. Her eyes were marked by long years of worry, desperation, impossible love, difficult choices, and of her lengthy months of imprisonment; from them emanated a strength and infinite love.

  “Selot,” she said with a crystal-clear voice, broken with emotion. She had pronounced his name. She'd said it with such an exotic accent, with an inflection he could never have imagined existed. To Selot, it was as if he were being born a second time. He was breathless. Prasheema approached her son and with a very white hand, caressed his cheek. Selot closed his eyes. He stifled a sob. He lightly touched the back of her hand with his lips. She opened her arms watching him hesitantly. Had the son she abandoned all those years ago to an unknown, hazy life, forgiven her? Her lips quivered. All of the unimaginable strength that had kept her live in the military camp of Yellow Eye, which had helped her escape, and that had made her, in the end, leader of that mission, now melted away in that tender, aching look that waited for her son's consent. Her heart was overwhelmed. Selot embraced her affectionately. Then he held her tightly, making sure he didn't hurt her. Her embrace was equal to his in strength. All of the pain that had kept them separated so many years, evaporated like snow in a hot wind which sometimes rose up over the mountains from the west in full winter, bringing with it the taste of a very distant and impossible summer.

  When they detached, Gules intervened in a low voice filled with deference.

  “We must go. There will be time.” Prasheema nodded. Then she approached Marrhit. The hate he felt for her had not been extinguished, and he couldn't hide it. Prasheema attempted a smile, but the time wasn't ripe for words between them and who knew if there ever would be.

  They set off. Gules introduced Marrhit and Selot to the group of men dressed like wolves, and to their leader. “I must warn you, our friend is rather talkative,” he said as he introduced them.

  “We are deserters from the army,” he said with an open smile. “We come from all parts of the Kingdom of Dar. We decided to join the ranks of those peoples King Lotar II is persecuting without cause. I ask myself why... Out of a sense of justice, right? We find it unfair. Once upon a time it was different. The Kingdom of Dar brought war only where necessary. Now it is as if they have all gone mad. And the methods utilized are far-removed from the war of a gentleman, you understand? Now we are united with the Rotmandis, who are being subject to unjustifiable aggression. They have taught us much...” he smiled with satisfaction, “and the wolf costumes are very efficient and play on the irrational fear of the soldiers. We always manage to catch them by surprise. But I can see that tonight, the real work was done by you boys. You struck down nearly every praetorian guard. We witnessed your endeavor. I am quite shocked by your method of combat...They say Yellow Eye is not human, that he is a sort of wizard. A few of our men come from that very camp and have served under him,” and he pointed to a pair of his companions. The companions nodded as a shadow crossed their faces. Selot and Marrhit made no sign of acknowledgment. The man went on speaking. 'Men speak too much,' thought Marrhit. After quite a long time, the man interrupted himself. “By the way, my name is Kurt. I come from Genok. You know, there's a sea and the climate is far better than here. But now we have decided to stick with the Rotmandis and so, never mind if there's no sea, right?” Then he returned to rattling on and it went on for a good while. Selot estimated that out of every ten words, eight of them were superfluous to the conversation and he asked himself why so much energy was wasted on simply pushing air out of one's mouth. Marrhit had probably already blocked Kurt's words from even making it to his ears, as if that man simply did not exist, or that he was not speaking at all. Selot wagered that if Kurt had suddenly been swallowed up into thin air, Marrhit would not even notice. Gules found the entire situation hilarious.

  “Boys, you don't look like Rotmandis.” Kurt continued “Where are you from? You know, I've traveled all over, but not to every single place in the world. So I bet there's a population that exists that I didn't even know existed. That sounds logical, doesn't it? You wear odd clothes. Wow, I'd love to fight like you. Do you think you could teach us? It would be fantastic if we could do a couple of your tricks. When you want, what do you say?” Selot gave a polite smile. Marrhit was so far-removed from that torrent of words. In one of those moments of silence during all that rambling, Selot made a comment out of respect.

  “You have freed us. We will certainly show you our gratitude.”

  “Hold up, hold up, no friend, no. We did the least of all. Prasheema did most of the work. She's fantastic, isn't she? I was practically dead. That was about four years ago. I was a soldier for the army back then. With that damned uniform. I'd been fighting against them and I was on the ground in the throes of death. A disgusting war, a disgusting commander. And yet, she didn't make any distinction. Prasheema risked her life for all; she dragged us out of the heat of the battle, Rotmandis and Dar soldiers alike. She saved me. A miracle. It was then I understood. I realized I had it all wrong and everything I knew about them and the war and the kingdom and King Lotar, and on everything else was utterly wrong. Completely, you see? An absolute disaster. All wrong. Go back, Kurt, I said to myself. And even tonight, she thought it all out, didn't you see that?” There it was, finally. Some useful information after that torrent of words.

  “Explain yourself,” Selot asked. A second later, he added, “Please.” The request of thanks in the Uicic language was simply defined by intonation, whereas in the language of men it had to be explicitly expressed in words.

  “Of course, of course. Nobody realized that you didn't know. You needn't worry if you didn't understand. And you are young. I'll be damned as I look at you, you seem even younger than you looked when I first laid eyes on you. So, no problem if a couple of things escaped your notice. Now old Kurt is going to explain it to you.” Marrhit neared Selot at that point and spoke to him in the Uicic language in a low voice.

  “Vetem, you only need to look at this man to have whatever information you might want from him. Why don't you do it now so we can silence him until we reach Saus?”

  “Not without his permission,” Selot answered, “and right now, it would be far too complicated to explain to him what we are...” Marrhit rolled his eyes and grimaced.

  “Hey,” interrupted Kurt, “you two speak a strange language. I've never heard anything like it. Well, you're not going to tell me where you're from, mmm?”

  “Hurry up, or I shall kill him out of utter boredom,” said Marrhit, before distancing himself in disgust.

  Kurt went back to talking.

  “It was Prasheema who called for us. We are rarely in the same place for long. There are many of us. We have an organization that is a little...dismantled. That's it. This allows us to be less traceable. One day I might introduce you to our leader. He's the brains behind the Deserters. That's what we call ourselves, and there's a lot of us. We are only one unit. What was I saying...yes. Prasheema. She was detained in the tent by the General. When you attacked, he moved her. They moved her every time the Rotmandis attacked over these last few months. But this time it was different. And wasn't it just! You took out nearly every praetorian, and it was the right moment to act, a once in a lifetime chance.”

  Selot looked at his mother with an expression of amazement. Prasheema nodded. She knew the origin of his surprise. Selot had looked into the minds of many praetorians, but he had found no trace of her. “The General had canceled their memories,” she responded in Uicic. “He often does it. The minds of his men are like a blackboard with which he amuses himself, filling them as he likes. I understood that attack was different to all the others and I summoned the wolves. I feared it was you and I wanted to protect you.”

  “Protect us?” Selot asked, astounded.

  “You needed protection, didn't you?” Yes, they had actually. Prasheema smiled.

  Kurt went back to talking
, without understanding that exchange of words.

  “She called the wolves. Wherever they are, they answer. When they howl we hear it and follow them. She made them our friends, so we can approach and follow them...not too close though, they only obey the Rotmandis and we still fear them a little, I believe you know what I mean, right? The wolves always know where she is. They never get it wrong. If they move, it means she knows something and she wants to act on it. In this case, we came and we saw you fighting. She summoned them when you were still busy combating the praetorian guards. Then she asked the wolves to wait. When they captured you and tied you to the posts, she called them forth and that's when we intervened. Didn't you hear that first call, the one during the battle?” Selot shook his head. “Oh right. I don't know how she does that,” Kurt said, shrugging his shoulders. Selot looked over at Prasheema once more. He didn't dare ask her anything. He was still too confused to formulate questions, to speak a word to her even. He decided to postpone all the questions that crowded his mind to a more suitable time. Marrhit on the other hand, had a question that pressed him, but he wouldn't say a word to her. Selot understood by the way he was staring at her and he perceived because he and Marrhit were still united in some way.

  “Ask me,” he offered him. Marrhit clenched his jaw.

  “Ask her why Yellow Eye had to capture us to get to Sabre. Ask her why Sabre didn't come to her rescue, if he loves her so much.” Selot remained silent. He couldn't possibly ask something like that to the mother he had just met.

  “Perhaps he would have, but couldn't for some reason...” he debated, in puzzlement.

  “If he'd made an attempt, Gules would have known and he would have told us. No one's heard anything from our father in five years. Stop beating around the bush.” Selot stalled.

  Marrhit grabbed his arm.

  “Don't misunderstand me. I'm not interested in their love story, I'm interested in knowing the facts so I can act on an objective basis. There must be a reason Sabre didn't come for her. I must know why.” He hesitated an instant. “If you need to apologize on my behalf for the discourtesy of the question, do so.” He gulped down that bitter pill with much effor; it was evident. Marrhit was determined to learn the facts, because it was necessary in order to make the right decision.