The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

Gules, Selot, Marrhit and Var distanced themselves calmly and silently at that point, as the excruciating screams of the soldiers were heard while they burnt alive, and a sinister light of the blaze filled the evening air above the forest of the Rotmandis. By the next morning, Saus would be nothing but ashes. Selot couldn't bear the terror of the soldiers' screams. Sent to a war without sense. He felt a great pity for them.

  They made it to safety, to a hidden and silent place in the forest. Gules signaled to them that there was no peril here, but he also told them that the stop would be brief. One could not be certain that isolated units of soldiers were not lurking around. They had to reach the others as fast as possible, to hide them near the Towers, which was the intended plan. Selot turned towards Var. He gasped because of overexertion, injuries, the pain from the fall; he gasped between the incredulity of being alive and seeing the Marquis of Atiarav standing in front of him.

  “Good providence,” the marquis told him, unable to stick to ceremony. “And to think I might have been wasting my time, coming to get you. Like I told you, I need you.” Selot smiled. His hair and face were covered in blood. Even his teeth were red; his eyes were bloodshot, and he felt his ribs were cracked. His side burnt and blood poured out, and the arrow still stuck out of his calf muscle.

  “At your service, my Lord,” he responded, lowering his head. Marrhit stood near. Var was shocked by the presence of that warrior. He felt deeply uncomfortable. Seeing him up close was truly disconcerting. He had seen him fight during their encounter with Yellow Eye. He had stayed hidden while observing them, waiting for the right moment to intervene. He knew he was a fully-trained adult Xàmvetem, but he could never have imagined they could reach such levels of power, speed and technique. Marrhit stared at him straight in the eyes, and Var only just managed to shield himself. Marrhit did not force the matter. Var didn't remember ever being so afraid of someone, or something.

  “My brother,” Selot introduced. “On my father's side,” Marrhit invariably corrected him in his exotic accent.

  Var's eyes flew open wide.

  “The two of you are a force to be reckoned with,” he said, keeping his his response in check, and doing his best not show the awkwardness he felt. He'd saved them both. He'd grabbed them both by the belt, one in each hand, dragged them over to the edge of the platform with all his might and then, had thrown them over.

  Marrhit brought his hand to his chest. Selot knelt from sheer fatigue.

  “You must thank the men with wolf skins who are now all dead. I made it to you two because those men noticed my presence and attacked the soldiers that surrounded you to give us all the chance of escape.”

  “They recognized the symbols on your shield,” Gules confirmed. “We owe our lives to Kurt and his men.” He signaled that it would be better if they began walking.

  “There's a couple of things for us to talk about, my boy,” Var said naturally, helping him to his feet. “Yes, my Lord. I too have much to tell you that you need to know.” Var observed the arrow. In the fall, it had broken off and half come out, making its removal easier. “Let's try to get that out and bandage it up before proceeding, what do you say?”

  “If you will allow me a couple of minutes, I'll take care of it myself,” Selot answered. He sat down and cut out some strips to place around the wound. The point hadn't penetrated too deeply. Luckily, it had not touched the bone. He pulled it out in a single, swift gesture, holding back a cry. He took up the strips he'd prepared as a kind of bandage. Then, as he was standing up, he began a sort of meditation to keep the laceration under control until they all reached safety. He chose a stick to prop himself up.

  They walked without talking. They reached the great Towers. It was only then that Selot, Marrhit and Var realized that the blaze was contained, just like Gules had said. It had been studied in such a way to trap the enemy in Saus, but leave the center of knowledge of the Rotmandis unscathed. They went inside the smallest tower. It was dark and they could see nothing. An intense, full-bodied, pleasant odor washed over them. Gules led them to a spiral staircase, towards the summit of the tower. They found themselves part of a small community which had made it to safety. It was no more than a fifth of the population of Saus. They had taken refuge in that tower and in hiding places in the surrounding areas. They were mostly women, children, and the elderly, and just a few of Gules's soldiers who had fled the battle. They all carried the horror they had witnessed, in their eyes. An infirmary had already been set up in the tower. Prasheema was nursing some of the wounded. Var helped Selot lay down on one of the straw mattresses. Prasheema bent over him. Selot attempted to lift himself up, but she laid him back down.

  “It would be better if you slept a little,” she said. She made him drink an anesthetic, then she looked at Marrhit with a pleading look in her eyes. Marrhit understood the request.

  “Do you understand, little brother? It's time to go to sleep,” he told him in Uicic, modulating his voice to guide his mind. Selot let himself fall into a deep sedated sleep. Prasheema thanked Marrhit and began healing the fractures, medicating and stitching injuries, and taking out pieces of wood embedded in the flesh.

  Marrhit fell into a chant to regain his strength. Gules brought him a pitcher of fresh water. “You stayed.”

  “Yes.”

  “Selot has a force that very few have.”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like to accompany me for a patrol round, to verify there are no sentinels or trackers?”

  “Yes.” He stood up as he drained the pitcher of water.

  “I'll join you, if you'll let me,” Var broke in.

  “Marquis,” Gules bent deferentially to him. “Your presence here is the providence of the Existent...of God.”

  “It is certain, God has placed his hand on the heads of every single one of us.”

  Marrhit watched him and took in every single detail. Var felt himself being examined, as if by an inquisitor, and it made him shiver.

  “Xàmvetem...” he turned to him with respect. Marrhit gave him the slightest consent with his face. He rearranged his weapons on his back and made a sign to Gules to guide the expedition on its rounds.

  After three hours, Gules said they could re-enter. In the nooks and crannies of the forest he knew like the back of his hand, there was no trace of the soldiers from the kingdom, or anything else that might arouse suspicion. They circled round to see the flames that were still ablaze, up high, consuming what was once the main city of the Rotmandis.

  “I know what you're going through,” said Var. “I found my lands and my towns destroyed by the Kingdom of Dar after our return from exile. And we are being hunted down and in hiding once more. King Lotar II is persecuting us with unimaginable violence on all the peoples who go against his absolute power.”

  “They want us all dead,” Gules confirmed. His spirit was crushed.

  They went back to the towers.

  Gules went round to speak to all of those who had been evacuated, the few that remained of his people. He would later confer with the Sages. Three out of the eleven were left. The others had decided to fight and, as a consequence, die. Three was the lowest number necessary to choose new representatives. That's why these three sages were part of the group that had been led to safety. They gave Var and Marrhit leave. Var went straight to Selot's side. He saw the woman who had cured him and sat down beside her.

  “Will he survive?” he asked anxiously.

  Prasheema smiled. “Certainly. He is of strong mettle and his wounds are not fatal. He fought the night before, too,” she informed him briefly, “he and his brother eliminated an entire legion of praetorian guards who besieged us. He's had a couple of rough days...” she said with a touch of irony, typical of the Rotmandis. Var looked at Selot immobile on his straw mattress. He was just he remembered. A boy. Only now, he was physically stronger, his face drawn, and his body battered and bruised. He recalled the look Janavel had when he spoke to him. Many things must have happened during thos
e months. The urgency of Atiarav's rescue was of greater importance for him, though.

  “When will he wake up? When will he be able to walk and ride again?” he asked, slightly embarrassed at having to insist while Selot was still unconscious.

  “I know you need him...” said Prasheema with a touch of bitterness.

  “I realize it appears inopportune, madam, I regret to add. But yes, I need him. I am fond of him, but my first duty is towards my people and he is the key to our salvation.” Marrhit eavesdropped a few paces away, his face unreadable. He could very well have been a statue of granite.

  “I see,” Prasheema began, sorry for that hasty confession made by the marquis. Var felt the deep emotion in her voice. He looked at her more closely. He saw within her the signs of imprisonment and mistreatment. He saw her sweetness and her great inner strength. Marrhit took half a step closer. Prasheema glanced at him without any fear, but she stretched out a hand to Selot's chest, almost as if she were protecting him. “Not many have had kind words and gestures for him in his life.”

  “No, not many,” Marrhit agreed, stopping there. Prasheema passed a hand over her face for a quick instant. “I had to abandon him at the Abbey of Affradatis to save him from the same cursed beings who found him many years later. Trained to be an assassin, and sent to die with so much lightness. And yet, I have found him once more, with that same kind heart that beat at my chest when I nursed him as a newborn.” She broke off, unable to speak. She couldn't bear the idea that the world kept asking this sacrifice from her child. Var understood everything and he was deeply ashamed.

  “You are his mother...” he whispered.

  Prasheema nodded. “I only met him last night. And I have already seen too much suffering in him. Marquis, go now. I will call for you as soon as he is able to stand on his own two feet. I will allow his life to follow its destiny. I will not oppose it. But leave me now to watch over him after all these years. Let this mother, for just one night, watch over her son in peace. All of you, go now,” she said with determination in her voice. Marrhit lowered his head for the very first time in his life and stepped back. They both left in silence. Var had never felt so much shame. He searched for a corner in which to pray. Marrhit went up to the top of the tower. He needed to breathe fresh air and to see things from up high. Rise up and over the highest peaks; over gullies and ropes suspended in the emptiness; over rooftops and over the extreme, dizzying and exposed mountain passes; these would always bring him some relief from the torment that dug into his heart. He envied Selot and his ability to pray. He spent the night looking up to the stars and reflecting. He wanted to keep watch over his brother, but Prasheema had been very clear and he didn't want to go against her wishes. He asked himself, smiling bitterly in the night, perhaps he really was changing.

  Selot floated in the nothingness for many hours. He would only ever remember one thing from that night: a warm, wordless sweetness, without judgment and without images. There had been an infinite and healing embrace above every other pain. He simply felt saved, as if nothing had ever happened and as if nothing ever would in the future. He felt accepted into a protecting, divine grace. He felt as though he were united with all living beings, joined to every little thing in the universe, and within it, lost in perfect peace, with no questions left unanswered. Then something distracted him out of that perfect state of being. The morning light had pressed in on his eyelids. He opened his eyes. The silence was interrupted by a complaint of some injury which had not yet found comfort in the anesthetizing medicines of the Rotmandis. He savored that sensation of passing through for a few seconds. It fluctuated within that protected realm, untouched by any evil. He turned his head slowly so as not to lose that enchanting place, where he still wished to linger. He glimpsed Prasheema's smiling face, her face lit up by the sun.

  “Mother...” he said with much difficulty. She stroked his temple delicately. It was enough to make him cry. He listened to the sensations of that slow caress and he cried for everything he had not had the chance to have in his life. What had happened to that feeling of peace that had enveloped him only a moment ago? He kept himself in check. He took her hand in his and carried it to his heart.

  “I am well. There is nothing you must worry about.” Prasheema nodded.

  “I know. You are strong like your father and me together. I've been dreaming of you for a few months now...I knew you would come.” Selot nodded, thinking about his meeting with the Council, when he had accepted the mission.

  “I felt you in my heart. I understood I would have the occasion to meet you. I never stopped believing it was possible.”

  “Of course. The Rotmandis are dreamers...but I fear we will not even have the chance to talk much on this occasion.”

  They did, instead, talk a lot. They spoke about anything that came to mind. Selot told about his life in the Abbey, which had not really been all that bad. He told her of how he'd come to meet the Marquis of Atiarav, and all the rest came out too, very casually. They laughed over many episodes, because Selot had Rotmandi blood in the end, and he recounted his stories with subtle irony. They did not confront the more difficult topics. Neither of them wanted to do that. They only wanted to spend time together to talk. It was as if they had always known each other and that they'd always been together.

  “You must let me meet this Estela...” she finally said, already privy to his romance. Selot winked at her and smiled. “Of course, mother...” He lingered on the memory of Estela's face. Then he came back to the urgency of the present. “We will have the chance to do that.”

  “Of course we will. We wouldn't be here if that were not possible. The Existent is pointing to our destiny with great power. It is sufficient that we follow the road without fear.” Selot listened to those words like a man dying of thirst in the desert hears the sound of water from a well. He drew comfort from them. He carried them to the depths of his heart with devotion, and deposited them carefully in that place where nothing or no one would ever be able to get at them.

  At that moment, Gules approached them, keeping a respectful distance. Selot adored this Rotmandi man. There was an affinity with him. He was a steady element, discreet and dependable in every moment. Prasheema's face opened up into one of those smiles that eclipsed the beauty of the sun. Selot knew why his father had lost his head for her, all those years ago.

  “I am happy to see you are in fine form, Selot.”

  The boy lifted himself up, discovering with pleasure he had enough strength to do so.

  “Get up, my son,” Prasheema told him without hesitation, “you are ready for that which you must face.” The serenity of his mother was his source of power. He stood on his feet. Despite the beating he'd received the evening before, it was hard to believe he could now stand upright on his own two feet. “I know Asheeba came here to be your apprentice for healing...”

  “Yes. She is my dear friend. I hope I will see her again soon.”

  “I thought you might have known her...but I never had the courage to ask her about you.”

  “They had probably forbidden anyone from speaking about me. You did well not to ask, you may have got her in trouble.” Selot had already learned that Prasheema was a very pragmatic woman, with little inclination for sentimentality.

  “Do you know Janavel too?” asked Selot with a touch of nostalgia for his teacher.

  “I know who he is, but I never had occasion to meet him. I know your father esteemed him like no other. He was far away when your father and I were together...united. He was on a mission for the Council. I know nothing more, though.”

  “Thank you for your time and for the care you dedicated to me,” he was about to bow, but Prasheema stopped him there. “Let's go and look for your marquis,” she said, instead.

  They found him not far from the Tower, kneeling in prayer, facing the sun, with his sword planted into the ground in front of him. The light of the sun penetrated the forest, playing with insects, butterflies, pollen, tree leaves and the
subtle fog that lifted up from the ground. Prasheema went over to him. Var felt someone behind him and he lifted his head, and then lowered it again, as soon as he recognized her.

  “Madam...” he murmured without knowing what else to say. Prasheema went and stood one step away from him.

  “By your hand, destiny wanted to take Selot away from Affradatis so he could get to know himself. Yesterday, that same hand has come once more. Always with the same intention of saving your people.” Var leaned against the hilt of his sword, holding it tight. “I ask your forgiveness, my Lady, for that which has been, and for that which will come.”

  “Your paths are united, and indisputable.” Prasheema turned to Selot, who had been standing aside. “Make me proud, my son.” She embraced him tenderly and went away with a smile, adding nothing more. No ceremony and no rite could have had a more unbridled effect than that for him. Selot bent over and offered his arm to Var to get back up. “At your service, my Lord. I am ready to leave.” Var stood upright to his full height and looked at him, moved.

  “I told you months ago. Stop calling me Lord.”

  “I don't think I can...”

  “We must leave immediately.”

  “Good. I will call my brother.”

  “Will he come with us?” Var asked, disbelieving.

  “The two of us are Baìah,” Selot replied, and he watched Var's incredulous expression with amusement. The marquis knew of this term, but he thought it was just another one of those legends relegated to the stories of old folk around the hearth in winter, in the warmth of the fire while it snowed outside. He shook his head. That morning, in the forest, everything seemed to be balanced on a thread of magic, seemingly unreal. There was no need to summon him. Marrhit materialized behind them. It sent shivers up Var's spine. Selot smiled. That's what it had been like for him too, in the beginning.

  “My Lord, we must make haste. I pray, let me enter your eyes to see and know everything regarding the threat that befalls Atiarav. We know how to recognize the passes which indicate those things you wish to keep secret and hidden. We will not go beyond those limits, we will respect them.” Marrhit made a half-smirk of compliance. Var stared at Marrhit a little fearfully, but he saw Selot was calm, and so he decided to give him his trust.”