The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  “Give me a few seconds to prepare myself.” He concentrated his efforts to make a shield deep down, to hide that which he did not want them to know. Then he nodded. “I am ready.” He opened his eyes. Marrhit had not taken even the tiniest fraction of a second, and then he distanced himself. Selot took a few minutes. Selot asked himself how the hell Marrhit had been so fast. Fast was not even the right term to use. When he came out of Var's mind, he inhaled deeply. He still wasn't fully recovered; he was left shaken and tired by an exercise of this sort. Var held him up, seeing him on unsteady legs.

  “We must first go to Solzhaz. Ucal has been captured and will be executed on the next moon,” Selot hastened to say.

  “That's not possible...” Var said, unable to believe his ears.

  “I am almost certain he did so Flash could get away undisturbed. He will have already taken the second Stele to the Atiarav base camp,” Selot answered, putting together all the pieces of information he had gathered. “But I hope you have no intention of leaving him to die so you can hurry back to Atiarav...” he said apprehensively.

  He knew full well the only objective of Var was the survival of his people.

  “No. I will not abandon him,” Var replied, accepting Selot's doubt in him, without being offended. Betrayal of his friend was one of the things he kept hidden in the deepest recesses of his conscience.

  I will not abandon him this time.

  Marrhit suddenly stepped forward.

  “I'll take care of your idiot friend,” he said in the language of the Kingdom of Dar, lending his bizarre accent to the phrase. “Go with this man you call Lord,” he added with a touvh of scorn. “We will proceed as far as Solzhaz, then we will separate.” Var liked his suggestion.

  “Vetem, if it were in your power to act alone in a deed of this type, then this would be the best alternative,” Var agreed.

  “Then it is decided,” Marrhit declared. He then took Selot aside. “Did you see? Janavel protected him from the Council and let him leave the Valley.” Selot nodded. That very grave news had heavy implications, but at this stage it was too complicated to make any judgments on it. They would decide what to do during their trip, with relative calm.

  “Remember,” his brother cautioned, “do not reveal my name to Var, nor any other human. I am a Xàmvetem and my name must be kept secret.” Selot nodded. He knew it was of great importance to him.

  They stood before Gules and the Sages to ask for the right of leave.

  Gules gave Selot a chain for his arm. It was a bracelet that bore wolves and bears dancing in a circle. Selot put it on. They embraced. “That the angels accompany you wherever you may go,” the old man said with is eyes veiled.

  “I will return to you,” promised Selot.

  “The heavens will it.”

  So Selot, Marrhit and Var began their march towards the lands of Atiarav, heading straight for the south.

  XVI

  Var's horse had escaped during the blaze at Saus. Selot and Marrhit didn't have their horses and the Rotmandis didn't breed any kind of animal. They were on foot. They proceeded in silence, running always. They kept hidden in the fringes, between the forest and the start of the plain, taking on the rough and wild terrain, with much effort. They avoided any trace of road or even small path. They allowed themselves very short breaks, each of them lost in his own thoughts. On one of the breaks to catch their breath, Var furtively glanced over at Selot and his superb weapons, his torn clothes still encrusted with blood and dirt from that terrible battle the night before, his numerous injuries, and the perceivable sign of many, heavy travesties. And yet, his expression was the same as he remembered that first day they met at the Abbey of Affradatis, almost a year ago. Anyone would be able to see the abyssal differences between that graceful friar and the Vetem warrior who had already survived terrifying challenges. Though to Var, it went beyond these evident traits: his courage and curious intelligence that shone in his eyes, his resolute and kind expression, his respect for whoever was near, both living or not; it transpired in his every movement and expression.

  When evening came, Marrhit stopped running, apparently without effort. He looked at his two traveling companions who stopped and took heavy, fatigued breaths, searching for support so they wouldn't collapse on the ground.

  “I think you need some rest,” he said with a touch of sarcasm.

  After taking the necessary minimum to regain himself, Selot looked around.

  “We're not far from where we left the horses when we came...”

  “This time tomorrow, we will be at that precise point,” Marrhit confirmed. “Or perhaps even at dawn, if you feel like running tonight too.” Selot lifted his hand in a sign of surrender. In perfect condition, he may have been able to do it, but his wounds, despite being treated by the best Rotmandi medicine, were weakening him. Marrhit then turned to face Var.

  “How great is your need to use Selot?”

  Var had not allowed them to access that information, not letting them know what Selot would have to do for the salvation of Atiarav. Marrhit had used the term 'use' with obvious sarcasm. He wanted to underline how Var was treating Selot; like a weapon of war or a work animal. His disgust for how his brother agreed to do the marquis's will was evident. Var watched that alien Selot called brother fearfully. The idea of the imminent threat to his people however, gave him the courage to speak.

  “Every day is vital. The kingdom is launching a dreaded strike to my people. I fear for our survival. They have 'marked' us with a system of indicators, receiver rods that summon the army offensive...” Marrhit nodded. He knew what that meant. “Then it could happen at any moment,” he confirmed. He looked to the south for a few seconds.

  “You two spend the night here and then be on your way. We will see each other again tomorrow on the road,” and without adding anything more he started running, disappearing swiftly.

  Selot and Var scouted round for a place to shelter nearby, to spend the night as best they could. Selot began collecting firewood to light a fire. He gathered berries and edible roots. He lit the fire. Var watched on without conversing. He noted his sure, calm movements. He took a few moments to admire the quality of his cloak that, despite going through so much, gave the impression of being very robust, while simultaneously being soft and warm. Selot decided to let him be the one to choose the right time to break the silence. Once the fire was lit, and Selot handed him the food he had found around them, Var scratched a cheek. He caressed his prickly beard and dragged air through his teeth.

  “I am not a Vetem, boy. You must bear with me and tell me everything. You can start from the day you left the Hidden Valley. I am very curious to know what you've been through, what you've learned. Tell me about that devil you call brother. Your master Janavel warned me against him.” Selot gathered his thoughts, in order to be precise and succinct, above all to give Var the information that would be useful for his strategies. He said very little about himself, just the bare minimum to link events and information. He spoke in great detail of what he'd learned about the Council, of the existence of deviated and corrupt members, of the existence of his father, and how Janavel had gone away to escape their clutches. He told of Marrhit's military capabilities, without putting any weight on what he himself had had to bear during those months of training. He demonstrated what he'd acquired as a warrior, and listed his Vetem skills, which he defined as inadequate, but left Var impressed. He described the elimination of the first Xàmvetem; he spoke about how he moved and fought against the praetorian guard, Yellow Eye, and the organization of his military camp. He spoke of the traps Yellow Eye had dangled in front of them and how he had beaten them with simple astuteness. Finally, he talked about how he and Marrhit had fought together and the pact they had spontaneously made to remain Baìah, specifying their respective roles. He told him about Marrhit's illness and how one of his duties was to be by his side and defend him and prepare his medicine. That information was extremely important to offer the best o
f their services in war.

  “And you? What has happened to you? Will you not tell me?” Selot stirred the fire with a stick.

  “Nothing of relevance, my Lord,” he deflected. The sadness in his words signaled the boundary that Var could not trespass.

  “Well then,” said the marquis so it wouldn't pervade their meeting, “let's get a little shuteye.” Selot took the initiative. “I'll take the first watch.” Var awoke exactly on the second hour, out of a lifelong habit infused in his blood by military changing of the guard. Against the light of the moon in the west, he saw the outline of Selot kneeling in prayer. “My Lord,” he said turning to him, aware that he had woken. Var got up and stretched.

  “Let's changeover, you go and rest.”

  Selot didn't move. “Wouldn't you like to use this time to start preparing me for what you need me to do for you?” he asked, as if he'd taken it for granted that would be the best thing to do. A feeling of shame rose up in Var that replicated what he'd felt when faced with the measured and bitter words of Prasheema.

  “I wish I didn't have to ask this of you...” he murmured in a very low voice. Selot didn't hear him, or pretended he couldn't.

  “Perhaps you should take advantage of the fact that my brother is not here. Maybe his absence will make it easier for you to talk to me.” Var considered Selot's suggestion. He appreciated his perspicacity.

  “Even if he is your brother and I see you have maximum esteem for him, I cannot trust him completely myself. He is unfathomable and I don't know his reference points and perimeters, to whom and to what he is bound. What drives him, you understand?”

  “Yes,” Selot answered, but he added nothing further and gave no answer to Var's interrogations.

  “What you say is right,” the marquis agreed, “it is a precious moment for me to make the most of it, because there is information I do not plan on revealing to him. But I would take away your hours of rest.”

  “I am at your disposal, my Lord,” said Selot without hesitation.

  “May God bless you, my son. I'm afraid you decided to take on the first watch so I could get some sleep, already having made the choice to dedicate the second turn to this matter.” Selot pursed his lips in the dark.

  Var inhaled at that moment, and revealed everything he knew about the Cumbal, of the two Steles needed to activate it, and of the superhuman power of that object. He recounted every single detail necessary to activating it, just like his father had told him, and the previous generations with each of their successors. He spoke to him as if he were his son, ready to take the reins of the marquisate, giving him the same trust and the same information. He told him of the legends tied to that terrible power. The Cumbal was a sacred object, property of the Uicics from time immemorial. But the evil and treacherous Vetems distorted its use for personal gain. A very long battle ensued within, which resulted in bringing forth a just and compassionate Vetem government. A new Council was set up, acknowledging the Uicics were subject to corrupting themselves with the power of the Cumbal, because in past eras, the same thing had happened. So, it was decided to entrust the Cumbal to men. Despite their inferiority, they distinguished themselves by supporting the factions of the Just, strenuously fighting and demonstrating the rectitude that the Uicics had lost. These men were the people of Atiarav, and it was for this reason the marquises were given the assignment of guarding the Cumbal and the two Steles needed to access it; their duty was to pass it down from generation to generation. A pact of friendship was made between the two populations. The marquises would guard the Cumbal, at any cost, without ever using it. The Uicics would protect Atiarav from the hidden dangers of other peoples, and they would teach them how to defend themselves against the wayward Vetems. They would accept them and given help whenever it might be needed. Var then told of his brief and shocking stay with the Uicics in detail, which he'd kept hidden from the glances of Selot and Marrhit, not knowing if he could trust the latter.

  “The agreement has been dissolved,” he finally said. “I didn't find the friendly people I expected to find. No help has been forthcoming, no defense, not even help in finding you. I have only your teacher to thank, putting his life in danger for doing so.” He then fell silent. Selot had listened carefully and had not missed anything in the entire discourse. He let every comment go and got straight to the point.

  “You want to use the Cumbal,” he said with a certain fear.

  “Yes.”

  “You need me to do that.”

  “Yes.”

  A shiver ran through him. He felt ready to do anything for Var. In the past few months, he had gone through the limits of the impossible so many times, that he felt ready for anything that might be asked of him. He'd explored all of the possibilities of Var's request, using his imagination and reasoning. But he hadn't really been able to work it out. He wasn't ready for this. He was uncertain of everything now. He didn't know if he'd be able to activate it, and he didn't know whether he'd have the energy to carry out the mission to the very end. Above all, he wasn't so sure he wanted to. It was a power that was far too great and mysterious, it might escape from under his control. He might become corrupt as a result, as had happened to Vetems much wiser and more expert than him. He couldn't possibly be the right choice for an objective such as this. Var scrutinized him closely, guessing all of his doubts. He went on. He underlined in great detail everything he knew about the precautions the Vetems had to use so they wouldn't fall victim to the Cumbal, to avoid being drained of their vital energy until it killed them. He said much more information was contained within the two Steles and that he would have occasion to read them with all the time necessary.

  “That's not the reason,” Selot said, with a shaky voice. “It's not out of fear for not surviving. I'm afraid of not being able to use it correctly. My training is only partial. I could fail. I am afraid of setting off a power that could escape my control, of which I can't imagine the possible consequences.”

  Var glanced at him with a concerned expression. Selot knew he'd disappointed him. It was a terrible situation. He would do anything for the man who had dragged him half-dead from Affradatis, and who had only yesterday, saved his life a second time.

  “I do not believe I am worthy of this assignment,” he reiterated, nevertheless. He bowed his head, mortified. Var relaxed his facial muscles. If this was the boy's problem, it was already resolved.

  “Neither you, nor I are to be the ones to establish whether you are able to manage the power of the Cumbal.” Selot lifted his head, curious.

  “There's a rite that must be carried out, at the end of which the Vetem can take the Cumbal in his hands.”

  “A rite?”

  “Yes, a sort of initiation. If the Vetem cannot pass the rite, he dies. If you don't die, you are worthy and it is certain you can use the Cumbal, without being corrupted. As you can see, the levels of security the Uicics put in place are of the highest standard.”

  Selot stared at him sideways.

  “I don't know if I should be relieved or terrorized...” he said with such an innocent and brave expression, that he appeared amusing. Var started laughing, he couldn't help himself. Giving into anguish would be useless. Selot had that way of being able to transform everything, even the most horrifying, into something positive. Just like that moment. His expression was priceless. The boy wiped his hand over his face as he tried to make sense of that news and Var's unexpected hilarity. He kept his hand to his cheek, his finger pulled at one of his eye sockets and his thumb lifted his upper lip ever so slightly.

  “So, let me get this straight, my Lord. I must undergo a rite and if I pass it, that is, if I don't die, I shouldn't be afraid of using that...thing?”

  “Exactly,” Var answered, regaining his composure.

  “And what does this rite consist of? Just so I can start preparing myself...” he asked with his sense of irony.

  “This is the only thing I don't actually know.”

  “It just keeps getting
better and better...”

  Var turned suddenly serious. “In order to protect the Cumbal appropriately, the secret of the rite was not entrusted to my family. Not all of it could be given to us, because we too could have betrayed the trust of the agreement. That is why the Sages of the Uicics decided to give this secret to another.” Var pursed his lips slightly. It embarrassed him to admit it.

  Selot tried to help him get past it. “So, to do this initiation, who do I have to ask? Where?”

  “Where the Cumbal is hidden. That is enough for now. You must not decide right away. You can decide when the rite is explained to you. I don't know. You will be able to choose. In any case, I need you to fight by my side.” Selot looked to the skyline in the east where it started to grow light. There was no more time to rest. He gathered up his things and together with Var, they started walking southwards. The sun wasn't yet at midday, when they spied a figure on horseback from afar coming towards them, holding another two by the reins. Marrhit was on time just like he'd said. He soon reached them, a veil of tiredness on his face. He'd recovered their two magnificent stallions on which they'd left the Valley of the Uicics; a third horse from trackers had remained in the wild with the first two. He had also uncovered the marvelous saddles they'd been originally given. Selot gave a nod which was a greeting and a compliment for finding three horses in such a short amount of time. Marrhit answered with a half-grimace on his face, leaving the reins to them both. Selot planned on ceding his mount to the marquis, but the horse protested vividly, rearing up, greatly nervous. Var observed the stallion and admired its magnificence. He shook his head. “This animal is yours, and it wants its master. And these finishing touches have been crafted for you, Selot.” He jumped onto the the third horse and set off at a gallop, without waiting to hear the protests of the boy. They rode over the great plain pushing the horses at full speed. The Vetems were in contact with their stallions, intoxicated together with them by the speed and the endless horizons towards which they could run with free rein. They infected Var, who had not felt such an exhilarating freedom in years. By mid-afternoon, they stopped for a break to water the animals. After the period of happiness created by the free spirits of the horses, Selot went deep into his thoughts. Var didn't dare observe him. The sweet and saddened face of Prasheema came to his mind. He felt at fault, as he had never felt before in his life. Marrhit was aware of an alliance created between the pair that they intended on keeping from his inquisitive eyes. He questioned Selot with a look.