Ucal was euphoric. He was alive and free. Var had found Selot and now he was with him. And in some way he'd brought with him this species of disagreeable prodigy who had just saved his ass.
“Without a horse, once again!” Marrhit burst out in Uicic. Ucal could not understand his outburst. He confined himself to following him as he ran, trying badly to keep up with his exceptional pace. He was convinced he was the fastest and most resistant runner in the world, but that night he had to accept defeat. The full moon lit up their very fast stride that took them to the west, to the crossing of the valley of Atiarav. They reached it at dawn. They ran for the entire day. Ucal was breathless, while Marrhit waited for him impatiently along the way. Incredible, Ucal kept telling himself. Marrhit broke off onto uncertain paths and barely traceable trails, without hesitation, with the sureness of one who'd lived in that place for generations. Sometimes Ucal had the impression he'd taken the wrong direction, but then they'd find themselves on the right road, taking less time than if they'd stayed on any other. When they stopped for rest and to drink from a spring, Ucal reached him out of breath. “Where did you learn these paths?” Marrhit did not bother answering him.
“Hurry up, you're slowing me down,” he said instead, in the impossible and musical tone of the Uicic language. He took up the run without waiting for him.
When the sun was still high, they reached the plain where the people of Atiarav had camped for a few months, before the marquis gave the order to hide out in the mountains. They waited in the center of it, standing, as Marrhit knew they had to. The air of the evening brought with it only silence and a slight breeze full of the smells of summer.
“You look a lot like Selot...facial traits I mean,” Ucal observed.
Marrhit was bothered. Ucal could no longer tolerate that arrogant way of the Vetem, even if he had saved his life.
“If it bothers you so much to stay here and help us, why don't you go?”
“It's none of your business,” he answered crudely.
“No doubt.”
At that point a shout of uncontrollable joy could be heard. The voice of a child. “Ucal, Ucal, Ucal, Ucal!!!” he wouldn't stop screaming his name and he ran over the heath as fast as his short, little legs could carry him. Ucal turned around and smiled. He knelt down to wait for him with his arms open wide, holding back his emotions. Flash flew to him and threw him to the ground with his force. He covered him in harmless punches. Ucal blocked and parried with his arms as he laughed. They wrestled in play.
“Stupid idiot!” the child said. “You didn't tell me your plan was to get yourself hanged! Now I'll smack you, smack you, smack you!” He looked like he was having fun, but all of a sudden he burst out in a desperate cry. He saw the warrior's hair chopped off. The fear he'd felt all of this time was condensed into that single moment. Ucal kept kneeling and embraced him tightly.
“Forgive me, Flash. I knew you were safe and you'd become part of a family. I did this to give you citizenship in Atiarav, so you could belong to a people and not be a vagabond with no homeland. I swear, I thought only of you. Marrhit thought back to that smile on the gallows.
“Don't ever do that again! Don't ever leave me again!” Flash was still crying. He stopped suddenly, as children are wont to do. He stared up at that giant warrior standing next to him, who looked back down at him like a statue. He wasn't in the least bit intimidated.
“You look like Selot,” he said curiously. Marrhit snorted.
“My name is Flash.” Marrhit nodded. Flash left Ucal's arms and went over to him. That man was as tall as a tower. He had to tip his head all the way back to look at him.
“Are you the one who saved him?”
“Yes,” Marrhit answered icily. Flash immediately chose him as his guardian angel. Marrhit read that thought and his eyes flew open wide.
“Why do fathers leave their children?” Flash asked him, just like one might ask an angel about the mysteries of life. Marrhit remained stone still. He felt his lips tremor.
“Ucal is not your father...” He was stunned to hear the uncertainty in his own voice.
Flash wheeled round to look at his friend.
“Yes he is...What difference does it make? He is and that's it,” he said with his unshakable sureness. Ucal stood there, open-mouthed. Marrhit got down on his knee to reduce the distance between himself and the child. Flash moved towards him until he was just about touching his leg. He stared straight into his eyes, without fear, waiting. The warrior towered over him all the same.
“Sometimes, they have no other alternative.” Flash weighed up his answer.
“They should be intelligent enough to create one,” he retorted, scowling, and with that, he turned back to Ucal and gave him a thump on the head.
Var and Selot arrived on horseback at that very moment.
“He already has the two of you on your knees!” the marquis greeted them.
“That's right,” said Ucal, laughing. Marrhit got up, imperturbable. He exchanged looks with Selot with harsh rigidity. They greeted one another.
“Come – urged Var – let's take shelter.”
XVII
Var led them to a dark, damp, lateral valley, which was almost impassable. Var and Selot left their horses to graze. They had to proceed along unsteady paths through damp and slippery rocks. Amid the lower recesses, a torrent played hide and seek, showing itself and disappearing once more in the nooks and crannies. The air was full of its gurgling, insects in flight, and the cold that seemed to blow across the water. The muddy terrain was challenging and pretty soon, boots and clothes were coated in mire. Sometimes the space they followed pressed them between the very high walls and the slippery gullies. The few rocks were covered in a layer of moss and green that made up the edge of the icy flow of water.
Var kept very silent, buried in the anguish that tangled his heart. Selot followed him immersed in his own thoughts, still overcome by the terrible request Var had made. After him came Flash, who jumped from one rock to the other, filled with joy. Ucal walked behind him, still incredulous that he was alive. Marrhit brought up the rear, his face carved in stone. He appreciated the marquis's sure and steady way. It was unthinkable that such an infernal place might lead to some inhabitable location, and that their traces would be immediately canceled by the water and the malleable soft mud underneath. The sun had vanished, and it would soon be impossible to go on. Flash began to show signs of tiredness. Ucal let him climb up onto his shoulders. He was heavy at ten, but the warrior thanked the heavens he could still carry him piggyback. After a while, the swinging motion, the strong emotions for getting Ucal back alive, and the tiring march, made him fall asleep. Towards sunset, Ucal was exhausted beyond words. The weight of the sleeping child, the very difficult track, the mad run with Marrhit, and the deprivation during his days in prison, were taking their toll. Selot slowed down his pace and pointed to the child.
“I'll take him.” He took off the casings of his weapons from his back and swung them round to the front, accepting the cumbersome handles of the knives and the twin blades that poked him in the eyes. Ucal faltered a moment, then put his pride aside and thanked him. Another two hours of silent marching saw them finally reach a clearing, where a group of about twenty men and women had set up a rudimentary campsite. Selot slid Flash onto a straw bed that a woman pointed to; she kept her distance, staying well away from the Vetem out of fear. Selot distanced himself so as not to add to her discomfort. The woman went back to Flash and covered him with a torn and threadbare blanket. All of the people went to Var to greet him and pay their respects. Despite their desperate conditions, a little more than mere levels of survival, the people of Atiarav maintained the same habits and demonstrations of respect for their marquis. They also went to Ucal to congratulate him on getting out alive of his mission. Pats on the backs ran through the group, and words of sincere joy.
They all kept their distance from the two Vetems. Marrhit read not only terror, but contempt and hate most of all. He turned to
Selot, astounded.
“How can you want...to serve this mass of ignorant boors? he asked, full of indignation.
Selot lowered his head.
“I cannot believe you want to help this inferior and ungrateful population,” he continued, disbelieving.
Selot did not reply.
“Unacceptable,” Marrhit finally commented out of disgust. He threw a glance towards what seemed like a group of hopeless tramps.
“Tomorrow we will leave,” he decreed. He'd picked out dry spot where he could shelter for the night, and added not another word. Selot felt his unmovable determination. He had a few hours to make him change his mind and he had absolutely no idea on how to do it.
Var retreated from the circle of his men and joined Selot, who'd been left alone, standing to one side, waiting.
“You must be exhausted...your wounds are not yet healed and I bet a few of them were aggravated during the journey,” Var began.
“Nothing to worry about, my Lord,” Selot responded with a short bow.
“My citizens have not managed to get past their diffidence yet...I'm sorry to put you in this awkward situation once more.”
“At your service,” Selot replied, hoping to get rid of every preoccupation on the matter.
Var gulped. “Your friendship is very precious to me, but I realize I have been using it to gain access to your strength as a Xàmvetem and maybe even to ask you for this sacrifice...in any case, I have a great debt to pay you.”
“No debt, my Lord.” Var pursed his lips. Selot had not changed over the last months. And yet he seemed further away, his heart closed off somehow. Or perhaps it was simply this situation that rendered it all the more difficult and prickly.
“I wouldn't like to lose a friend, only to have the servant back again,” he said, bitterness in his mouth. He didn't really know what he was trying to say with those words, and maybe he only wanted some kind of reaction from Selot so he wouldn't feel so guilty.
“If there is anything more I can do to help...” the boy suggested instead, bowing his head, without any trace of irony. Var understood that was a prior's absolution of whatever error he may commit in his regard. It gnawed at his heart. That forgiveness was just what he needed. Maybe Selot had already read it in his soul and was now handing it to him on a silver platter. Var was certain he'd done it intentionally.
“Your brother will not accept this decision,” he said, as if he wanted to remove that platter with a good fight.
“It is understandable. He does not know you, nor your people.”
“You are irreproachable,” blurted out Var. “You have not said a bad word about your brother,” meaning that certainly, he wasn't a Vetem, but he wasn't an imbecile either.
“Your people need me, my Lord,” Selot deflected. Var knew there was nothing more to say.
“I'll make sure you get a blanket and a hot meal.”
Ucal brought it over to him. Selot accepted it, bowing. “You went out of your way for me,” he said with gratitude. Ucal's nostrils sniffed at the air, almost unnerved.
“I am alive thanks to you and that kind of...devil you call brother.” Selot gave a nod to make him understand he was right, but Ucal said, “Selot, I don't care about what guides you. Each one of us has our reasons, our skeletons, pain to overcome. I know that well.” Selot mulled over his words. He found they hit the nail on the head. There were skeletons in his heart that he needed to be rid of, and so much pain too. He nodded.
“Don't you understand? Ucal ranted. “I know what Var has in mind. I wish he didn't have to ask it of you. If I could do something to assure you an alternative, please count on me.”
“You don't even know what it involves...” he answered serenely.
“I can see by Var's expression when he talks and that's enough for me.”
Selot pursed his lips and thanked him again. They said goodnight to one another and Selot left. Ucal saw him walk off into the dark.
Selot went to Marrhit, who welcomed him with a grunt. He offered him his blanket and meal. He'd kept it hot by placing a piece of bark over it. Marrhit jumped to his feet in anger. He landed him a backhand with that speed and force Selot had never learned to counter. The food spilled on the ground, all of that god-given nourishment lost forever. The plate fell at his feet.
“How dare you bring me handouts from those swines,” he yelled, his expression hardening.
Selot felt the blood on his lip and the anger rose to his head. By some small miracle he didn't launch into him and break his nose. He kept his calm. He clenched his fists and his teeth. He picked up the bowl and the cover under the blazing eyes of his brother. He placed them on a branch so they would stay clean.
“I didn't mean to offend you,” he said keeping himself under control, knowing full well his brother would act cruelly. And so it was. He grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him up from the ground, throwing him against the trunk of a giant chestnut. “Will you explain to me what you have in that rotten head of yours?” he screamed.
He wasn't fast enough to respond. Marrhit took hold of him and hurled him to the ground with all his might. His face hit a rock that stuck out from the underbrush. He punched the ground, cursing.
“Answer me!” Marrhit snarled.
“My choices. If you like, I can explain them to you,” Selot answered before his brother pummeled him again. He spat out a piece of broken tooth.
“Well, explain them to me,” he sneered. He turned his back on Selot.
Selot stayed on his feet. He watched Marrhit to see if he would turn back and face him, but he didn't. He swallowed the blood he had in his mouth and started talking.
“I think hate is born of fear and lack of consciousness.” Selot had gone straight to the point and waited for a reaction. He waited for a scornful reply, but there was only silence. He couldn't see Marrhit's eyes close on the memory of the angry crowd with no motives against the condemned man and his own similar reaction just now against his own brother.
“I have noticed it makes you err, blurring your vision of the facts.” This may have been a direct reference which could offend. Marrhit however, stepped in with a controlled tone of voice, as if his anger were subsiding.
“I saw, in Var's mind, the first time he came to get you from Affradatis,” he said without any apparent logic. Selot interrupted himself instantly. Every single word by his brother was fundamental, and he had to listen.
“The abbot referred to you as his best pupil, in all sciences, but above all in philosophical debate.” Selot thought this was his way of asking him not to speak in the abstract, but to be concrete so he wouldn't come across as a know-it-all.
Marrhit turned his head to intercept his line of vision. “Go on, I interrupted you,” he invited with what almost seemed like courtesy. Selot gathered his thoughts together to get right to the point.
“The people of Atiarav hate us and are repulsed by us because they do not know us. Worse still, they know us only through prejudices planted over the course of the centuries. And worse still, they know us for the fact that their survival is threatened by an army guided by our species. What they feel is all very logical. We think they should consider it important that we saved Ucal or that we eliminated the Hood of Death. But in their minds these deeds dwindle down until they disappear in front of the overpowering image they have of us. Devils. Like we actually are, if we choose to be. They saw Ucal is alive, but they didn't see you save him. They saw that the army retreated after the death of the Hood of Death, but in their hearts, they believe things are even worse now since they came back from the Hidden Caves. At least there, they were organized and they lived with dignity. They dwelt together, with the hope of returning to their homes. Then they realized they lost everything, their cities completely wiped out and the threat of extinction looming over them. Now they find themselves in small groups, spread out over impervious zones and in ever more perilous and uncomfortable conditions.” Marrhit had turned his back on him once more.
Selot took a few moments before going on.
“We have a choice. We can leave from...all of this. Though please consider all that is going on. The Vetems we belong to are creating havoc on the earth. These people were once prosperous, rich and independent. And they have now been reduced to beggars. The Vetems want to exterminate them, just like they want to do to the Rotmandis. These populations might not exist if we don't oppose the Vetems. Take all the others into consideration. The Kingdom of Dar up to a few years ago, was a place of peace, where each person could carry out his or her work, roam freely, develop interests in art and science. Everyone now lives in absolute terror, the army is everywhere, they safeguard the cities so that the Governors do whatever the Emissaries of the kingdom want. The Emissaries are Xàmvetems or their delegates. We were designed for this, remember? Someone in the Council has betrayed us, but this does not mean that we must stop. Now it is up to us to decide if we want to spend our lives living for our original purpose, or if we should abdicate, waiting, retreating, witnessing. And we have a great opportunity to do as well as we can. We were blind assassins being led in the dark. Now we can choose how to help these people. There may be different possibilities to simply killing. I believe Var has glimpsed a chance. He came to me putting everything at risk. I cannot back out.” He took a deep breath to go on. “To answer your first question...they are not inferior to me. I have abilities they do not have, but I do not deserve to have them; I would however, be at fault if I did not put these abilities at their service.”
The Creed Page 43
