“They did not appreciate you even after you freed them from the Hood of Death,” Marrhit objected.
“It doesn't matter.”
“They will disappoint you.”
“It doesn't matter.”
“They will go on despising you. They see that you are far too different from them. They will not even show you any semblance of benevolence that they have conceded Ucal, in the end.”
“I'll be able to bear it.”
“You're mad.”
“I do not ask you to share my choice. I've brought you your medicine.”
“You annoy me by being so close to me, go away.” Marrhit snatched the flask of medicine and went and crouched down in a corner that he'd made comfortable with dry leaves.
Selot looked for another place, far away from Marrhit and far from the camp.
The following morning, Marrhit awoke to the wonderful aroma of roasted fish. He turned. There was Selot, without fail, turning a few tender, succulent trout on skewers, apparently cooked to perfection.
“I caught them and roasted them myself,” he reassured. He handed him a couple. Marrhit took the two skewers, looked at them and started laughing heartily. He laughed at how Selot had reassured him that he'd fished for that meal personally, to make him understand that the men of Atiarav had not supplied his food. He laughed because he'd bet himself that his brother would have presented himself punctually that morning with something to eat; he laughed because having his brother there was a certainty. He laughed heartily because he found Selot to be clumsy, incomprehensible and reassuring at the same time. He laughed, because he realized he didn't hate him anymore and the sensation was truly incredible. He felt free. He let go of the hate with that laughter and for the first time after so many years he felt happy. Selot looked at him in surprise. Perhaps he wanted to degrade him. Or maybe he was pulling his leg. But he couldn't help but join in with that laughter, so natural and contagious. He laughed too. They looked at each other, without even bothering to read into the other soul. They felt united, and they laughed until there were tears. In that laughter there was the fact that they were still alive; they'd survived a night in the military prison and an encounter with Yellow Eye.
Then, they chowed down on the fish, which were delicious. They removed the hunger they'd had the previous evening and this morning, too.
“I know it, Selot. You will bring me to ruin. Still, I am curious to see where we'll end up by following this odd philosophy of yours.
They presented themselves at the first light of dawn, at the camp. Var welcomed them with a greeting and a word of thanks. Marrhit was entrenched behind his normal, impassible mask. Ucal and Flash were getting ready to join them. The child looked up at Marrhit admiringly and dreamy, his and Ucal's guardian angel. Selot went into his eyes and read those thoughts of the child. He grinned at his brother, who threw him a withering glance.
They walked energetically, with Var and Selot in vanguard, Ucal and Flash in the middle, and Marrhit, bringing up the rear. Var maintained a very steady pace, knowing that Flash would have trouble keeping up with the adults. Flash was up for the march and did not complain. Halfway through the morning, though, he started to visibly flag and complain he was hungry. Ucal took him up on his shoulders and told him about the food they would have at the camp. Selot proceeded quickly, despite the injuries that pained him. The one on his side and the other from the arrow on his calf had reopened, but he said nothing. While he marched on, silently, he formulated his prayers of healing, so he would be ready for the task that awaited him.
Var did not consent to even a short break for lunch, asking for agreement with a nod when the sun was at its zenith. Everyone agreed. Flash gave Ucal some relief by walking on bravely, until his breathing became labored and he had a stitch. Ucal smiled at him, offering to carry him on his shoulders once more. He ate some food and then fell asleep from exhaustion. Ucal sweated under the sun and was fatigued under the child's weight. They were now climbing up prickly, rocky, awkward paths. Selot saw him hold back, and so retraced his steps. He smiled at him and offered to take over. Ucal was about to thank him when he spied the blood on the side of his shirt and on his leg. He pursed his lips.
“They're not open, don't worry,” he lied. Var intervened.
“Let's stop.” They chose a side which was sheltered from an overbearing sun which had installed its power in the sky that day. Var's expression was evermore anguished. He tried to conceal his preoccupations. He'd been very convincing with his men back at the camp, but now he began to feel the heaviness was too great for his heart. Selot avoided asking him anything. He distanced himself so he could medicate his wounds, keeping them out of sight of the others. He checked the state of them. He would be able to resist, but he shouldn't push it too far. Knowing Var would raise concerns, Selot preferred looking for a crutch to lean on. When he came back, Var lifted an eyebrow.
“It's just a precaution,” he underplayed. He didn't want to give the impression he would slow their march down, nor that he was unable to be of service in the days that followed. Marrhit didn't even glance at him. He hadn't spoken a single word to him the entire day.
Before setting off again, Flash woke up. Var pointed to the road they had to take. It wasn't far, seeing as they'd kept up a good rhythm the whole day. Even if Flash had slept a couple of hours more, the days in that season were long and they would have arrived before dusk in any case.
Var recounted what had happened over the last few months: their prudent wait in the Hidden Valley for a few months, then their terrifying return, of the complete and utter destruction they had found, the methods of devastation the kingdom had used. That was when the hardest period began, between drawn faces and his fear at not being able to live up to his promise to protect his people. Marrhit didn't seem to be listening, but Selot knew he was recording every single word. Flash woke up and stretched.
“Are we there yet?” he asked hopefully, looking around.
“No, beetle bug, we were waiting for you to wake up. You're a heavy boy, you know that?” Ucal retorted. Flash frowned in disappointment.
“How much more?” he asked, so he would have an idea of what to expect.
“Whatever it takes!” snapped Ucal.
“Botheration...”
They went back to marching. By the end of the day, they had climbed about a mile in altitude. The air had changed consistency, becoming thin and pungent, bringing with it now the icy breath of the peaks of Mount Eizco. They made it to another mountain pass and stopped there, breathless for the wonder set before them. In front of them, very close by, stood the open majestic summit of Mount Kisov. Selot was thunderstruck. He didn't expect it. He knew the direction in which they were heading, but he didn't realize that view would open up once he'd climbed over that pass. Just like a year ago, he felt overwhelmed by the crushing vision. He felt shivers run over his skin. They had made it. They had the King of Stone in front of them once more, the symbol of his liberty, of his beginning. Var knelt down before his king and started praying, immediately followed by Selot who fell to his knees, actually beating Var to the ground. Ucal and Marrhit remained on their feet behind them, respectful of that element that signaled the confines between heaven and earth. Marrhit recognized the power of the Existent in it and was filled with reverential fear. He lost himself as he observed the fast-flowing, complex designs of the fog that swirled on its dizzying rocky climes; it rose over gullies, played hide and seek through its rocky teeth, and its mysterious canals of which the king reigned supreme and made impossible to get near. Ucal held Flash by the shoulders in front of him, as he looked on that spectacle for the first time. The glacial silence enveloped them all, taking up their different, yet somehow similar prayers. The wind took those prayers to the top of the king, who scrutinized the hearts of each one of them and gave them permission to pass.
Var stood up. Selot waited until they were all on their feet, then he followed suit. The marquis gave him a smile.
&
nbsp; “Thank you,” Selot whispered. He was referring to when the marquis had taught him to lift his eyes to the sky. It had all started with that one gesture.
Lower down, if one looked close enough, the encampment where Var's family had been led, could be seen. He shuddered. He would join them shortly. The summer let them stay this high up, but if the stronghold of the kingdom's army did not let go before autumn, they would have to find another solution. That was the highest and safest place where men could occupy ground.
The last rays of sun lit up Var's face when he saw Clen once again. Her heart leaped in her chest and she had to hold back the tears in her throat when she saw him. They stared at each other for a few seconds before embracing, then they closed their eyes tight. Their two children threw themselves on their father with waves of happiness, climbing up and over him, pulling at his clothes from all directions, as they demanded his attention. Var took them up, one in each arm, kissing them with his prickly beard, thanking the heavens a thousand times and holding them tightly. Then he let them go. Has, his eldest son, saw Flash and he crashed into him, immediately starting up their old game of wrestling. Clen acknowledged Ucal and greeted him, staying at a distance like always, since she'd never really gotten over her fear of the warrior. She was happy to see him alive and told him so with all sincerity. Clen shuddered when she saw the two Vetems and held on to Var's arm, digging her nails into his skin slightly. Var put his hand on hers.
“I have brought the Vetem, as I told you,” he whispered to calm her down.
Selot waited with his head lowered. Marrhit looked at the scene unfold with his stony expression. The language of Atiarav had a sound that was not so different to that of the Uicic language. What's more, Marrhit did not need to know a language to understand what they were talking about. He clenched his jaw. Var had referred to Selot as a thing he'd brought back, that would be useful one day. It was the same as saying 'I have brought the plowing beast,' or 'the cow to slaughter'. He turned his glance towards his brother, who had not even flinched, with his face lowered.
“Who is the other?” she asked quietly. Her sudden fear had infected her youngest son who started crying. Behind them, the men of Atiarav observed the two new arrivals, with furrowed brows.
“His brother,” Var answered and Marrhit was aware of his mistrusting tone. He took in a deep breath to keep himself under control. Selot turned and looked in his direction. He wanted to say sorry for the way they had been welcomed. Marrhit transferred his weight from one leg to the other, nervously. He gulped and decided, for what it was worth, to recklessly get involved in his brother's madness. He didn't have any other plans at present. Var took up the reins of the situation straight away. He spoke briefly to Ucal, then went and greeted each one of the families, saying hello to every single person. He summoned a war meeting that would take place in the center of the camp after the evening meal. He asked Selot and Marrhit to attend. He would supply them with a few details beforehand. No one neared the two Vetems. The men didn't dare point to them or look at them. The night enveloped all in a liquid cold darkness. The stars put on a brilliant show in the sky for those who were not used to seeing the firmaments at that height. Up there it looked like there were three times as many stars and they looked three times as bright. Selot looked up at that spectacle while waiting to be called to the gathering on the grassy clearing. Marrhit sat down beside him.
“We weren't invited to dinner,” he said.
“I know...”
“I find it hard to understand, Selot, really, I'm having a hard time.”
Selot placed his hands behind the nape of his head and smiled in the dark, wringing out the juices of a tasty flower stem. He handed one to his brother. “It tastes a little like honey. Try it.” Marrhit held out his hand to take it, but a nervous laughter impeded him from closing his grip around it.
“I cannot believe it,” he said regaining control. “We could go over there, kill them all, feed on everything they have and be on our way.” That laughter hid a grave unease. Selot didn't want to underestimate it, so he remained serious. He sat up with his legs crossed.
“I know it must seem absurd to be here, on the roof of the world, freezing your butt off, hungry too, for a group of people who will never give us anything in return.” Marrhit swallowed his last sound of laughter.
“Yes, I do think it's absurd. Don't you?” he said bitterly.
“Well, have you tasted it to see if it is like honey?” Selot asked without responding, pointing to the flower stem. Marrhit put it in his mouth and tasted it out of curiosity.
“Yes...I'd say it does,” he concluded.
At the center of the camp, they saw a giant bonfire. It reminded Selot of the solstice festivity and Estela's face. The nostalgia stung his heart and punched him in the stomach.
Ucal approached. Even if he'd been accepted as a citizen, he was not a native and his stranger warrior nature had made him the ideal messenger to interact with the two Vetems. He'd come to summon them to the war council. He wore a look of embarrassment.
“Say it without fear,” Selot encouraged him...then he broke into a smile. “The worst thing that can happen is that Marrhit loses his patience and I must spend the night fighting him to stop him from killing you all.” Ucal scratched his head. He had in fact, been considering just that very scenario.
“Var asks you to remain standing, to be available. You must keep ten paces back from the edge of the council, hands well in sight, still so as not to alarm anyone with your movements, eyes veiled. The blindfold may be substituted with hoods well over your noses.”
Marrhit turned purple. “Stupid, worthless, conceited morons. You are nothing more than repellent insects that need squashing and you think you can give me conditions of this sort?” Rage came out of every pore. Selot put himself between Marrhit and Ucal with force, challenging his brother who was now taking out his anger on the warrior.
“Proceed,” he said nervously, “tell the marquis that we will see to his requests.”
“We'll what?” fumed Marrhit, as he threw Selot to the side with such force that Selot fell to the ground. He towered over Ucal who took a step back to avoid putting himself in a challenging position. It would be impossible to stand up to that rabid Vetem. Selot nodded for him to go. The warrior hesitated, but didn't really know how he could be of any help. It didn't feel right to leave him alone at the mercy of all that fury. Selot then pleaded with him to go away. Ucal faltered again, and then took a few more steps back, as Marrhit ran his hand over the hilt of his sword.
“Just like I saved you, I will now kill you, you wretch!” he screamed in Uicic. Ucal didn't understand a word, but certainly his intentions weren't difficult to catch. He felt helpless, and he was unarmed.
“He doesn't count in all this, he only brought us a message. It is me who offends you with my decision to serve Var. I am here!” yelled Selot to draw his brother's attention as he got up. He used all the skill he had developed to put his heart and intentions into those words. It had its desired effect. Marrhit halted, his sword already half withdrawn. He put it back in its casing in anger, went to his brother and landed a horrible punch to his stomach. Selot only partly blocked it. The memory of the scar of the cross over his heart stopped him from counterattacking.
“We what?” Marrhit repeated, looming over his brother. “They have no idea what we are and what we are capable of doing!”
Selot turned to Ucal, and with his eyes pleaded to him to distance himself. His presence would only worsen the situation. Ucal clenched his fists, powerless, then withdrew from the scene.
“It's not necessary that they know,” Selot went on, putting himself on guard, ready to contain any aggression.
“You have no right to decide for me,” Marrhit hissed, overcome with anger.
“Come into the world, Marrhit, don't stay above it.”
“What are you saying?” he shouted.
“You never come into the world, you don't immerse yourself in it
. You can dominate it with your power. You can win against anyone and everything, but it will never be inside of you and you will never be able to feel it within you. You'll never know it and you'll never know how it truly works.” The tiredness, his wounds, his deprivation, finding himself once more at loggerheads with his brother, were making him lose hope. So he talked on, knowing that he would not be understood, without taking care of his tone, of the words he used, of the meaning of which they bore. He said whatever came into his mind without his filters of reason, and no control. He gave up. He gave up on life and his ineptness. He started to sob. Perhaps his brother would have his last spurt of scorn for him, and kill him outright. It would be for the best. He was so very tired.
“There are summits that you will never reach and limitless horizons which will never have the chance to welcome you. Dive in, Marrhit. Come into the world. That's the only way you will have the world, and it can have you too.”
“I don't understand what you are saying,” Marrhit said. He exploded with a lethal aim. Selot redirected it with tremendous effort, letting it fall onto his arm. What an idiot I am, he said to himself. That was his right hand. Where is his left? He didn't have time to finish the sentence. He protected his face with his two raised forearms, side by side, but the blow came with demolishing power. He flew quite a distance along the ground. For a second, all he saw was black. He shook his head. The wound on his chin that had been inflicted on the mountain peaks that led to Saus a few days earlier, opened up again.
“I don't understand what you are saying,” Marrhit said again. His voice betrayed emotion. Selot sat up, holding the wound his chin.
“If you come into the world and you look at it from within, everything is different. Everything takes on a different meaning. I see that most people, from almost all races on the earth, stay on the outside of life. They stay on the surface. They live and they die without having truly tasted it, without truly possessing it, without being possessed by it. To enter the world, you must accept it, and all that it offers you, even those things you would much rather avoid. Every hurt, every difficulty is the way in. Every living being who is different to us is the way in. Every yes you say is the way in. You asked me to show you my strength. There it is. It's the force anyone can have. Anyone can have it, and much more than I have.”
The Creed Page 44
