The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  “I don't understand what you are saying,” Marrhit persisted. Within that insistence though, Selot caught a glimpse of his willingness to listen and understand. He wasn't feeling in the best shape after that direct blow from his brother. His head buzzed and he felt nauseous. How could he be more tangible? How could he offer himself in service to his brother better? He had to find a different road. Think quickly, stupid Vetem, he told himself. He feared he might lose this precious time to speak. If he didn't move swiftly, Marrhit would lose his patience with it all.

  “Flash. Do you remember his thoughts?” he said, following the faint light of his intuition.

  Marrhit thought it over. “He is not afraid of me. He thinks I am a kind of angel.” His features relaxed and he smiled at that foolish notion.

  “There, you see...” Selot stopped for a moment because of a sharp pain in his head, “you really are an angel. It's not only a childish dream. He has perceived the reality of it. He has come into the world and he has recognized it. He understood it all without having anyone explain it to him. He already knows 'what we are and we are can do'. Children have this natural ability. I have observed them, a few came into the Abbey. Then we destroy this innate understanding and we push them to that flat, colorless and odorless surface in which almost all are eventually relegated. But the world is profound; it's colorful; it's full of surprises that leave you breathless. You can instantly go into the souls of people, and yet their essence remains hidden. You are a powerful Vetem, and yet you stand back and watch the sky instead of flying into it and shouting out all your mad joy and all your pain. Flash has seen it all; he has seen this part of reality that you have not. He saw you up there in the sky. He saw an angel. He went into the world extending his vision with simple magnificence. It has taken me months and so much pain, and still, it has come to nothing; only to babble like a fool that I wanted to accept your hate, not exchange it. I am here, again beaten and defeated. He on the other hand pulled out an angel in a second, without any effort. Who is superior, him or me? Him. Immeasurably so. I can do nothing but bow my head in front of this child and his angel.” He took his head between his hands. He was in bad shape. He forced himself to go on, even if every word caused him suffering. “I too, have seen that angel. He walked on that rope, above the abyss. You were far away, the rope set against the sky was invisible and you had your arms open wide. You were not afraid and you were at peace with the world. Your expression was one of calm.” He broke off. Sharp aches in his jaw, lips, and head muffled those last words, which came out broken and shaken. “Forgive me, Marrhit. I can do nothing more.”

  He pressed the base of his palms against his eyes and fell quiet.

  The war council met. There were about thirty warriors, between captains and group leaders; of the latter, there were two women. They sat in a circle around the central fire, on rustic benches roughly hewed from giant tree trunks. There were about half the warriors of Atiarav at that camp. Nora and Bal were not present, deployed in other campsites spread out over the valleys. Ucal reserved himself a place quite far from Var. He didn't want to offend anyone despite the fact he'd been the man Var extended his maximum trust, even if it had been done in the most discreet way possible. For now, Var's great opinion of him had resulted in his brief stay in prison, and avoiding the gallows at the last minute. He'd come back alive. No one knew where or why he'd been sent on a mission by the marquis. Even though he'd been accepted as a citizen and was welcomed by many, he still had to be very careful to not incite envy or resentment in whoever was a native of Atiarav. Further more, he spoke with the Vetems. This was enough to consider him an anomaly. For all of these reasons, he would do well to be seen close to Var.

  Var looked around to see if Selot had arrived, but he didn't see any trace. Ucal told of the scene he had witnessed. Var hid his concerns and opened the war Council. Positive news had come: more than two hundred warriors from the eastern plain territories, and the mountains to the south had already reached the meeting points indicated in the dispatches. More than Var dared to hope. Not all of the dispatch riders had come back unfortunately. There had been no news from the north yet, where the largest part of the Atiarav militia had been posted. They were the furthest, so everyone waited anxiously over those days to see how many men would come.

  They were still discussing this matter, when the two Vetems joined them. The voices died down. They wore their cloaks and all of their superb weapons: the biggest sword at the belt, the casing on their backs with their four long knives positioned along with their twin swords; bow and quiver. They advanced side by side, their hoods down over their faces to hide their stares. Their solemn gait scared many of the captains, who started to stand and step back. The only ones who remained seated were the two female group leaders. They did not feel threatened and their intention was to understand. Ucal observed them, astounded, asking himself which motive Selot had used to convince that devil of a brother. The Vetems stopped exactly ten paces from the circle of the council, to Var's left, in a sign of respect by not permitting themselves to stand on his right. They bowed in unison in the marquis's direction and remained standing, in a relaxed position with their opened hands resting on the hilts of their giant swords, so that everyone could see where they were. They pulled down their hoods as far as possible. All eyes were on them. After the first moments of alarm, the men understood that they had no intention of coming any closer than that, and the stares of the Vetems were not putting any spells on them, or transforming them into pillars of salt or any such thing. With a little diffidence, they sat back down. The two Vetems were like stone. They didn't move a muscle and they wore no distinguishable expression. Their eyes were hidden. Only the lower part of their face was visible, and many noticed the gaping wound on Selot's mouth and chin. In the hours that proceeded, everyone inwardly inquired about their presence. Everyone recognized Selot who had fought by Var's side in the elimination of the Hood of Death. The verdict however was contrasting. After the initial illusion of having escaped from the hand of the enemy, they'd found themselves in the ruins of their towns and villages and the total destruction of their lands. After a short time, when the reconstruction of their homes had begun and hopes had been reborn, the marquis had informed them the threat of his people had not ended at all. The army was reorganizing its military might and would soon strike even harder than before. No one really knew how and when the army would act, and so now there was room for conjecture and irrational fear. That day, they saw their marquis return from a mission of which they had not been informed. He'd come back with the Vetem they'd already met and with another, whose name had not been revealed, and who left everyone in a permanent state of alarm. Var felt their fear and their questions run through the group. He turned to Selot with a silent look of thanks. Selot nodded with his head bowed down, then returned to his position, identical to that of his brother.

  “Why are they here?” asked the oldest Captain, a man by the name of Delan, gray and tempered by war.

  “Before speaking about them, I must show you something,” Var began, with the voice of natural authority he had. Again, Selot admired the way Var imposed his authority without oppression. He admired the spirit he transmitted and the way he confronted the awkward questions asked by his men, head on. The way the marquises governed had always been the manifestation of the democratic manner of the people of Atiarav. It was very complex and demanding to lead a realm, trying to take the best decisions together, with the knowledge that whatever the outcome might be, the sole responsibility fell onto whoever was in command. Authority was needed, as well as lucidity, presence, a spirit of service, and the ability to put one's own personal life in second place; intelligence and negotiation skills were also essential. It was vital to observe every issue from all points of views in a continual exercise that left no doubt to each judgment made, allowing no ulterior discussions on the evaluations made. Selot knew that Var prayed daily to be worthy of this task.

  “We will continue mo
ving around, to confuse the trackers,” said Var. He illustrated the plan he had elaborated on a map of the Eizco Mountains, drawn up on a giant scroll. Selot admired the plan. It was an ingenious scheme which followed strict rules; it was easy for him to translate into a mathematical algorithm. Seen from the outside, it looked like a chaotic mess, without any semblance of logic. Even Marrhit listened carefully. He didn't know how to interpret Var's strategy in mathematical terms, but he visualized the movements from each direction precisely and immediately. The men in the council made him repeat the rules a few times over. Many of them couldn't work out the general plan that was the base of the overall strategy. They asked questions and made Var repeat the order in which the core groups had to move, several times. After a good half hour, everyone understood what was to be done and they nodded. Some of them moved their forefingers over the maps to retrace the steps outlined by the marquis. From under his hood, Marrhit raised an eyebrow at the pathetic slowness of whoever was absorbing a strategy that was so painfully clear.

  “We can hope to ensure the safety of our people with these tactics, giving us brief respite,” said Var. “Thousands of soldiers are waiting for us. They want us dead, they will force us to yield to the grip of the next winter, and if that is not enough, they'll hunt us down into the next, and the one after if necessary. We have to break down their encirclement. In one word: we must give ourselves the chance to defeat the army of Dar.” The affirmation was so great that no one picked up on his skepticism; one or two came forward with the conviction that it was a ridiculous hope. Ucal went as far as raising an eyebrow. He knew Var only spoke when he had a clear and concrete idea. He wanted to know exactly where the marquis was going with this. No one knew where the Vetems came into all this. They were motionless, just like Var had asked them.

  “The next few days will be decisive. We will reach the camp where I organized the point of exchange of information entrusted to my brother Bal. Tomorrow, at this hour, we will be there. We will find out if the dispatch riders made it to the north. I must know how many from that sector have answered my call before I make any decisions about our next move.”

  Var nodded towards Selot. The Vetem turned to him. That movement alone was enough to send shudders down the spines of the men and brought their hands to their swords. Var watched him.

  “Yes, my Lord?” Selot said in a low voice with his injury and swollen lips. The friar who'd climbed up to the mountains of Eizco the year before, jumped into Var's mind.

  “Come forward one pace and tell us what you have learned from the army posted in the north,” the marquis ordered. And so Selot did. The Vetem ignored his bleeding wound. He did not even allow himself to pass his tongue over his broken lip. Those men believed he did not feel pain and the derided him for it. Selot felt the scorn and he swallowed it down without rancor.

  “We have come from the north,” he said resolutely. “We fought the legion which took a stand against the Rotmandis one night, seven days ago. I met two men from Atiarav in service of the General who commands the western outpost in war with that people. They were part of the militia chosen by the Praetorians defending the General himself. They had been alerted by your dispatch riders, and carried in their hands, the scroll which summons them. The dispatch riders were discovered and killed. That evening, those two men, by word of mouth, gathered about a hundred men. Before coming here, it had been their intention to send for those who serve in the legion furthest east and others to a military base still further north. They estimated the arrival of five hundred men, but they will ride by night only to avoid being seen by the army. I estimate the first one hundred men should arrive within five days, two hundred in seven days, and the rest in ten days.”

  Everyone was left speechless. It was important news, the best news they'd had in months and, above all, such precious information. Excited smiles went round the group together with the grief of losing the dispatch riders, both of them excellent women fighters. Captain Delan rose over everyone and asked:

  “Var, how can we trust this Vetem? Am I the only one who doubts his word? What if it is only a deception to our hurt?” There was blinking, a few heads nodded in assent, and doubt ran through the circle of men who had met in counsel. Only the two female group leaders had the idea that the information was given in sincerity.

  All of a sudden, Var jumped to his feet, furious. This wouldn't do. It was up to him to put these souls on the right road or they wouldn't have a chance. It was the moment to finish this attitude that undermined their unity and their already weakened hopes of survival, once and for all.

  “The words of the Vetem are my words, here and now, and for the future. I do not intend on tolerating any deliberation on this. If you don't accept it, be on your way. Is that clear?” he barked with all his anger. He looked at his men one by one, without conceding a single one of them to retreat or hesitate. He wanted their full support immediately. He pointed to Selot. “If today you can still vomit your filthy ignorance on him, it is only because he saved your sorry asses, and your families a few months ago. I do not want to go over this again. Never again!” Var turned to Selot nodding curtly to have him return to his spot. Selot obeyed. Var was even prepared to resolve the matter with banishment for whoever disagreed, for the first time since he took up command of the government. At that moment, he was the leader of the army, and not the marquis who held up the government in times of peace. It was clear to all.

  Silence fell, the air filled only with the cackling of fire only. Against the sky, the sheer size of Mount Kisov stood very close, lit up by the moon. Everybody adhered to the marquis's request. Delan grunted. He and two other men sitting close to him, were not convinced but decided not to show it. Var intercepted their mute self-denial. Selot and Marrhit took note of names and faces.

  “The information we have just received pushes me to accelerate my decision. For now, the army has not yet made its intentions known. I've had some information regarding a few dislocated subdivisions near Solzhaz and along other entrances to our valleys, but they appear to each have a limited number of men. In the meantime, we have found numerous traces of trackers. They're trying to uncover our hiding places and how we are moving. We will do the same to them. We'll arrange hunting teams to identify their strategies. We must anticipate their every move. Sooner or later, they must organize themselves to attack us. When the time comes, we will counteract to deter them. We strike, then we withdraw. They will never be able to move through our valleys in large numbers; we will strike their divisions and then disappear. Until they realize we are like ghosts and that its not worth the risk to employ men and resources in hunting us down.”

  Var established the criteria of the teams and how they would be made up, and he showed how they would move in great detail, and which geographical zones they had to cover. Var's men nodded, and once the last remaining questions on timing and procedure had been made, the Council was dissolved. The captains and group leaders got to their feet to return to their families. Selot and Marrhit remained where they were, absolutely still, waiting for the marquis's signal. It was to demonstrate that they would respect the wishes of the men of Atiarav. One of the women took a good long look at the new Vetem. And she wasn't the least bit afraid. Marrhit made sure she saw his lips turn upward in a smile. The meaning was clear right away.

  “Love overcomes all obstacles,” remarked Var as he approached the two Vetems.

  “It's my brother's way of breaking down the barriers between different populations...” Selot said wittily. Marrhit allowed himself a languid smile in the direction of the group leader. Showing support to Selot in his folly, finally had its bright side. When the woman went on her way, he became serious once more. He pulled back his hood and stared at Var, grim.

  “Do not insult my intelligence, Marquis,” he began, in a bellicose manner. “I want to know the missing part of your plan.” Not one of the captains or group leaders had caught onto the fact that something was missing, while to him it was as clear
as the light of day.

  His gaze moved from Var to Selot. Neither of them had believed the obvious incoherence of their grand design, might escape his notice. He sensed their alliance on that point and could no longer tolerate it.

  “If you wanted Selot's help in order to eliminate the Xàmvetems who are breathing down your necks, you would already have asked without so much ceremony and secrecy. You've just found out you will have five hundred warriors at the ready. More could join you from the south. In all, possibly eight hundred. You might even get a thousand. Enough to form some sort of organized military action, to weaken them, to sink the legion efficiently enough. Selot could drive out and eliminate the Xàmvetem generals and reinforce your offensive in a significant way. You could have victory, regain territory, defend borders and force them to make a pact. Instead you have chosen this miserable tactic to play for some time, which will only serve to gain time without winning, knowing that the oppressive number of the army will wipe you out sooner or later. You're not looking for victory with this tactic, you're looking for time. What do you need to do with that time? What do you really need from Selot?”

  Var hesitated. That Vetem looked about twenty but maybe he had some things to teach him in war.

  “War is the only thing I have been trained for since I was born and I can assure you that my teachers have been rather demanding,” Marrhit echoed his thoughts. Var was surprised that his thought was so precisely picked up, and it worried him. “No, I am not entering your soul, Marquis. I am simply proceeding by deduction and I am watching the movements of your face; that's all I need. Do not make me take what I want with force,” he openly threatened, taking a step closer to him. Selot reached for his brother's arm to calm him down. He stepped in between the two. He opened his mouth to speak, but Marrhit beat him to it.