“God bless you, my lady. I beg of you,” but Nora had already run off.
Selot chewed at the root and spat it out without swallowing any of its released juices. Var and Ucal arrived right then. They watched him, his face streaked by tears as he put the chewed up mixture from his hand into his brother's mouth. Selot held Marrhit up with his other hand.
“The juice alone will work. Just a few drops of juice...” he whispered. He tipped Marrhit's head back slightly, to help the drops go down. Nothing happened. Marrhit was motionless in his arms.
As the shouts of victory shook the air around them, and the songs of festive joy rose up from the land of Atiarav, in that far corner Var found it almost impossible to keep his tears at bay.
Selot inhaled, in an effort to calm himself. He placed the last piece of root in his mouth. As soon as felt the juice ooze out of it, he neared his brother's lips and injected it directly into his mouth. It went on like this until the root gave no more sustenance. He waited and prayed. Marrhit gulped feebly. Selot held back a breath, his eyes open wide out of both surprise and fear that the miracle would not repeat itself. Marrhit instead, swallowed again and then he swallowed the pulp that was still in his mouth. Selot gave him the second chewed up mouthful. Marrhit kept it down as well. Selot still waited. Finally, Marrhit opened his eyes, but had a devil of a time trying to focus. He spluttered. The pain came on violently. Selot intercepted it and took it on immediately. They stifled their joint cries as best they could, as the waves of suffering came flooding in. Var and Ucal didn't know how they could help them so they remained motionless beside them. Other men approached, who then called upon others. Word spread that one of the two Vetems was gravely injured or dead, and that the other was carrying out strange rites on his body. They observed them like wild animals, making comments of all sorts, some of them compassionate, others offensive to the point of being obscene. Selot knew that Marrhit would hate showing those people his suffering and his weakness. It wasn't dignified for a Xàmavetem. “You should be very pleased,” Selot told his brother in the Uicic language, doing his best to joke, “they are looking at us like circus wonders. That's your specialty...” He shifted himself somewhat to cover his brother's view of the crowd, sending a silent look of pleading to the marquis. Var and Ucal moved everyone away immediately so the two brothers could have privacy, far from the insistent curiosity and comments. Selot asked for water. Ucal brought him a pail. He prepared an anesthetic medicine that he made his brother drink in tiny sips. He wouldn't let up until all his vital signs were strong and the pain was under control. Helped by Var and Ucal, he carried him to a tent, and eased him onto a comfortable bed, away from the indiscreet stares of the people of Atiarav. Selot watched over him, as Var and Ucal reunited the men to coordinate the return journey.
Selot used one of his knives to strip away his brother's boots. It was no longer possible to extract his feet from them. The flesh was swollen to the point of abnormality and the swelling had moved up his legs as far as his knees. When he saw the conditions of his wounds, Selot put his hands to his eyes and pressed them with his thumbs, trying not to twist his face into an evident grimace.
Don't let them bother you. They will heal. Selot moved his head to show his affirmation without opening his eyes for a few seconds longer.
I knew you'd get here in time.
“I didn't!” Selot said overwhelmed by anguish. “I didn't know if I would get here in time, damn it!” His nose, and all around it were in a horrible condition. He stifled a hiccup. Now he needed to examine the burn, which was what worried him most. Marrhit smiled.
I'll say it again. You're only a half Vetem with no backbone...
XXI
All the soldiers of the Kingdom of Dar were disarmed and tied. Not a single hair on their head was touched. The few warriors who knew anything about medicine, went round curing their own comrades. Once that was done, the enemies were also treated. The more serious cases and the maimed of the soldiers of Dar were then placed in tents. The wounded of Atiarav who couldn't walk, were placed on stretchers. Soon enough, they would be leaving for the mountains. All received water to revive them and to wash their wounds. Nora, with her untiring ability to organize, had everything done in the most efficient and speediest way possible. Everyone followed her instructions with diligence. She'd found some of the root that Selot needed and had already given it to him. Flash jumped around Ucal, happy for their victory, but rather fearful of seeing what remained after battle, up close. He was left with a very strong impression after seeing a horrifying wound. He shut his eyes and covered them with his hands, shocked beyond words. Ucal gave him over to a group that was preparing to leave, so that Flash would be spared from seeing the worst part of war.
Delan went over to Var, a contrite expression on his face.
“You have bent the two Vetems to do your bidding and they have obeyed you,” he said, full of admiration for his marquis. It was the best Var could hope to hear from one such as this. After all that had happened right in front of his eyes, he still treated the Vetems like ferocious beasts; he only recognized the fact that they could be tamed. Var shook his head.
“That's not how it is, my friend. They freely agreed to help us. They could have left us at any moment.” The man saddened. He couldn't admit to anything good coming out of those two unsettling, menacing beings. He left, not in the least bit convinced. Var clamped his jaw shut. He could never change his people. It would take time. And maybe his lifetime would not be enough. He could begin, but it would be his children who would take those steps of change forward.
Var had a scroll brought to him, which he'd kept for this moment, without knowing if it would arrive or not. It was a message for the king.
Greetings to you, King Lotar II.
In receiving this letter, you will know that the Marquisate of Atiarav is now free and independent. Owing to the grave wrongs my people have endured, I break the pact of vassalage that was made with your family. And so it will be, for as long as the dark forces of the Vetems dominate the actions of your kingdom.
Var, Marquis of Atiarav
It was the official breakdown of diplomatic relations and, in a certain sense, a declaration of war. It had been made clear that the presence of the Congregation was known and that that Atiarav would not bow down to the forces of the army. At the same time, it left the doors open, in case the decisions of the King were no longer under the dominion of the Vetems. He reread it, considered one last moment what it meant, and the consequences that could result. Then he folded it and consigned it to a royal official who had remained unharmed during the battle. “Take this missive to the closest royal residence and make sure someone comes to take care of your comrades.” The official acknowledged Var's worth, both military and humane. He briefly bowed and then headed to the east with great speed.
A few hours later, the army of Atiarav was ready to leave. A giant pyre was lit to burn the bodies of the dead, honoring them as was appropriate according to their traditions. Var led the rites where the warriors accompanied the souls of their companions towards the heavens. The chorus of voices vibrated in the surrounding air and the warriors cried for their friends, brothers and sisters, pretending that smoke had irritated their eyes.
Pity would have induced them to bury the dead of the enemy too, but Var wanted to return his people to safety as soon as possible, back to the mountains of Eizco.
The evening shadows grew long. He saw the outlines of two figures advance. Marrhit was on horseback. He held onto the saddle with obvious difficulty. His eyes were red and full of suffering. Selot was on foot and he held the halter. Everyone crowded in around the two Vetems. Everyone wanted to see them, wanted to scrutinize their features and their details. They observed them like strange, dangerous animals, with a combination of morbidity, fear, attraction and repulsion. Selot arrived in front of Var and bowed.
“With your blessing, my lord, we are leaving.”
“I can't believe it,” Var s
tuttered, “you're leaving again.”
“We have no other alternative.”
“I still need you,” Var evaluated. He didn't want him to leave. There were too many things that still needed to be said. Above all, he wanted more time to show his profound gratitude that he knew he owed them. He wanted to demonstrate it with a solid gesture. He wanted all the men and women of Atiarav to acknowledge their worth. Land and wealth was given for services far more inferior than what they had done. Though most of all, Var thought about the future. This wasn't the end. Selot was an exceptional warrior and he still remained the key to accessing the Cumbal.
Selot read everything in his eyes.
“I must leave, because my life is not my own and I am not free to choose. May God be willing that I will be at your service one day when you have need.”
His sincerity was as clear as the sun. “We have lost our horses,” Selot went on. “The grace of this horse, my lord, if you will allow your servant. For my brother who is unable to walk.” Selot had chosen a mule and the most humble of harnesses he could find. He lowered his head and bent his knee to the ground. Marrhit bowed his head. They awaited Var's word. Var would have given them the best horses he had. All the warriors fixed their eyes on him and the Vetems. He smiled to himself. In this case too, Selot had made the best choice, in balance with the necessity to help his brother and at the same time, to not place Var in an awkward position in the eyes of his people. He asked for one mount only, the most modest of all, so as not to hurt the pride of his citizens.
“I concede this to two friends. I know you would not accept anything more and I do not intend on wasting your time,” he replied gruffly. “May God bless you,” he ended, touched, and he stepped aside to let them pass.
Once they were far away, Selot looked at Marrhit on the sly.
“I saw you wink at that female group leader while I was bartering for this mule.” Marrhit grinned.
“You must try and make the best out of life, Selot. You're always so damned serious...”
Selot raised an eyebrow and changed the subject. “Anything but an assassin... You were trained to be a general of the armed forces...one day you'll have to explain yourself.” Marrhit shook his head, laughing to himself.
“There is so much you don't know, little brother.”
“You're right,” said Selot. Then he pulled up his hood and started praying.
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The Creed Page 54
