To my son, to the wonderful adventure in his life.
To all of you who keep your head high and your dreams close to your heart.
Copyright © 2017 by Perla Giannotti – All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
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Selot’s Tales - Vol II
The Creed
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
Map
I
Selot left the camp in Hidden Valley at a steady pace. He wanted to run. He took deep breaths of the cold air of a winter he had watched transform. Then he broke into run. He wanted to shout, cry, laugh, sing, and embrace the whole world. There was no one around. And so he ran breathlessly all day. He did not feel hunger, nor thirst, nor tiredness. His only desire was to run. He reached the spring of the Atiarav river many hours later, and it was only then that he stopped. He found himself on a plain, cut off by a rocky wall; off to the east, a seemingly endless chain of mountains opened up to the far distant horizon. A thousand rivulets ran over the middle of the plain; he could hear them flow beneath the ice and rock. A little further on, they formed uncertain brooklets. Still further away, as the land descended, a rivulet formed, almost all of it fallen prey to ice: the first attempt of a nascent river. Closing his eyes, he sat on the frozen ground and listened as it formed. He listened to the thousand hidden ways each single drop of water could take before deciding where to join together and which direction to go. He heard its soundless meanderings as the tiny trickles searched their way over and under the surface. Once they’d found a general direction, they came out of the ground a hundred paces up ahead, taking their first shape of a proper river. He listened, enraptured by the constant birth and transformation until he was left astounded. He was oblivious to the cold that grasped him, stealing warmth away from his skin, his muscles, and his bones. He felt his breath condensate into tiny drops that dripped from his lips and onto his chin, ready to turn into ice. He paid attention to none of this; only the silent dawn, unknown and spectacular as it crossed his soul.
When he reopened his eyes, the stars were already laid out in the sky. The Milky Way was so intense and pulsing that he could have touched it and taken it down. Judging by the position of the stars, the sun had died away at least two hours ago. It was only then that practical concerns set off alarm bells in his mind. He was half frozen.
He breathed in deeply and attempted to get up after hours of absolute stillness. He tried to move the fingers on his hands and the toes on his feet, but couldn’t. He tried to rub them back to life, but the nocturnal iciness had stolen more warmth than he’d thought. Under normal conditions he could have easily reanimated by simply rubbing them. He was gripped by panic in trying to find out just how far he could push his body to bear the cold. He looked straight ahead and struggled to recover his calm. He recalled the strict teachings of his Uicic master. Gaining control of his circulation, he slowly heated his body. After several moments, he felt a searing pain in his extremities, a sign that the blood was returning to the outer digits. The blood also warmed his nose and ears, which pained him immensely. It was as if he were being prodded. Finally, he raised his eyes and looked around. He set off in the dark, on his journey once more. He was returning to the Uicics to inform them of the outcome of events, although they were sure to know. They would have undoubtedly followed what had happened through the connections created within the Zav switch installed in the nape of his neck. He hoped they would concede him rest. He was returning to make himself available to their objectives. This thought crossed his mind and brought him discomfort. He felt like a condemned man. He was indeed.
His preparation had not been completed. He had interrupted his training in order to reach the lands of Atiarav before the Emissary had decreed its destruction. Now he wished to finish it. After that he would decide what to do with the rest of his existence. He laughed bitterly. His life span was one hundred and fifty years. He had just turned sixteen during those cold days that signaled winter’s end. There were well over a hundred years ahead of him. To do what? To cross all the lands of the entire known world and kill as many Xàmvetems as possible? It couldn’t end like that. It was obvious he couldn’t do it. ‘I won’t allow it to be.’ So how, then? He couldn’t sire children, and no woman would join with him without the hope of having a family.
It was an hour before dawn by the time he reached the secret entrance of the Uicics. He went down into it in absolute darkness with no help of a torch. He didn’t lose his way through the long underground tunnels, re-emerging the following afternoon in the valley of the Uicics. He immediately presented himself to the home of the village chief who at that moment was a young woman by the name of Lya. She smiled at him gracefully and elegantly, which made him feel uncouth and awkward. He looked terrible. His clothes were torn and dirty and his precious weapons, supplied by the Uicics, were blunt with broken casings. The night spent camping outdoors, and his long, underground trek gave him a worn out look.
“You’ve returned then. This is a happy moment for the whole community,” Lya said kindly. “You will be summoned before the Council in a few days. At dawn tomorrow morning, you will present yourself before your teacher who will give you instructions accordingly. Dinner will be prepared for you this evening. Now rest, regain your strength.” Selot received her orders and thanked her for the opportunity to rest. The pronunciation of his words came out terribly and distorted the wonderful musicality of the Uicic language. He felt uncomfortable in front of Lya who was having difficulty in understanding his badly articulated sounds. The use of his words was also inadequate. “Please excuse me for the way I speak,” he ended, in an attempt to justify his clumsiness. Lya was obliged to accept his apologies. “You have had little time to learn our language. And besides, it is not admissible that you use it with so many obstacles. Our words are connected to the very matrix of existence itself and to the spirit of us all. It is necessary that you learn it correctly, otherwise you could come to harm. Our language is not innocuous like that of mankind, which is made of air, where useless sounds can be thrown about without consequence. I will speak to your teacher to ensure our language will be part of your training. ”Selot bowed and hid his embarrassment by closing his eyes.
After resting for the bare minimum to gather his strength, he decided to make himself available to the cooks, to help out with dinner. The village people welcomed him back as if he were one of them. He ran into old Asheeba, a teacher of medicine, on his way to the cooking area. She was returning from assisting the birth of child in a nearby hut. Selot smiled as Asheeba’s presence warmed his heart and soul. ‘Teacher’, he said, greeting her with deference.
“Selot, so glad to see you. Where are you going?”
“I was planning on helping out with dinner preparations.” Asheeba swiped at the air with her hand, as if she were swatting away something bothersome. “Don’t worry, you already know how to shell beans and cut carrots...”
“Yes,” Selot replied, thinking about the carts of vegetables he had prepared for the canteen at Affradatis. He started laughing. Asheeba had already put him in a good mood.
“Come, let us walk along the river.” Once they had reached the banks of the torrent, Asheeba asked Selot how he had defeated the Xàmvetem who had besieged his human friends. Selot did his best to retell the story of their encounter, forcing himself to be thorough and to use Uicic words as best as he could. “You were successful and you have survived,” Asheeba determined. “And yet, I feel there is much pain within you.”
Selot nodded. “Teacher... I...” he hesitated. He feared speaking a heresy, to render himself ridiculous in front of her. He didn’t understand the organization and culture of the Uicics fully, and he was always uncertain of how to behave. “Tell me without fear, Selot.”
“Teacher, my greatest wish is to become a medic. I would like to dedicate the rest of my life to helping the sick and the suffering.” He said it all in one breath, forgetting about correct pronunciation and grammar. “I would like to follow your example and study medicine.” He looked down at his feet. He felt as vulnerable as a child. He had revealed his dream and he felt naked and bare in front of the whole world. Asheeba had compassion for him, but she wanted to be honest. For this reason she told him the truth with excruciating indifference.
“You are not worthy, unfortunately.” Her comment winded him. “You have killed. Whoever kills cannot undertake such a journey with our people. There’s more. You were created for a purpose that is not conducive to that which you would like to do. Unfortunately I do not see how it is possible to pursue what you desire in your heart.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. “Your dream has brought light to my eyes,” Asheeba said. Her words had taken away the strength in his legs. “There’s no way out for me,” he said sadly. He lightly touched the nape of his neck; sometimes the Zav switch was more perceptible. Selot imagined that this happened when the Council wanted to connect to his mind. This was one of those moments. He felt he was being observed like a circus animal. Asheeba’s intuition told her that too. “It’s getting late. Go to dinner now, and regain your strength. Tomorrow will be a very demanding day for you.” Selot nodded. When he had distanced himself from Asheeba he felt incredibly alone, even though everyone had shown him kindness. He retired to the wood and stone house which he had been assigned. Before falling asleep, his thoughts drifted to Var, Nora, Ucal and little Flash. He asked himself what their future held. What did his own future hold for that matter... Then he fell into a heavy, dreamless slumber.
At dawn the following morning, he presented himself to his Vetem master at the lake where he had first started training months before.
“Welcome back, Selot.” He greeted his master respectfully, but he was downcast. “What is expected of me now?” He asked without ceremony; neither of them felt it was necessary.
“In a few days you will be summoned by the Council. It will not be an easy meeting. In the meantime, you must report on all that happened in your encounter with the Emissary.”
“I thought you knew everything already.”
“Only in part. I will indicate the parts which require detailed descriptions.” Selot nodded. Writing in the Uicic language was not difficult for him. He had studied the antique language for many years at Affradatis, without knowing of the existence of the small hidden population who still used it.
“Master, you once said I was not completely ready, but the urgency of the people of Atiarav did not allow me to finish my preparations. I wish to complete my training.”
The Vetem master smiled. “The encounter with the Emissary was the validation of your training. He was among the most powerful of the Vetem warriors. You are very young. You survived. I ‘saw’ how you used the cloak. I saw how you freed yourself from it after putting it on; you did not fall into the mortal temptation of its power. You are complete.”
“Well, why do I not feel like it? Why do I feel as if I am missing so much more?” Selot asked, unsettled.
“Of course your technique can be improved. But that is not what is missing.”
“Can you help me?”
“Only in part.”
Selot wanted to cry. He had not yet given himself over to tears. These tears had been there for a long time and the cup was now full to the brim. It was close to overflowing: hearing Asheeba speak the evening before had been the last straw. It had been on the brink of overflowing at having to leave Var and the others; for being abandoned at birth and left at the Abbey of Affradatis for fifteen years; for having never known his parents; for no longer belonging to the world of men and not yet feeling a part of the world of Uicics; for hanging in limbo without a past, and with what seemed a terrible, fated future. The Vetem master observed him closely. Selot did not move a muscle, but he was suffering and it was evident.
“My name is Janavel,” he said. Selot stayed still. He had been informed by the Uicic people that Vetems revealed their names only on rare occasions, and only to those they considered worthy. A name represented the entire essence of a person and it was one of the most powerful and influential words of all. It was for this reason no one really knew the names of any of the Vetems. That is why the master had never revealed his true name during their months of training. Selot didn’t know what to say. He reacted with a show of utmost respect before the other Vetem. He offered up his eyes, transparent and in full view with his head held high, and he looked directly into the master’s eyes, allowing him to cross over completely, putting up no barriers. Selot had learned that Vetems could keep themselves in contact with one another, establishing a common ‘ground’ where they could share that which was necessary. It was quite the contrary to opening the soul up to another, and one could enter without revealing anything of oneself. It was a difficult exercise. A little like trying to resist the temptation of running away at the sight of an avalanche. No secret and no emotion could remain safe that way, including weaknesses, and anything else one might be embarrassed to show others. Janavel nodded. He saw his gratitude, but also his pain. His dream of becoming a medic had been shattered in an instant by Asheeba, and his whole being was lost in a present where he was a stranger to the whole world. His resentment of the past, the tears under the surface, his fear of what the Council would ask of him, his turbulent adolescence, worsened by the sense of guilt he had after so many years in the Abbey: they were all there. There was also a sort of disappointment in Janavel himself, who seemed to be keeping important information from him. This last feeling made Selot sad, but it couldn’t be helped.
Janavel pulled back very quickly, so as not to take advantage of this deeply respectful gesture.
“That’s not necessary,” he said, but he appreciated it all the same. “You have just shown me your soul, Selot, but you can also tell me how you feel with words, and what you think is behind all you feel?”
Selot was not used to answering questions about himself. He could face the challenge of an exercise, and he could resist an icy night in the mountains. He could save a person by entering their soul, like he had done with Ucal. He could tell what others felt, but never had he been able to tell what he himself felt. He didn’t know how to answer a simple question, like ‘how are you?’
Master Janavel led him to the edge of the lake and knelt down on a giant, flat rock, settled onto his legs, back and neck straight, hands on his thighs. Selot copied him immediately and knelt before him.
“Close your eyes. Breathe deeply.”
The image of the pair was mirrored in the crystalline waters. The day was clear and windless, and it reflected them both perfectly.
“Straighten your back, Selot. You have the same dignity as this lake, as me, as this universe. Let your breath be the breath of the world, and vice versa.”
Selot awaited instructions. Janavel’s training had been very hard, and it had constantly pushed him for months, beyond all physical and psychological limits. Janavel had always been very strict and had never conceded him a moment of respite. Not even that would be possible. Anything could happen, but he felt ready.
“Well, how do you feel?” Selot remained silent.
Other than show his own soul as he had done before, what more could he do? The unspoken question was easily sensed by Janavel.
“What you did with me a moment ago, was to simply remove a veil. Now you must look for yourself, beyond the veil, and understand what you see. Up to now, you have learned how to observe. It is not worthless; most men are not able to look at themselves without sincerity. But that is not enough for us. You must learn to know yourself. You must gather the root, the one that runs underneath your emotions.” Janavel awaited. “You don’t know how to respond, do you?”
Selot clamped his jaw. “You’re right,” he admitted, noting his own weakness.
“Use the images. Look at yourself, as if you were an eagle in flight looking down from above. Let the image of yourself do as it pleases. Let it get up and do as it wishes. That other ‘self’ is free, let it go, let it roam free without restrictions. You are the eagle. You see yourself and me on the edge of this lake. Observe.” Selot set to work and depicted the scene in his mind. There was nothing more he needed. To his great amazement, he became the soaring eagle and could see the world from up on high. The ‘self’ that was kneeling beside his master lifted his arms into the air and stretched, tipping his head backwards and liberating the tensions in his shoulders and back, spreading out the fingers on his hands as wide as possible. He suddenly felt a drunken kind of liberation. The ‘other’ him got up and started running along the edge of the lake, only to dive in and swim across it. It was all so very strange: he didn’t know how to swim. He felt his heartbeat accelerate. He got out of the water soaking wet, and ran on. He ran till he could run no longer; he went further beyond the horizon than Selot’s closed eyes could see in front of them. He reached his limit and went further still, as far as he could, until he suddenly came to the edge of a very high precipice in the middle of a mountain he did not recognize. And there, with all the breath he held in his lungs, he broke out into a wild shout. His ‘other’ self shouted and shouted again, like a mad man, freeing all this gigantic, overwhelming energy he didn’t know he possessed.
The Creed Page 1