The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  From where Selot was actually sitting, next to his master, he perilously felt the tears well up in his eyes, but he willed himself to hold them back out of propriety. He willed them under control, as he was used to doing so often. At that moment, the master’s hand rested on his shoulder and gripped it forcefully. “Selot...” The voice made him jump.

  “Let yourself be inundated.” His ‘other’ self had much more energy than him and it kept on shouting like a lunatic, its face rigid with an anger that was so free and victorious. It incited him to go further, to unite with him and reclaim all that he had right to: life and happiness. It instigated him to declare to the entire world that he was alive, that his life would change the destiny of others he would meet; he would change the course of mankind and Vetems. He screamed to get up and rebel against everyone and everything, to take what he wanted by force, that it was rightfully his. To grab the master by the throat so he would reveal the secrets that he hid; to hunt down those damned Council members one by one, and kill them if it meant obtaining the information he wanted. To go to Lya, take her by the head and tell her the terrible claim she had made meant nothing to him, that what he was capable of was immensely more powerful and important. It incited him to reduce the Abbey of Affradatis to ashes, to search for his parents and beat them against a wall for all the enormous pain they had caused him, which felt like a sharpened stake to the heart. He would take that stake and ram it through them both. The anger resembled delirious fear, and terror gripped him. He tried to pull back, to return to himself and interrupt that vision, but the master would not allow it.

  “Cross the fire,” Janavel commanded him with such insistence that it sounded absurd and dangerous, as if he were feeding the anger through this ‘other’ self. “Do not be afraid of knowing yourself.” He witnessed more horrifying scenes of violence that this ‘other’ self evoked; it had a right to take revenge on the world that had treated him so badly; to avenge itself on a world that had made him live in a world of darkness and in cold loneliness, keeping his origins and his nature in obscurity; relentlessly pushing him into a corner that separated him from everyone: from the land of men, as well as the land of Uicics.

  “I am not this,” he finally broke off, bending over, shivering as a cold sweat stole over him. “You are also this,” Janavel intervened ruthlessly, “but you can choose.” The ‘other’ self seemed to calm itself down at once. He looked straight ahead and spied an old, wooden bridge across that abyss. He began to walk across the unreliable, shaky structure and its staggering steps where the ‘two’ Selots were reunited to merge into one. Selot was at once aware of a vibrant energy of fusion, and it startled him. And then there remained nothing but the deep chasm above and below which loomed over him in all its immensity. A mist of courage and terror forced him into the middle. The infinite darkness opened up under his feet, took hold of his heart and turned it into stone. The emptiness clamped down on his throat, his arms, his legs and his eyes. There was no end to this gulf. As hard as he looked, there was no land and no water. Nothing. The emptiness between the two vertical rock walls continued down below as far as the eye could see. Selot screamed in the real world, and returned to himself. The master watched him carefully, unmistakably stern.

  “What did you see?” Tell me quickly, there’s no time to lose,” he pressed him urgently. Selot found it difficult to regain his breath and pull himself back from the terror.

  “Do not dwell on it too much, answer quickly,” Javanel was forceful and berating. He kept the tension alive so the impressions would not diminish in anyway.

  “An abyss, emptiness without end, below and all around me. I am immobilized and I can’t cross it. I am done for, about to die out of fright, no peace.” As Selot tried to bring his breathing back to an acceptable level, the master admonished him. “Do not stop your spirit from communicating with you. Do not ever stop it, even if that which it wishes to tell you is not what you want to hear. Remember the choice is yours; it is always within your reach, but it must be aware of the root of your existence, otherwise it will be nothing more than a puzzled reflection of altruistic will or rather, of that external part of you; slave to exterior experiences, of what you do not know, creature comforts, and of your flesh.” He allowed no time to rest. “Well then,” he said again with the tone of one who is teaching a slightly obtuse child how to read and write, “how do you feel?” Finally the question began to make sense. He still didn’t have a ready answer, but at least it had meaning now. Selot concentrated on the sensations the master had cleverly kept alive within him.

  “I feel lost...”

  “Be more precise. Do not recall your sensations; describe what causes them!” the master urged.

  Selot opened himself up to that icy cold grip on his heart once more. He dug deep inside until he could feel its grip and taste it up close.

  “I feel as if I’m at the beginning of it all and I must start my life from scratch, alone, without pretext; it’s as if I must drag myself up from a giant, dark, empty place to search out the light of the sun, but there is an enemy will that wants to prohibit me from doing so. I feel that the world is hostile and I do not understand the reason for it, and that it is constantly being thrown in my face like it is my fault. I do not know of what I am accused. It’s... horrible.”

  Janavel nodded. “This is your starting point,” he concluded with an imperceptible break in his otherwise severe tone.

  Days of intense training followed, which finished with more, equally difficult lessons of the language of the Uicics. He was quick to learn that it was not only a matter of pronunciation and lexis, but an exercise that deeply involved his ability to recognize and manage emotions. Lya was just as strict as Janavel. She taught him how to exhale not from his throat, but from his abdomen, lungs, and trachea first, dominating the inflection, tonality and intensity of every syllable, admonishing him for every minute error until he was worn out. She taught him how to align his words with his thoughts and emotions, developing in him the capacity to dominate all three aspects perfectly, until each word became a complete expression of himself. It was not easy for Selot. The children of the Uicics breathed this aptitude from birth, but for him it was a giant hurdle; sometimes he thought he was going crazy. It was as if he had to reach a type of perfection that was well beyond his reach. “Our language is a sound which is tied to the archetypes on which the world was built. You must respect the operational rules to the letter, or there will be repercussions and the one who listens to you will pay,” she reminded him constantly. “The words of the Uicics are real substances. That is why we are very prudent in what we say and more silent in the presence of men. Their language has become a mere representation over time. Their words have become almost innocuous, often useless and superfluous. They are necessary at best to communicate facts and intentions in a very general way. The words are inappropriate when transmitting emotions, and they cannot alter reality in any way.”

  Selot dedicated himself to pronouncing that powerful language correctly, of which he knew letters and grammar perfectly well. He attached its written structures onto the vocal vibrations that opened up a never-ending landscape. These vibrations were so very close to the roots from which reality was made, and they left him constantly out of breath. Lya had a wonderful voice, like music. She demonstrated patience to him because he was less capable than a child. Selot felt clumsy and he was certain he must appear so to her. He committed himself wholly, following Lya’s continual corrections, overcoming the shame generated by her frowning expressions. She forgave no distractions. If tiredness made him err, she took it badly. “Mind, heart and voice must be a single entity, otherwise you will uselessly squander energy and your pronunciation will be terrible!” Sometimes his pronunciation was good, but the word came out ‘weakly’, or perhaps not well-connected to his emotions and to his knowledgeable intentions. In those cases too, Lya’s corrections were exacting and harsh.

  When Lya determined he was able to speak at an
acceptable level, she taught him the song of the Uicics. It was an overwhelming experience. Following her lead, Lya taught him the songs that helped the healing of wounds, the growth and health of plants, the sleep of children and adults. She taught him the song to abate pain, to calm the restless, to approach animals, and to assist memory.

  He went towards his hut that evening, dragging himself due to mental and physical tiredness. Before falling asleep, he sat at his table and drew up a list of events that had led him to defeat the Emissary.

  The nights that followed were troubled. He fell asleep each night knowing that he would visit that terrible image of the bottomless abyss that he’d been unable to cross. It had turned into a nightmare and it tormented him every night, waking him as he lay drenched in sweat and in a grip of panic. And that very night he had to rise once more and go outside to breathe in the cold air to rid himself of the terror. He reached the highest part of the rocky promontory where the village of the Uicics rose up. The view of the starry sky was magnificent from up there. There was no light apart from the stars. The thin mountain air at that altitude was always stirred by a mountain breeze. The sky was very clear, and the stars so bright and vibrant that it was if one could reach out and pluck them from the sky. A crowded infinity that pulsed, chaotic, yet harmonious.

  He sat down and crossed his legs. He breathed in the air and let it penetrate deeply into every corner of his lungs. It had been like that for seven nights now. The absolute emptiness that gripped him with an evil and irresistible force, providing a tremendous will which did anything it could to pull him back into the abyss. A darkness without stars and without salvation.

  “Everyone, sooner or later, must cross the dark caves of our own existence.”

  Selot turned round slowly. The warm and reassuring voice of Asheeba comforted him with such tenderness that he wanted to hug her.

  “My lady,” he said, jumping to his feet.

  “Do not get up, boy...” Asheeba smiled. “I will sit down next to you.”

  The old woman had a face that radiated strength and unmatchable calm, like a giant lake.

  “I think your parents had a reason for abandoning you. I believe it is time for you to understand why. The chasm that persecutes you in your sleep will only disappear once you find it. It will not be enough to know why. You must go deep down to understand it; then you must accept it and forgive.”

  Selot nodded; Asheeba had guessed his thoughts. The pain connected to his birth had grown unbearable. He feared by nature he was an assassin and he feared the resentment he had towards his parents for abandoning him could feed an anger so strong it would drag him down to folly.

  “Where can I start?”

  “It doesn’t matter. From wherever you begin, your life will open the road that you have chosen to take. Start from any point, only make sure it is the one you feel in your heart. Do not look for any others. It is not necessary.”

  “I want to save lives, not take them,” Selot stuttered suddenly. He was surprised at his reaction, at that seemingly incoherent outburst. Asheeba eased her lips into a smile that made the sky vibrate even more intensely. That was Selot’s true pain: the wish to love life and all living beings, yet trapped in a being designed to kill.

  “I’ll be leaving soon. I’m leaving the village to return to the medicine school. When you are ready to join me, I’ll be waiting for you. It would be my pleasure to have you among my students.”

  “I didn’t think I was worthy,” he stuttered incredulously, never dreaming that he might hear those words from her.

  “You won’t be, that’s true. But something is making a deep transformation with you and that is a fact we cannot ignore.”

  “But...what about the Council? They have other ideas for me and my future,” he said in a tone that betrayed the fear of a child who watches his dreams shatter in front of a harsh reality.

  Asheeba pursed her lips.

  “I do not believe they will give you freedom before using you for their objectives. If however, you have the strength to survive until the end, then maybe they will not oppose the choice you make for your life. If you are still alive, you may come to me. I met with the Council where I spoke on your behalf. They have the right to decide what they will, but I anticipated my request. To occupy yourself with medicine after serving their purpose may not be entirely incompatible.” Selot was stunned. He felt as if Asheeba was saving him, just like Var did when he tore him away half-dead, from the Abbey of Affradatis, a few months earlier.

  “If I am still alive, I will be an assassin. Why would you bestow the honor of allowing me to be your pupil? Why are you helping me?”

  “Someone much better than me once showed me that you can live life or you can let it run its course as it comes. If you live it, you are soon called to decide which side you want to be on: on the side that tears down and destroys, or the side that builds and saves. You have that choice. It is not me who gives you this honor, but it will be your own choices that do, even in the face of the brutality of your circumstances. And it is not I who help you, but the Existent who helps you, if you demonstrate your determination.” Selot did not know how to express his gratitude. He tried with the word ‘thank you’ pronouncing it in the best way possible and tying it to his sentiment.

  “First survive. Then you can thank me,” Asheeba cut him off.

  The morning after, Selot showed up at the lake before sunrise, punctual as always for his training. Master Janavel was however in the company of another Uicic. He took a step forward but kept his distance, waiting to be acknowledged.

  “Selot,” the stranger called for him almost immediately. The boy drew near with his heart in his mouth. He already knew there was news regarding him. The Uicic was old and bent by age, his eyes veiled with cataracts.

  “Tomorrow morning, wait in front of your house. I will pass by and take you to the Council,” he said curtly.

  Selot assented briefly, unable to say a word. The anxiety ripped at his heart like an enemy hand. The Uicic added nothing further and went away, poking at the ground with his walking stick.

  When he was faraway, the boy let himself exhale deeply.

  Janavel could not hide from himself the pain he felt for Selot, but he did not intend to show it.

  “Let us not yield, Selot. There is much work to do today.” Selot gulped and held fast to his sword, but his wrist was weak and the weapon felt ten times heavier than usual. He had the temptation to ask Janavel for a moment to take in the news, but he knew that his request would be denied. It actually had the opposite effect. He therefore lifted his guard to block the first strike that Janavel had already launched, but his reflexes were rendered slow by anxiety and did not allow him to get there on time to protect himself. The blade was protected by strips of leather, making it harmless during the training sessions, but if it were to strike the flesh it would hurt him deeply anyway. So Janavel made the strike with a flat blade, increasing the level of aggression in order to strike as forcefully as possible; he struck him fully in the face and beat him to the ground.

  “Get up Selot, I do not plan on spending the rest of the day taking it out on a dead horse, for heaven’s sake!” The blinding pain on his face and the anger in Janavel’s voice reawakened his assassin instincts. He took up the sword, which had been flung away upon impact, in fury, and with shocking violence he jumped at his master, forcing him to take a step back. His ‘other’ self whom he had met in the vision days earlier, possessed him furiously, and warred angrily the entire morning until Janavel declared he was satisfied. Selot had fought well and Janavel had only managed to disarm him a couple of times.

  “Well done,” he said. “You are however, only on the first step of a very long journey. You must make faster progress.” Selot had to admit the master had given it his all in pushing him to the level of excellence he had reached that day. He handed his sword over hilt first, and bowed.

  “Thank you Janavel,” he said, almost perfectly.

  T
he morning after, he waited at the door of his hut as had been arranged. He wore the simple tunic he usually wore when he was not training. He held the paper scroll which contained the report of the battle with the Emissary in his hand. The Uicic came at the established hour and led him to the Council with sure steps, despite his blindness. They walked far, until the entrance of a thick, damp wood, where the light of day found it difficult to penetrate. Even in the woods, the Uicic followed a path paved with slate stones; his walking stick clinked as he moved across them. They arrived at the opening of a cavern. From there they entered a tunnel that suddenly looked like it had been handcrafted. The corridors were smooth and straight, the workmanship of a very intelligent people. Torches lit up in different colors on each side as they walked. Selot could swear that some of them were iridescent. The Uicic turned left and right in the maze of tunnels without hesitation. Selot tried to remember the way. He would never need it, but his trained mind could not help but do so.

  “We’ve arrived,” his guide whispered. “The Judgment Room.” They went silently into an enormous cavity, deep into the belly of the mountains which hid the Uicic people from the rest of the world. The walls curved and closed in at a dark and dizzying height; Selot couldn’t see to the top. He felt panic rise up. The Uicic led him to the middle of a very narrow area, bordered by a circle of torches placed at the height of his head and a second circle of lights, a little lower down. He handed over the scroll with his report. Selot looked around him, terrified. From that position he could see nothing beyond the two circles of lights that surrounded him. Even though there were no bars, he felt like he was in a cage. He turned to ask what would happen next, but the Uicic had disappeared.

  The heat of the torches enveloped him immediately and intensely. The members of the Council sat far from him, at least twenty steps away, behind a raised stone table. He was unable to see them, and could only guess they were there by their outlines. They were in a darkened area, whereas he was blinded by the light of the two circles of torches. There was a moment of pause. He perceived their shielded thoughts, but was confused by their noteworthy ability to obscure Vetems. It was most likely some of them were Vetems too, because he perceived absolutely nothing from them except a vibrating presence. He distinctly understood they were expecting a deferential attitude regarding them. He didn’t give them the satisfaction. He did not bow. He couldn’t bow before a stranger whose authority over his life had not yet been established, and that they had retreated like cowards behind a barrier of stone to make sure his eyes could not cross theirs, was appalling. He stood still for lengthy minutes while nothing happened.