The Creed

by Perla Giannotti

  The two Uicics set to talking in whispers, speaking in each other’s ear, occasionally throwing a look over at the two youths. The older judge passed his hand over a giant, open book lying on the table.

  Selot observed every detail and every expression of the exchange. Marrhit had begun playing with the holes in his belt, obsessively. Sometimes his hand went to his nape, to the switch. The consultation between the two judges went on for a long time. The elder asked for several passages of the book to be read to him. The other Uicic read quietly, with exasperated slowness, repeating the same sentence more than once. Long moments of silence followed. It was then followed by a verbal confrontation. Janavel was an expressionless statue. Marrhit did nothing to hide his impatient boredom. “Can we speed things along?” he asked at a certain point. The judges threw him a look of reproach, only to then turn the same withering look towards Janavel, to show him that his Vetem pupil really was a person to watch out for. Janavel didn’t bat an eyelid.

  “The Uicic Council has established that you must leave as soon as possible for the land of the Rotmandis. All that said, according to the evidence already given by master Janavel, and for whatever else has been revealed by your deplorable encounter, you are not ready to accomplish this mission together. It is for this reason the Council has asked to suspend any disciplinary procedure concerning you, entrusting master Janavel to take responsibility for settling any disagreement between you both, transforming you into a team as quickly as possible, and guaranteeing the departure of your mission.” That way we will see if his indulgence in your case will have greater results than our methods of correction.”

  “Are we free to go?” Marrhit asked, not quite believing his luck, and raring to go.

  “Yes, for now,” the Uicic replied icily, “but I must remind you that your disciplinary process is suspended, not annulled. It will be taken up once more upon your return.”

  “Master Janavel,” the judge added, “it is clear the Council has again set its faith in you. They expect you will not disappoint them.”

  Janavel, who had always maintained a dignified and respectful silence up to that point, bowed slightly and said, “It is clear, judge.”

  The Uicic guards accompanied the two Vetems outside. Janavel, who had used a faster exit, was waiting for them, with a stern look on his face. They joined him.

  “I will be waiting for you tomorrow morning for training. I must teach you how to fight together.”

  Marrhit’s face wore an expression of disgust. “Selot,” the master added authoritatively, “you will now come with me.” With a single motion, he threw the weapons they had forfeited at the moment of their arrest. Selot caught the sword and long knife in midair.

  Marrhit threw him a look of disdain and distanced himself, in the direction of the village. It was nearly dinnertime and he couldn’t wait to placate his hunger.

  Without saying a word, Selot followed Janavel to the edge of the lake. The intense red, pink and purple sky of sunset doubled its spectacular colors on the very calm waters. On that bank, between the sky and the lit up surface of the lake, it was as if being suspended in the center of a fiery sphere. Janavel had his eyes skywards; Selot’s were lowered on the same shapes and colors reflected in the water.

  “You violated my instructions. I’d like to know why.” Selot gathered his thoughts.

  “I thought you told me not to confront Marrhit because you were afraid I would be harmed, considering his obvious superiority. Not having however any fear for myself, I confronted him because I wished to know the truth.”

  “You have understood nothing. You are stupid,” Janavel froze him stone cold. “Both of you are crucial. The union of your strength is the only hope we have in dealing with our enemies. Your fight could have resulted in the death of one, or both of you. We cannot permit it. That is why I forbid you to face him. You and Marrhit are not complete. Neither of you satisfies the requisites we are looking for. This was explained to you very clearly. Each one of you on his own is not able to accomplish the mission for which you have been summoned. The necessity of having both of you work side by side was communicated to you. You had all the elements to understand the reasons of my order.” Janavel moved his eyes from the sky to Selot.

  “It is clear to me now, master,” Selot responded, keeping his eyes low on the liquid fire of the lake.

  “I must be able to count on you and your sense of responsibility. I have to turn you two into a single force. You must fight together. You must not fight against each other,” Janavel continued, forcefully.

  “Why aren’t you having this conversation with Marrhit?” Selot asked. Janavel stood before him with a grimace of anger and disappointment. Selot clamped his jaw, awaiting the harsh lesson. The master slapped him violently on both cheeks. He raised his voice.

  “I have assigned the job of avoiding any disagreement because you are able to assure me of it. Marrhit is not. One asks the mule to heave, and the horse to run. I only lay down the law within the realm of your possibilities, but what I ask of you I demand without hesitation. Lower your pride and try to see what you are living through with a clear vision.” Janavel watched the effect of his words had on the boy. He continued. “I put nothing before you except your irrelevant past in offering service to others, and to yourself. You are not alive to regret or to vindicate. You are alive to look ahead of you, not to look back at your shadow. Do not be nasty. Do not limit yourself to Marrhit’s restrictions, nor to the limitations of anyone else.”

  Selot held his gaze on the waters of the lake, always more intense in the light of sunset.

  “Look at me.” Selot obeyed his request.

  “I will not tolerate a violation of my orders.” He waited for his reaction.

  “I misunderstood your words, master.”

  “Rather embarrassing for a Vetem,” Janavel retorted furiously. “There are no justifications and it is frankly humiliating for me and for you to partake in a conversation more suited to children. I have no intentions of going back over matters of this nature.” Janavel spoke up again after a few moments of pause, articulating every word with fury. “What I need is the absolute certainty that you will do what you must to ensure there will be no more battles between you of any sort.”

  “Master, this does not depend on me alone,” Selot answered. Janavel squeezed his eyes tight out of anger. That was not what he wanted to hear.

  “It depends solely on you,” he yelled vehemently. “Marrhit is not able to guarantee it. Is it really that difficult for you to comprehend?” Selot was crestfallen. He was doing his best to understand deep down what he meant by those words. He started to understand and glimpse the consequences. Janavel was apparently waiting for something from him.

  “Have you nothing more to say?”

  “I do not know what to say, master,” he confessed uncertainly.

  “Your silence does not help.”

  “I apologize for not understanding your order.”

  “Apologies are not needed here. They are useless repairs of one who is so silly and inept as to have committed a mistake. I need you to stop reacting so thoughtlessly and childishly.” It was obvious that Janavel was waiting for Selot’s reaction, but he didn’t know what to do.

  “It won’t happen again,” he answered. His nervousness made his pronunciation of the words incorrect. They came out distorted.

  “That is not enough. What do you want me to do with your words?” Janavel shouted at that point. “You still use our language like men do, detached from the strength of your spirit. I cannot trust what you say!”

  Selot was confused. There was no reason why Janavel shouldn’t believe his good intentions.

  “Master... I...”

  “Come on, Selot! Do not stutter like an idiot!”

  Selot made his stare transparent, but it wasn’t a good idea.

  “I’m not interested in your inarticulate sentiments right now,” Janavel yelled, “they are all useless and it gives me no pleasur
e to enter your confused and hindered soul.”

  Mortification was taking hold of him. Selot was afraid of being flattened.

  “Well, are you going to move?” Janavel yelled impatiently. Selot was mute. He had to draw himself up from that murky swamp. There had to be a way out.

  “Hurry up! Enough with the silence! I need a concrete sign from you. Let me know you will never react like that again. Give me this certainty!” Silence filled the inflexible gaze of Janavel and the embarrassment seemed ever more cumbersome to Selot.

  “Quickly. Don’t make me stay here till tomorrow morning,” Janavel dogged.

  Selot tried to gather his thoughts, ridding himself of the cloud of shame that had fogged his thoughts.

  “Faster, faster! You think with exasperating slowness!” Janavel would not give him a moment’s peace. Selot held his breath to calm himself, so as not to be overwhelmed by Janavel’s urgency.

  “I will not allow you to sigh in the face of my orders!” the master yelled at him brutally in response, a hair’s breadth from his face. “I won’t tolerate it!”

  Selot lowered his head and continued to make sense of his train of thought, and his reasons, all the while holding his breath.

  “I’m tiring of you. I ask myself if the Council truly knows the very poor quality of its resources of which I must make up a team.” Selot was still and thought frantically, trying not to run out of time so he could rationalize the master’s request, forcing him to answer, certain that it was a request that could be satisfied.

  “Selot, you’re boring me,” the master said, annoyed. The boy recognized his own lack of grit; he knew he didn’t have much time left to close his argument.

  “Come on! Or are you actually an idiot?” Janavel continued, breathing heavily in his face.

  Selot reached his conclusion. It took him still another few instants to choose the words to utilize, the tone that would best suit it, and how to measure his gestures. Janavel watched as resolution took shape within him. Finally, Selot straightened his back, took control of his voice in such a way that communicated calmness. Although his first few words came out quivering, the ones that followed were firm enough.

  “Marrhit is a thoroughbred. He is the son of two Xàmvetems. Within him, power is exalted, he has reached his highest expression which has been cultivated since childhood. He has developed abilities I do not possess and for the greater part, I still do not know. He is asked to run, and he is the cornerstone of the mission. His pure breed has turned out a defect. A fog descends that may eclipse his conscience.” Selot took just an instant to draw up strength to maintain the same intonation, neutral and precise. “I am a mule. I am a cross breed between a Vetem and a woman of the Rotmandis. I have had training which is partial and has come very late. The power of a Vetem barely touches one at Marrhit’s level. It has been asked of me to bear the load, and to offer my service to the racehorse and his perfect powers. I must carry the burden to allow the racehorse to run. I must bear the burden of his intemperance, his resentment towards me, his violence, and his sarcasm; and above all, his illness. I am his support. I must be by his side in those moments where his conscience retreats, so that he survives in battle or encounters with Xàmvetems. He is to be protected by me. If necessary, at the cost of my life.” He fell silent, swallowing the dejection he felt.

  “This was the easy part,” Janavel interrupted harshly. “You have understood what has been asked of you. If you do not accept these conditions, you cannot depart for this mission. Now, give me the assurance that you will do that which has been requested, or else, abandon your responsibility and this valley.”

  This was the difficult part, thought Selot. To choose. There was no room for compromise. He could leave behind his training, Marrhit, the Council, the departure for a war he felt was not his, and that put his life at risk. The thought crossed his mind that he could go to the land of the Rotmandis alone, and search for his mother and begin a new life.

  He then made his decision. He took a few moments to be as certain as a heartbeat. He bent his head and kneelt down. Not knowing how to interpret Janavel’s request, he settled on getting as close as possible to the literal meaning of his words, with the ones he had at hand. He looked around. He picked up a pointy rock, and drew a cross on his chest with it, about the height of his heart, pressing as hard as he could. He took the bloody stone, and put it in the hands of his master, closing his teacher’s hands over it tightly, head lowered.

  “You have the assurance, master Janavel,” he said. He joined those words to his spirit with ironclad determination, like Lya had taught him. His pronunciation was perfect and Janavel would not have been able to differentiate it from a Uicic native. The decision was sculpted in his conscience without the possibility of betrayal.

  “Now lift you head and look at me,” Janavel ordered him to have direct confirmation. Selot obeyed. In doing so, he opened his arms wide so he could show him his soul as well as his marked chest. That was how Janavel was able to read that his decision had descended down into his heart and into his being. And it also showed that it was not because of the sense of his responsibility regarding his mission, or the Council. He read that Marrhit was his brother and this had made Selot recalculate everything about him. The decision had been made with his origins, his past, and now his brother in mind. The call of his personal search was still too strong for him. He had not yet been able to detach himself from his need to look for and embrace family affection that he had not yet experienced. Janavel made no comment, but the harshness of his expression increased. A slap exploded with violence and made Selot turn his head. Selot did not regret his decision and he raised his head, exchanging the ferocious stare of his master with one of respectful steadfastness. He waited on his knees until Janavel signaled that he had nothing more to tell him. He formulated the prayer that conceded him the possibility to be left alone, to let his soul breathe. Janavel however, denied him the simple comfort of isolation.

  “Return to the village and join the others. Smile and do not pull back when asked to participate in the activities. Tomorrow morning come to me one hour before the usual time.”

  Selot bowed his head and got up. “Yes, master,” he said. He made his way towards the village.

  Janavel gripped the stone Selot had put in his hands firmly, mixing his own blood with that of the boy. He would converse it forever and the stone would be called Certainty.

  Summer was a joyful season. In the evenings, the Uicics found themselves gathered around a bonfire, telling stories, playing games, singing, and reading together. It was easy to see the start of young love, as the youth made eyes at one another and then distanced themselves amid the laughter of pleased relatives and friends. When Selot arrived, dinner was already finished and they were organizing groups of people to sing, read literature, do physical exercise, and take part in communal tasks. Marrhit was the showman for games of ability. At that moment, he was the center of attention with his knife-throwing skills. His precision was unparalleled, and everyone wanted to measure up to him. They applauded him and climbed over one another in order to see him, or challenge him. Two giant bonfires illuminated the open space where they practiced while everyone looked on admiringly. Selot was at a distance. A quick exchange ran between them, but they both decided to ignore it. He was so dispirited to be standing far away in the shadows, unable to bring himself closer to the others. He felt like a donkey surrounded by racehorses, more than ever now. He hoped no one would take notice of him, and that he would soon be able to take refuge behind the doors of his hut. An old man with a serene look on his face arrived however, who upon seeing Selot there with nothing to do, asked him to help with the preparations of the vegetables in the kitchen for the next day. Selot greeted him with a polite smile and readily accepted, despite the clenching heart break he felt. They welcomed him warmly in the kitchen. He smiled at everyone and kept on working even after the others had finished their chores to join in the games. The only ones who remain
ed in the kitchen were Selot, the old man, and Estela, a young female wood turner. She went over to him, handing him a plate full of food.

  “I didn’t see you at dinner,” she said. Selot looked at her in surprise. He was not used to receiving; he was not used to gestures of kindness, nor the idea that someone might be worried about whether he had eaten or not; if he might need anything. And he wasn’t used to a girl showing him attention. He gulped, but his mouth was dry. He stood up in haste, setting his work aside. He had taken the plate simply so she wouldn’t be left with an extra weight in her hands. He looked at the food incredulously, as if it were some kind of miracle.

  “They are only leftovers,” Estela seemingly justified herself with a smile. Selot held onto the plate with religious fear. “Eat”, she encouraged, amused by his reaction, and she went back to work. Selot made a clumsy attempt at thanking her. He sat down slowly, still staring at this miracle sitting in his lap. Then he wrapped his hand around the fork and began eating. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, and he finished it all in a hurry. Estela went out, mentioning that she was going to join the singing group led by Lya. Selot remained in the kitchen, offering to do other chores for the old man.

  “Thank you, my boy, but everything has been done.” He thanked him and went out. He went over to the singing group. He crouched down a short distance away, and listened to the enchanting music and the sublime voices of the Uicic choir the entire evening. The songs were emotional, entering into the depths of the soul and bringing peace. Estela was wonderful. As Selot listened with his eyes closed, he picked up on her voice alone between all those of the choir.