“The road we take often seems like it is taking us far from our desires. Sometimes, it makes us wallow in sufferance without hope, but there is a deep wisdom that guides us, if we are able to live every moment given to us intensely, whether that be in happiness or in profound discomfort. There is no distinction, just like there is none between friend and enemy. Do not send anything that happens to you away. Observe how the earth transmutes every single thing, even death, into life; it does this in the silence and in the dark, without protest. It collects every individual thing and transforms it. Every part of life grows its roots into it. Be humble, silent, trustworthy and strong like the earth. Observe it. Listen to it. Do not judge. Do not put yourself above or below anyone. If you find yourself in a position of superiority, this is so you can bend yourself to help. If you find yourself in a position of inferiority, know that it is a moment for learning. Listen in the silence. Learn. Each one of us, each living being, is only a different reflection of the same light on the ever-changing waters of a single lake. Whatever we perceive separately comes from the same source, which gives us equal dignity in all the universe.” Selot felt the power of her words make a direct road straight through to his instinct, and the truth came to him in a flash, allowing him to recognize it without explanation.
“Medics use medicine to alleviate and distance illness. But if there is no transformation, the illness won’t go away. It returns in one form or another. If you really want to be a healer, you must have, more than anything else, the power to transform evil into good; to find internal harmony in every single thing. The healer is first and foremost, a transformer. One must understand how that road is built: turning bad into good, illness into well-being; they live in the same places and reflect one another. Perhaps the destiny you wish to distance yourself is actually the one to help you understand it. Observe what happens around you, accept it, and transform it.
Asheeba stopped herself. She was taking him further away from what the Council wanted. Selot understood. He carefully deposited every single word within his soul.
“Now come, I must teach you the preparation of a few remedies.”
She took him to her laboratory. Selot inhaled the smell of herbs and ointments; he was aware of the serenity of that place; closing his eyes he let the peace infuse itself through him. The morning light came softly into the perfectly clean and tidy stone edifice. The marble surfaces held the preparations, and on each wooden shelf sat jars and vases of all different shapes and sizes. Each one had its own purpose. Metal pestles and stone pestles were lined up on a shelf.
“Marrhit must take a very particular pharmaceutical concoction every day, so that his illness does not manifest itself. He will have a small supply, but not much. It is a medicine that expires after just a few days. You must carry the ingredients with you and prepare it.” Asheeba laughed. “He is not able to do it. He’s messy; he hasn’t got a delicate or precise hand which is needed for this operation. Above all, he does not understand the essential value of right quantities, nor does he respect the order of preparation. He does not believe this duty is worthy of a warrior, even though preparing this medicine could save his life. So, you must do it for him.”
“Prepare the medicine, or save his life?” Selot asked ironically, knowing full well the answer.
“Both, boy; that is what has been requested of you,” Asheeba answered, as if she truly needed to respond to him. “All things considered,” she continued, “you have a task that is very similar to that of a healer.” She smiled and her happiness was contagious. She showed the procedure just once, hardly stopping, seldom slowing down to explain anything at all. It was a lengthy and complex preparation. Selot watched carefully, making mental notes for the more difficult passages. Asheeba then indicated for him to try. His apprenticeship at the Abbey of Affradatis was put to good use. Selot recreated the concoction without error. Asheeba looked at him satisfied.
“I wouldn’t know how to tell the difference from the one I prepared! I didn’t doubt it, boy. But we have not finished.”
She showed him a plant root. “Marrhit will need this root when he uses his faculty as Vetem, otherwise combat will exhaust him. If he is too worn out, he can take a small bite. If you have more time, you can prepare it in a broth. I’ll show you the recipe.” Selot studied the strange root which was very dark and lumpy. Scraping a fingernail over its surface, he released a pungent smell. He looked at it doubtfully. “I don’t think Marrhit gets tired. I can’t even picture him breaking into a sweat. Over these last few months I have seen his incredible feats of strength; he always appears as if he has just awoken from a deep sleep.”
“It is true. Marrhit has exceptional resistance, for physical challenges as well as mental,” and a shadow fell on the old woman’s face. “In any case, this root can help when necessary, but he cannot abuse it, remember that. You must never use it. Marrhit puts resources in action that can compromise his health. This is a very powerful remedy, but it can turn into a drug if it is utilized needlessly.” Selot looked over the root with great curiosity. He’d never seen it and he’d never heard of it.
“What is the recipe for the broth?” Asheeba talked him through it; it was quite simple.
“If it should finish, or if we should lose it, where can I find more?”
“It is very rare. It is only found in stone pine woods, very high up, when the plants are pruned and they begin to push their roots down into the ground, which is almost all rocky. You can find it near these extreme roots; the leafy part is almost indistinguishable from a weed; it looks like Bermuda grass, but the color is lighter and looks slightly bluish.” Selot briefly nodded, taking in the information.
“You have taken on the role of Marrhit’s support team very well.”
“Focusing on this part of it, I can manage to forget my thoughts of being a... an instrument of...”
“Yes. I understand,” Asheeba came to his rescue. Selot held his breath.
“Stay on the right side of your heart, Selot.”
“That’s what Janavel told me too, before leaving for the Hidden Valley. He used those same words,” Selot said bitterly.
“Both of us have become fond of you,” the healer confirmed. “Estela will be here shortly. She knew you’d pass by.” The name of Estela made his heart beat faster.
“It will be difficult to say goodbye ...”
“Yes,” Asheeba agreed, “it will be.” Selot gathered up his strength.
“How can I help you in the meantime? What jobs can I do for you?”
“It is the day before your departure. Regain your strength. Take some time to pray.”
“I always do, Asheeba. At Affradatis I learned to do that as I worked, as I ate, as I walked. Praying while still is a rare luxury for me.”
Asheeba smiled.
“Well then. Perhaps you can help me prepare the basics of some tinctures and ointments.”
As Selot worked and prayed, time passed without him realizing it. At midday, Estela’s face popped up from behind the laboratory door. Daylight dappled her, illuminating her chestnut-colored hair. She was still, just beyond the threshold. Selot stood there, and contemplated her for a couple of seconds, looking silly. She was an angel. He quickly cleaned his hands on a rag and approached her, realizing he was trembling a little. He didn’t dare touch her. He didn’t want to intrude upon that vision. She came into the shadows of the lab. Looking around, she was drawn to the bench where Selot had ceased working to come over to her. She had a little package in her hand. She set it on a shelf, and then settled her gaze on him. Selot’s heart leaped into his mouth.
“Janavel told me you are leaving tomorrow.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Will you come back to me?” she asked him quietly.
“Alive or dead.”
She held back the tears and appeared to get angry.
“Alive,” she said, choking up. Selot didn’t know what to say. He moved his arms in her direction. Estela held hi
m tight, resting her head on his chest; she closed her hands firmly over his shoulders, and dug her fingers to feel his skin through the fabric of his shirt. He wrapped her up in his arms, kissing her delicately on the head and on her forehead. He was certain he had the entire universe contained between his hands. He would have given his life to hold her at least one more time. They stayed like that for ages without needing to say anything. Then, slowly, they detached. She passed her hand over the thin scar on his face, the one left by Ucal less than a year earlier. Then she traced her fingers along the ones that ran under his shirt, and those she had learned to trace from the night before. It was as if she was gathering up all his suffering in that gesture, and turning it into sweetness. A new life. He wished he had more scars.
Estela picked up the little fabric bag and handed it to him. Selot took it from her hands and held it to his heart, bowing as he did so. He waited, not knowing what to do. Estela shook her head and laughed.
“You must open it and take what is inside...it’s a present. You know what a present is, don’t you?” No. Selot did not know. He knew what it was theoretically. He could recite every step of the sacred scripture where it spoke about presents, by heart. He would be able to illustrate the meaning of each one of those steps, but he’d never personally experienced the concept of a present. He’d never possessed anything, not even his habit. The clothes he wore and the weapons he carried, received at the investiture, were not his, but were accessories of the mission to which he’d been called. He’d been raised believing that not even the skin that covered his bones was his.
He opened the bag and extracted a shiny, metal medallion, finely crafted and bound in iron and carbon, and fixed to a chain. He looked at it, astonished. “I asked the blacksmith to make it for you, with the same metal from which your weapons are forged.” The medallion was as big as the palm of his hand. Selot couldn’t take his eyes from it. It was wonderful. It was however, difficult to believe what it was.
“Estela... how do you know about this symbol?” Selot asked, his breaking up with emotion; many emotions.
Estela laughed. “What a question...it is one of the most powerful symbols of the Uicics. The union of Heaven and Earth. It is a design that our warriors tattooed on their skin with fire for an age. It is still drawn close to women during childbirth today. People who must face difficult trials call it to their minds too. We use it with great parsimony because it draws forth very powerful forces. That is why you never see it sculpted in our temples, or in our houses, or anywhere else. Do not wear it always. Only while fighting.” She was a little shocked at Selot’s reaction.
Selot observed the object as it reflected the sun’s rays. Two concentric circles entwined by two distinct curved lines, both closed; the first in the shape of a rhombus, and the second made in the shape of a stylized flower with four petals. Together the lines linked the two concentric circles and intersected one another. “The blacksmith asked me at least ten times if I really wanted a medallion made like this. No one handles this symbol without consequences. I had to insist very much. In the end he made it only when he discovered it would be worn on your chest. He would take no payment for it.
“Do you really think I can wear this? Selot then asked. “Janavel never spoke to me about it, perhaps he thought I am not worthy...”
“But you know this symbol,” Estela interrupted him. “You recognized it immediately.”
Selot nodded slowly. “I am certain it will protect you,” she declared with surety and determination which went above every other consideration. So Selot held it tight.
“If you intended it for me, so shall it be,” he responded with equal resolution, as his eyes shone. “No one has ever given me a...present,” he added, in a tone that was much more uncertain. The word ‘present’ had an unknown taste to it, and to pronounce the word was alien to him. “I don’t know how to...”
“Receive it?”
“Yes, receive it.”
Estela squeezed his hand that held the medallion. “Remember me.”
“Every second,” Selot answered. “Estela, I thank you for every moment, every smile, every word and every thought you have given me. I thank you because you have given me a life I have never had and that I could never have imagined, existed. You have gifted me the stars of the sky and new eyes with which to see, because since yesterday the world has become completely new. I owe you every drop of blood that flows through my veins, every breath that goes into my lungs because for the first time in my life, breathing and the beating of my heart has meaning. I owe you everything. I do not know why you chose me. I have nothing to give you. Perhaps not even another moment to stay with you.”
“You must not say that!” she interrupted, angry once more.
He embraced her. He held the medallion tight in his hand. “Thank you.”
V
The next morning, Selot presented himself at the arranged hour at the beginning of the path that led out of the Valley. Janavel was waiting for him. There was no one else. The Council had forbidden farewell committees. He was wearing his clothes and carrying his precious weapons of a warrior. He was also holding the mount he had been assigned by the reins: a stupendous animal with muscles rippling under its black, shiny coat, and roving eyes and very intelligent. They had connected straight away and had cemented an alliance in silence. The finery, saddle, and stirrups were magnificent, the result of a crafted workmanship without equal. Once again, Selot was amazed at the care and perfection that went into every single object, action and thought of this people.
“Remember, Marrhit’s behavior depends on you more than on him,” Janavel cautioned yet again.
“I will conduct my actions as if it depends solely on me,” he smiled, “you wouldn’t accept anything less.”
“Stay on the right side of your heart.”
Stay on the right side of your heart. Selot murmured the same words as his master in a low voice, transforming them into a common prayer. Janavel nodded.
“You have learned everything you need. Be strong, my boy.” He was moved and for an instant he was unable to hide it.
Marrhit joined them. He greeted the master and threw a shallow glance at his traveling companion. He looked around him, inhaling deeply to imprint that last image of that place on his mind. He too was searching for the necessary courage for their departure.
“Make sure you get the job done this time,” Janavel said jokingly, trying to make light of the moment for all. Marrhit smirked rather than smiled. He pointed to Selot with his usual disdain. “How can you doubt it? I’ve got the dame of the dance to accompany me.”
“On your saddles!” Janavel ordered vigorously, and he incited the horses into action with a shout while the two Vetems had but one foot in the stirrup. The farewell was as brief as possible. They were already at a gallop when Janavel screamed good luck at the top of his voice.
And so it was. Selot and Marrhit left by the light of a dawn that broke over all; the scent of new summer, full of flowers, grass; of life that renewed itself with urgency not allowing for a moment of hesitation; it heightened senses and did not contemplate caution.
They arrived a little later at the caverns at the start of the valley. They got off their horses. Marrhit gave his reins to Selot nonchalantly and distanced himself quickly. Selot took more time than him. He had to lead the nervous horses down dark, narrow spaces. He used his voice to calm them, just as Lya had taught him, but it still wasn’t easy to keep them under control. They neighed and pulled continually, forcing him to tighten the bridles. The passages had barely room enough for one horse and he had to share himself with one or the other to reassure and guide them, all the while paying careful attention to their hooves. They finally emerged. From the dizzying heights opposite where they came out, Selot admired the valleys that opened up at the foot of Mount Kisov. The passages of the caves had brought them up a sharp incline to a very high altitude, with a rocky landscape deprived of vegetation and where no one dared tread. Des
pite the fact it was early summer, the air was cold, and an insistent wind made it sting. There was an unexpected mule trail carved into the rock that wound north west in front of them. It was one of the astounding works of the Uicics which had been there for centuries.
Marrhit wore an unreadable mask, his eyes turned northwards. He reclaimed his horse and leaped up into the saddle without using the stirrups.
“Ride in front of me, half-blood, weapons in full view. Hands crossed behind your back. I want to keep an eye on your every move,” and he made a sign with his hand to proceed. Selot thought this was just the beginning of what was in store. To have Marrhit behind him was a very unpleasant sensation, but he did not protest and did as he was told. He went on a few steps ahead, and removed his cloak to show his swords and knives in place, on his back and at his belt. He placed his hands behind his back, holding his left wrist with his right hand, leading his horse with his knees only.
They proceeded without rest until the evening, when they reached a few scattered houses in the first human settlement they came upon. They spied a stable that was rustic but tidy, next to a tiny stone building which made up the living quarters. Whoever the owner was, he or she was away, probably tending flocks. They spent the night sheltered there. Judging that there was not likely to be danger, they both slept without taking turns at night watch.
The day after, they went at a much faster pace, along convenient roads well-trod by men. The villages came one after the other, and soon they were at the bottom of the valleys. At that point they rode on steadily, until late afternoon. They finally reached the view of the walls of the town of Neuk, a big center that had not been founded long ago, developed on a giant plain between two rivers that met a short distance from the valleys, west of the center.
It was not Uicic custom to bring along provisions and supplies when they left their lands except for some bread for the first meal. There was therefore a certain urgency in procuring food.
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