“Are we on the wrong road?” Selot tried. Marrhit shook his head once more, sighing. With a vague wave of his hand he pointed in the direction they had come.
“Should we go back?” Marrhit shook his head. He looked to Selot as if he were desperate. He knew there was this possibility that he would remain virtually paralyzed after an encounter with another Xàmvetem. In that state, the mind can think, but the mouth is unable to move.
“Is there imminent danger?” Marrhit closed his eyes. He let out a sigh. There was nothing he could do. Selot heaved him up onto his back and slowly dragged him to the edge of the forest, choosing a sheltered place from any eventual travelers who might be adventuring on the same, difficult road they were taking. The horses followed him with their heads lowered, guided by his soft call.
“You’re damned heavy,” he said sweating under his weight. He hobbled until he reached a small space in the entangled underbrush and of the low branches of the first trees. The sliver of moon in the sky lit up a square of earth covered in moss. That space nestled between the dark of the night and the anguish of those present might just, perhaps, keep them hidden until dawn, far from the battlefront and far from that urgent mission. Selot helped Marrhit to sit down against the trunk of a tree. Marrhit seemed to revive a little. He settled himself and tipped his head back, opening and closing his eyes. Selot was preparing a mixture of the healing root.
“Selot…” he called. The boy turned round.
“We must go.”
“You can’t stand.”
“We don’t have any time. Give me the damned stuff you are preparing.”
Selot held out the stone which he’d ground the mixture roughly. Marrhit took scooped up the paste with his finger and swallowed it.
“What’s wrong?” Selot asked in between Marrhit’s grimaces of disgust.
“There’s incoherent information…” the Xàmvetem responded slowly, as if he were reasoning out loud to himself.
The blood, sweat and dirt had matted together over Marrhit’s face, hair, arms and hands. They ran together down his neck and chest under his thick war jacket. The odor mingled with the wet moss in the night and their weapons. Selot awkwardly attempted to detach the crusts from him. It was futile.
“This is how it happens,” Marrhit commented, as if answering a question. “Sometimes there is no time to wash away the dirt of the first battle, before you are already facing the next one.” Selot understood how useless his attempts were and gave up. Marrhit pulled himself to his feet, holding onto the tree trunk, and called for his horse. He grabbed hold of the reins, and led it out of the woody spot. Selot did the same. They took up the disconnected trail of the road that led straight to the heart of the land of the Rotmandis, towards Taur. Once in the saddle, Marrhit didn’t appear to be in much of a hurry which had spurred him on restlessly, only a moment ago. He set off ahead at an oddly paced trot. They rode side by side. Selot hid himself under his hood. Marrhit bet he was praying then too. He looked at him insistently. Selot then lowered his hood.
“What can I do for you Marrhit?”
“Tell me about the Marquis of Atiarav,” Marrhit asked him.
“Why?” The question irked the older brother.
“Must I make an official request? I apologize but I don’t have my seal and scroll at this very moment…” Selot lifted his eyebrows.
“There are many things one can say about a man,” Selot replied. “He is a warrior. It was he who made me understand what I am. He opened my eyes. And then he saved me, putting much at risk. I owe him more than my life.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Marrhit responded impatiently. “What type of man is he as governor to his people?” Selot thought about Var in that role. He remembered him in the assembly hall surrounded by his people, as he decided on how to defend them and organize the group. He thought of him once more in the Hidden Valley, when he had to take very difficult decisions.
“Determined. Intelligent. Unscrupulous when it comes to deciding on the survival of even just one of his men. He can do anything; he is astute and will put any plan into action if it means saving his people.”
Marrhit listened carefully.
“Even if it means sacrificing you, isn’t that right?” he insinuated easily, the worst possible smile plastered on his face.
Selot took a breath.
“Yes, if that is necessary,” he answered, remaining faithful to the truth of the matter. Marrhit had penetrated his brother’s defense at its weakest point with precision. He observed him with satisfaction, while Selot waited impassibly for the derision that would inevitably follow. “Poor Selot, there’s simply no one in your life who has made you their priority,” he added. “Don’t hold onto impossible dreams. Even Estela will find someone to pin her affections on, someone who will give her more satisfaction…and who will give her a child. No woman will stay with someone who will not let her become a mother.” Marrhit enjoyed hearing the gasp of breath and seeing Selot’s pursed lips. After the last sneer of satisfaction of inflicting hurt, he became immersed in that change of mood that left anyone who happened to be in his way, crushed.
“Our people have already underestimated mankind in the past, especially the people of Atiarav.”
“Why are you so interested in Var? I thought he was one of our last concerns on this mission.” Marrhit didn’t move a single muscle in response. A long silence followed. Selot decided to interrupt it. The night would be too long if they continued to trot at this relaxed pace.
“How did you return to the Valley?” Marrhit turned in his direction, surprised at the question. “How did you manage to escape from the circus?” Selot pressed on. Strangely, Marrhit replied.
“I didn’t escape. After that first year, I became one of them. I probably would have stayed there my whole life. I felt at home. I loved that world, trying out impossible routines and being able to do them in such a short time. Pretty soon, I became their number one acrobat. The First Acrobat in the field can basically do anything. The girls competed against one another to stay with me each night. I had absolutely no intention of going back to the Valley of the Uicics. They were dead to me, along with my father from the day he sold me. It was the Council who traced me and brought me back. Three years ago. They used the Zav switch very persuasively …” Selot perceived a slight change in tone due to the suffering it generated.
“At that point, Janavel finished training me. I was with the nomads for two years.”
“It can’t have been easy to find you again,” Selot said with the sole intention of accompanying his brother’s story, putting those words to use; but as soon as he had finished the last syllable, they looked at each other, suddenly speechless. That banal consideration had just released a hurricane in some remote region, between the past and that dusty rode they were riding on. They felt the whirlwind advance, until it shook the space that divided them. They halted their horses simultaneously. They’d had the same intuition at the very same moment. Even while their stares were both protected, they were sure they were thinking the exact same thing. The expressions on their faces, in the uncertain light of the moon under the thick, rough, dark layer of battle, they were more than able to communicate it.
“It was by chance I was revealed to their attention. If a very particular event had not occurred, I would still be hidden with those nomadic people of the circus for the rest of my life,” Marrhit reasoned. “It was the perfect way to stay in the shadows. We were never in the same place for more than a few days and no one came near the big tent, or near the strange people who inhabited it. What’s more, if a man from the circus could do something odd like read someone’s mind, it was considered a trick, a magic trick, and no one would pay much attention anyway. They are merely showmen.” Selot nodded and added more.
“I would have remained in the Abbey for ever had the Marquis of Atiarav not chosen me for his mission. No one can leave a religious order. Var went as far as excommunication to get me out of there, half dea
d. I would never have left Affradatis.”
“Your mother hid you. My father hid me…”
“From the Council…!” Selot finished, with the same conclusion.
“When I came back to the Valley, I did not ask for my father. I was relieved to know he wasn’t there. I hated him and I asked no questions…but, like your mother, he must have gone away to escape from them!” A shiver of excitement ran through them.
“I have just changed plans,” Marrhit announced. Selot shivered. Apart from the fact they had intuitively understood in unison, Selot still had no idea what was going through his brother’s mind; he felt Marrhit’s angry energy feed on itself.
“You can change plans?”
“I shouldn’t,” he said, but he was already laughing at the thought of his apparent folly.
“The Zav switch?” Selot asked, voicing the fear they both had.
“We can be astute,” Marrhit replied with a thread of prudence in his voice.
Selot couldn’t say whether this was good news, or if it were the worst thing that could possibly happen. The feeling he had however, was one of liberty. “I’m in,” he decided without even waiting for the emotion to rise up from his belly so he could elaborate it in his head.
It was the first smile they had shared. They became brothers in that instant.
XI
Ucal and Flash crossed through the west doors of the city of Solzhaz. Flash gushed with happiness. After many months, they were back together again and an adventure awaited them. He was excited by the idea. Ucal did his best to not dampen the moment of his childish joy, hoping this vivid memory would settle deep down in the heart of his very young friend; in such a way that it might miraculously remain intact up to adulthood, despite what was about to happen shortly.
His last prayer would be for Flash. Ucal would not pray for himself. He’d had so much more than his worthless origins could ever have promised. He’d survived his infancy and many battles. He’d survived the slander and the expulsion from the army, and he’d met good friends. Above all, he’d managed to never give in to brutalization or cruelty. There were no debts left in this life. He would instead pray that Flash could have something better, a family, long-lasting affection, a reference point, a little peace, and at least one square meal each day. He hoped his prayer, not being for himself but for the child, would be heard with very careful attention up there in the sky; having some chance of being granted.
He had calculated every single aspect, as one would expect from someone of his nature and with his military training. He must fulfill his duty. As always, this fixation had the power to work its way above all other thoughts and any other uncertainties. His plan in the end, was based on a very simple tactic. He had to penetrate the underground rooms of the governor’s fort and the simplest way to do that was to get himself arrested. From there, he would find a way to escape his cell and run through the those rooms undetected, following Var’s precise indications. Up to this point, he’d filled Flash in on this part of the plan. The child only needed to wait around the palace. He would find a way to give him the smuggled object. Then Flash would run swiftly, always remaining hidden, till he reached the hiding places of the people of Atiarav where he would give Var the stolen goods.
“And you?” Flash asked, because there was an obvious missing piece.
Ucal put on his consummate expression of a swashbuckling hero, dusted off for just such an occasion, and turned in his direction.
“I’m going to have some fun with the guards of the Governor,” he said, laughing.
“Yipppeeeeee!” the child exulted.
They made it to the market square, having taken a secondary road. Ucal asked Flash to stay well in sight. He asked him to sit down on the edge of a great big octagonal fountain that sat in the middle of the square. He neared the walls of the fort of the Governor with a nonchalant air. Fortunately for them it was market day, and the coming and goings of the crowd gave them the possibility to inspect the perimeter carefully without drawing the attention of the soldiers posted on guard. He followed a small side street off the square that wound up and around the enormous building. The sentinels on shift walked up and down the outer walkway. He flattened himself up against the wall, keeping out of their line of vision. Quickly and silently he went round the surrounding wall until he got to a giant door, and once he was through it, he noticed the grates at street level. He guessed they were air grates that opened up on the first floor of corridors that led down to the underground cells. They were made of thick iron, deeply embedded in the main walls of the stronghold. There were only three of them. He mentally measured the width of the bars. Var spoke about a rectangular stone stele, about thirty inches in height and twenty inches in width, three fingers thick. Damn. It wouldn’t get through. He tried to force the bars. It would take more than a day to remove a grate like this, and it certainly would not be a silent task. They would be discovered without a doubt. This would have been the perfect place to smuggle an object out of the fort, but it was useless. He thought it over. He might have an idea. It might even make Flash’s next job easier. He headed back to the square. A pair of guards intercepted and stopped him. He shuddered. His description could still be doing the rounds in the Kingdom of Dar after his audacious stunt involving the wife of the governor of Anroth. They stopped him. His clothing and his weapon had drawn their attention.
“What is your name?” Ucal concentrated for a moment. He chose an identity from the plains, far east. He took on an accent, one of great joy.
“I am Falisch,” he answered.
“What are you doing here in Solzhaz, Mr Falisch?” inquired the guard who was in charge of asking routine questions.
“I’m looking for my brother who has just moved over this way for his business. Our parents unfortunately are not well, and I must inform him. I know he comes to market in this city. We came here when we were younger.” They asked him to lift up his arms. He prayed they would not find the tattoo branded on his right arm that showed he belonged to the mercenary militia of the army. He let them pat him down, being careful to keep his sleeve well placed over it. Apart from his sword, which was permissible even without any license, they found nothing more that might make them suspicious.
“There are many marketers from the east that come here. There is a register of those who ask for permission to set up their own stall,” one of the guards continued. “You can ask the civil official who takes care of all this, and you will find him here in two days, when he receives the bookings. He will tell you if your brother is at market or if he has registered for the next few days.” Ucal thanked them for their precious help and he bowed deferentially. It looked like he was free to go.
He went towards the fountain. Flash had disappeared.
“Damn it!” he swore to himself. “How can I rely on that little pest? I told him to stay here!” He smelt trouble straight away. He had probably gone off to steal something good to eat from a stall, or who knows where. Ucal had to move fast. He looked around. He made a quick lap of the square but he couldn’t find any trace of him. He was afraid he would soon hear the shouts of a shopkeeper. He took a deep breath to keep calm. Something so insignificant could put the mission at risk, before they’d even got started. He hastily approached a man who kept a small pouch on his belt, well in view, naively fixed with nothing more than a cord. Ucal took out his knife and cut the bag away from the man with lightening speed, who was oblivious to what had just happened. Distancing himself, he dropped the coins in his pocket and threw the now worthless bag to the ground. He heard a shout of ‘thief, thief!’ but it was not the man he had just pick-pocketed. It was a baker who was waving to point the guards in the direction where, presumably, the criminal had fled.
Ucal was certain it was Flash. He got to the baker before the guards.
“What is the damage?” he asked bluntly. The baker squared him up suspiciously. His warrior bulk and his sword had alarmed the man. He threw a glance over his shoulder in the
hope of seeing the guards of the governor arrive.
“What did the child steal from you?” Ucal pressed him urgently.
“Two pieces of flat bread.”
He winked at him so there was no need for further comment. He slid a bronze coin into his hands, taken from the earnings of his very recent theft. The man seemed to calm down.
“I do not want a single word to the guards, got it?” he said menacingly. He left before the guards managed to arrive at the bakery making their way through the large crowds of the market.
“Is something wrong?” the captain said as he looked around. “We heard your call for help.”
“Sir, Captain…no, nothing. It was an attempted theft, a drifter; but I managed to regain the goods myself. I can no longer see the man.”
“Well, then,” the relieved guard concluded. That was one less problem to think about. “Next time however, it would be better if you don’t call for reinforcements for such a trivial matter.”
Ucal went back to the fountain. Flash was sitting on the edge of it with a leg dangling, quietly enjoying one of the two flat breads. He looked incredibly happy. Ucal went over to him.
“Where did you get that food from?”
“I stole it, but I got out in time, they didn’t catch me. It’s alright.”
“Lucky for you,” Ucal commented. “I would like however, that from now to the end of our mission you do not steal anything.”
“But…not even if I need it?”
“It’s an order. You must not distance yourself and above all, you must not create possibilities of getting caught. If you need something, you will tell me.”
“But you saw how I managed it!”
“Yes, beetle bug,” Ucal lied patiently, “but from now on I ask that you follow my instructions. We have something so important to do that we cannot risk it. Perhaps you don’t quite understand it, but what we are going to do today, will have many important consequences for the future, for Var and for his people. They are your people now, too.”
The Creed Page 26