“What’s that for?” Marrhit asked him, “if you follow a road on the way there, you know how to go back.” Selot replied. “It’s not only for us, for our return. It’s for the future…for others,” he ended, seeing his brother was doubtful. Marrhit shook his head. Some things he just did not understand. That boy had spent too much time with men. He had insane ways of thinking and acting.
As Selot drew and sketched in front of the fire, Marrhit was free to eat all the food he wanted. Only when he felt satiated, did Selot allow himself to eat the leftovers. Each evening though, Marrhit’s leftovers were always more abundant.
The next day they found themselves in a gravelly gorge with no way out. They slid down a very steep and slippery hollow which they feared they would not be able to escape. Its prospect had tricked them into going down, generating the false idea there was a passage. They found themselves instead in a sliding ditch, trapped in a cavity in the shadows. Only a providential harpoon that Marrhit carried with him at all times, allowed him to pull them out of that tight fix. He tied it firmly to a long rope and hurled it upwards to the outer edge, where its curved point found healthy ground to lodge itself. Once he felt the grip was secure, he lifted himself up the rope. Then it was Selot’s turn. When he reached the edge, he found a wedge where he could put his hand in to raise himself up. At that moment, Marrhit trod on his hand violently, pressing all his weight on top. Selot held back a scream and looked up from down below. He remained immobile, balanced, and did not complain. His brother’s eyes were glassy and impenetrable. Marrhit was scrutinizing him with an inquisitive air, as if he were trying to understand what sort of strange animal this was. After the first moments of bewilderment, Selot thrashed around with his free hand to grab hold of the edge of the gorge and then heaved his legs up and over, finally saved; all the while he remained on his hands and knees as his hand was still painfully wedged under the heel of Marrhit’s boot. He tried to ignore the pain and stay calm. He waited for Marrhit to remove himself, satisfied with the joke he had played, but as the moments went by, the weight on his hand became evermore unbearable. Marrhit yelled doggedly. “React!” he screamed furiously.
“Stop it, damn it! Get off my hand.” The demon stirred. Selot struggled to keep it under control.
“Do you like being on all fours? You’re a mangy dog.” The insult reached the demon. Selot gulped. It wouldn’t stay calm for long.
“Please Marrhit, let me go,” he pleaded.
“Don’t ask. Face me!” He trod on him violently with the heel of his boot again. The pain ran up into his shoulder.
Selot tried to surprise him with a swift motion of his free hand to knock out the foot that was not weighing down on him. It would have worked with anyone else, but not with Marrhit, who avoided the attempt with ease, and laughed. Selot grabbed his thigh with his arm, squeezed his head between his knees and pushed his feet against the earth to throw him down to the ground, like a bull in a rage. As the pain in his hand increased, he used all the strength he could. Marrhit pulled out one of his knives and pointed it at his throat, pressing it fiercely so he could feel the point ready to stab.
“Stop, Selot,” he said, his voice suddenly calm and profoundly menacing. He was using his power, and the words entered Selot’s ears, paralyzing him.
“You are a coward, Marrhit. You are nothing more than a coward. You always want to win,” Selot managed to say as he slurred his words, immobilized in that position with his hands and knees on the ground.
Marrhit threw the knife away and did the same with his other weapons. It was a sign: they were going to combat one another. He said nothing, so the effect of his voice grew dim and Selot could move once more. Selot hesitated; he had given his word he would never challenge his brother again. Marrhit stepped on his hand again, forcing him to drop his weapons. With his free hand, Selot removed the backpack, then undid the weapons on his back, and finally the swords he kept on his belt. Marrhit lifted his foot. Selot choked back his screams. He got up, holding onto the wrist that had been hurt, waiting for the pain of the stamping to abate.
“You swore to Janavel that you would never challenge me. What will you do now?” Marrhit asked him provokingly. Selot was frozen to the spot. How could he know? He’d never spoken about it and he was equally sure that his master would not have done so. Marrhit took his time to maliciously savor the boy’s surprise.
“You left your defenses open one evening, as you were writing on your useless paper. You didn’t even realize it. I took everything I wanted from you and you did not even perceive it, you were so intent on your stupid writing.” Selot closed his eyes and kept them shut tightly. How could he have been so stupid. What else had his brother stolen from his mind?
Marrhit stood in front of him, en guard, his fists closed. Selot had no intention of taking his punches which could knock out a bull. “Well? Do you have anything to say?”
Think quickly, Selot. He thought he heard Janavel’s words; that continual goading to get out of impossible situations. And this was certainly one of those moments.
Marrhit’s behavior depends entirely on yours.
Marrhit was getting worked up in anger and his fists were ready, but it was clear he was waiting to see what Selot would do.
Be quick, be quick. We’ve been lost for days in the middle of the mountains and this madman is wasting time by provoking me. Why?
Marrhit leaped into attack. Selot avoided it with the twist of his body and he distanced himself, taking a step back.
“Are you a chicken?” Marrhit bawled, re-positioning himself in front of him in a challenging stance. Selot could not close the swollen hand, which pulsed painfully.
“Stop trying to provoke me.” He had time to dig into his pockets for a piece of leather to place in his mouth to protect his teeth. Marrhit attempted a hook, but Selot slipped away in time by stepping back and was safe again. He had an idea. He could be wrong, but he decided to try it from where he was standing.
“Marrhit, wait. I can ins…” his words were cut off by his brother’s voice.
“Face me,” Marrhit induced him, using his power, with irresistible force. He put all his intention, all of his rage, all of the hate he was capable of, with absolutely no limits. His voice reached Selot’s soul and the demon exploded onto the road that Marrhit had so majestically rolled out for it. Selot saw red and threw himself at his brother like a madman. They fought like wild beasts. They were soon on the ground, tumbling as neither of them got the upper hand. Selot had less physicality and was less agile than Marrhit. His very fiber was less rapid and less powerful, and yet he always managed to overturn the situation. They rolled around clutching at one another. They were very close to the hook still planted in the ground. Selot saw it out of the corner of his eye and was the first to grab it. Marrhit face was at the right place at the right time, and Selot was already envisioning the following instances: his brother’s face slashed by the metallic hook, and an eye gouged out. But he halted and refused.
No.
No.
No.
He let go of his grip. It was too late to defend himself. Marrhit’s uppercut hit him squarely. He had enough time to clench his teeth around the leather before impact. He hit the ground straight away, in a faint.
He awoke when the sun arched its descent to the west.
He sat up, stunned. He had a dreadfully sore neck, chin, jaw, and all his face and cranium ached too. He ran his tongue over his lips, which tasted of blood. His tongue was whole and his teeth were all there, even if the lower part of his face was covered in blood. The bit had done its job, but his gums had bled, together with the wound on his chin which had swelled and extended up to his lip, the lower one split. The leather bit was there on the ground. His brother had probably removed it so he wouldn’t choke on it while he was out cold. A gesture of a fellow soldier. Selot cursed himself. He had not gotten there in time. He had perhaps, understood how to block that madness, but he hadn’t been fast enough. On a diff
erent occasion, his ineptitude may have cost him his life, or that of his brother.
Marrhit was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, a short distance away. He was watching him. He handed over a water bottle. Selot watched him distrustfully. Then he took it with movements still slowed down by the huge weight that had knocked him out. He drank and rinsed the blood out of his mouth. Marrhit rocked slightly on the spot.
“Teach me,” he said when Selot stopped drinking.
Selot sighed. He closed the water bottle.
“That was what I wanted to do before you used the power of your voice to make me become an unreasonable beast. I was about to tell you: I can teach you.” He was fighting against the pain that speaking made him keenly feel. His mouth was swollen, his chin was a mass of bruising and blood, and his split bottom lip indistinguishable from the blood. Every muscle ached in his face when he spoke. Marrhit clenched his teeth.
“So do it. Teach me your strength. Teach me how you always find a way to win and still stay on the right side of your heart.”
“You’ll still hate me,” Selot observed.
“Yes…maybe. Until I’ve reached the point where I no longer have to.”
“I could have taken your face off with that hook,” Selot said in a fog of anger and fear. He broke off as the pain took over. “You are crazy. I was about to do it, damn it. I was about to do it,” he repeated as he shivered. “You know that I could have beaten and killed you.”
“I knew that if you had beaten me, you would have stopped yourself in time. I saw how you assured Janavel you would never challenge me. I was sure of it. Well…almost sure,” he added, thinking about the risk he had taken. “In any case, I was quite sure I would win. I was in a superior position, your right hand was unusable and you weren’t ready to face me. And yet I still couldn’t get you. Then you grabbed the hook. You beat me, you renounced it at the last minute…I want to understand how,” he finished with a stubborn air.
“You used a stolen memory from my head…”
“Yes,” Marrhit confirmed without any scruples. Selot shook his head. He drank once more from the water bottle and spat out water and blood. He waited a little while longer to let the pain settle.
“I can teach you how I enter the world and how the world enters me. The way in which I interpret it and live it. It all derives from that. There are no secrets.” Marrhit did not understand Selot’s words. He propped his elbows on his crossed legs and placed his head on his joined hands.
“Teach me,” he said again. He stopped rocking. He waited with his eyes closed. Selot realized he had not used comprehensible words for the older boy. He’d never before explained his way of being to anyone. Only to Estela. But that had been different. He didn’t have to explain anything to her. Love, in only one single brief night, had canceled any distance in the souls of their fused bodies.
“I’m not so sure it is a road that can apply to you,” he said doubtfully.
“It doesn’t matter. Teach me.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Do your best.”
“I’m not a teacher.”
“I don’t need names or qualifications. I can see what you are.”
“It could, in your case, weaken you rather than reinforce you.”
“It doesn’t matter, I want to understand.”
“It’s not a road to prevail. It’s a road that helps me stay close to what I believe.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to adopt it. I want to understand it.” Marrhit’s replies were pressing, but not demanding. They were simply requests.
“Fine,” Selot gave up. “I have no idea how to do it, but we can try.”
“It’s almost evening and we won’t be going anywhere again today. We are idiots.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Let’s get out of here. As soon as the sun sets this damn place will become a glacier. Let’s find shelter.”
Selot tried to get up, but his head spun and he was forced to sit down again. His temples started pulsing violently. “Damn it, Marrhit. You almost killed me with that punch.” They were his last words, before an impulse to vomit rose to the surface. Marrhit picked up the hook from the ground. Selot couldn’t imagine how it had been in his luggage, but then watched as he pressed a mechanism that let it close up into a central body, occupying very little space. He managed, between ill-feeling and dizziness to admire the artisan who had created such an intelligent object.
“You’re completely out of action, half brother,” Marrhit underlined. He meant it in a derogatory manner. But it’s flavor was different, less bitter than he intended. He took Selot’s arm and put it over his shoulder. He helped him walk, holding him up. “You do know what they say, don’t you? That in these cases you shouldn’t move. We are in a hellish place though, and we have to get out of here.” Selot nodded. The shadow of evening had come early and sat on one’s breath and skin in the pungent cold. Not even summer knew the heat of the night on these mountains at that altitude.
They reached a ledge in a rocky wall and sat under its precarious shelter. Marrhit helped him down. Selot uttered a ‘thanks’, cautious and incredulous. With a slight movement in his face, Marrhit acknowledged it. He held out the medicinal root, but Selot shook his head slowly.
“Asheeba forbid me from tasting it.”
“It will increase our capabilities, but it can create dependence. That’s the only reason she has prohibited you. You need it now though. Take just a little, no more than the size of your fingernail, and put it under your tongue. Keep it in your mouth for just a few moments and then spit it out.”
“It would be wasted…you need it,” he objected.
“Do as I tell you. We might find another in the forest of the Rotmandis,” Marrhit replied dryly. Selot felt dreadful and so he accepted it. He did just as Marrhit had told him. Then he leaned his head against the rocky wall and started singing a healing chant. Marrhit sat next to him and started singing along with him, his strong voice loud and clear. After a short time he signaled to Selot to not wear himself down, and sang in his place instead. Sitting next to him, Marrhit sang so the vibrations might produce the desired effect. There was neither wood for a fire, nor food to cook.
“Now you can sleep.” Marrhit told him, looking him straight in the eye. To Selot’s mind, it was an order and he finally abandoned himself to rest.
Another golden dawn came, glistening over the dew. Selot reemerged from his sleep, awoken by the sound of an eagle.
An eagle. So it was day.
He had slept through the night and had not even taken his turn at watch. He felt well. Very well. He jumped to his feet, looking around. Marrhit was sitting a few feet from him. He was fidgeting nervously with the little cords that hung from his bag. He looked tired. Strange. Then Selot’s glance fell to a spot in front of him. There were wolf carcasses in front of his brother. Blood was everywhere, and other traces that pointed to a furious struggle too.
“It was a pack,” Marrhit said concisely. “They were drawn by the smell of your fresh wound and they followed us here. We didn’t have any fire.” Selot examined Marrhit quickly. He had a few bite marks on his arms and legs, but the thick warrior coat had protected him. There was a sign of a paw print on his face. The wounds didn’t look worrying. Marrhit stood up. Selot glanced around and saw one of the beasts had been dismembered very close to him.
“You slept like a baby. Now we’ve got no more time to lose,” Marrhit commented.
Selot was speechless.
They set back to journeying, going up into a very difficult valley. They did not exchange a word, just like the previous days, but the sound of silence now took on a different meaning.
Finally, well into the afternoon, they reached some higher ground from where they spied the forest of the Rotmandis directly in front of them. Marrhit sighed in relief. Selot was left open-mouthed. A woody stretch with very old and very tall plants was nestled between the mountains that wrapped around to the north,
south, and west. It was a valley that widened towards the plain. What was most extraordinary however, was the view of Saus, straight in front of them. An extended settlement clinging to the forest as if it were part of it, the eye couldn’t distinguish the dwellings from the trees, nor the wooden bridges that joined them. Trees that came out of houses, or houses built in the trees. Very big buildings too, built over many floors, spread out platforms that rose up to dizzying heights; some were roofless, and others were protected by the foliage and by curved wooden surfaces that made domes above. The city spread out over many levels, majestically clinging to giant tree trunks. Not even in their dreams could they have imagined something like this. No sign of fire, nor smoke. On the edges of the settlement, towards the west, great big towers rose up, the only buildings made of stone. They were circular in shape with little openings, double arched and triple arched too, separated by little columns roughly hewed into squares.
“The laboratories of the scribes, their libraries, and their schools,” Marrhit stated, following Selot’s line of vision. “That’s where they write, train to write, and conserve what they write,” he concluded impatiently. One could understand from the tone of his voice that he found the whole thing rather tiresome and useless. Selot was fascinated. He hoped he might have the chance to visit it and spend as much time possible there. An immense space dedicated solely for the purpose of preserving and transmitting knowledge. He was irresistibly drawn into a desire to discover that world. He could have spent the rest of the day there to admire it from up on high for the rest of the day.
“The Towers are exactly what King Lotar wants to destroy…or that’s what the Congregation has ordered him to do. The front line is still far away, but sooner or later they will make it here. It is only a matter of time. They want to eliminate this people from the face of the earth. I couldn’t care less…they can if they like.” He spat on the ground. Selot knew the resentment in those words was connected with his mother. He shook himself out of his astonishment and rallied his practical senses. They were at the ledge of a ravine, which was nothing more than an immense rocky fault line that came up perpendicular to the village. There was no other possibility to descend, unless they had wings. He looked at Marrhit with an inquisitive air.
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