No Good Deed (12 page)

“No.”

“Why not? We’ve talked enough. When talk doesn’t work, you fight. Even you succumb to that one.”

“Yes, but it’s not usually with myself. Fighting myself is pointless, it only leads to my own destruction.”

“Well then bright boy,” the reflection still had his sword at the ready, “how are you going to get past me?”

“Easy. I haven’t done the one thing I should have in the first place.”

“What’s that?”

“Ask. May I go past you to the door, please?”

The reflection sheathed his sword and slung his shield over his back, “Of course you may; after you.”

Obidaan walked through the door. He was once again in darkness inside a circle of light.

“Congratulations. You have no idea how many people fail that test,” the reflection said.

“Because they don’t control the situation?” Obidaan asked.

“Not so much that, but because they don’t get out of their own way to succeed. How many people fight with themselves to achieve a goal, only to ultimately fail? You can’t kick your own ass. Beating yourself up, you will always lose. You have to get out of your own way to succeed. Took you long enough to figure that out.”

“Why is that a record or something?”

“No, one guy kicked his own ass five times before he begged his reflection to let him pass. Boy did he feel dumb when the reflection relented.”

“Who was it?”

“Sorry, all information related to other parties is strictly confidential,” the response was unemotional and rote in nature, as though that were the only response he could give at that moment.

“Fine,” Obidaan heaved a sigh, “let’s move on.”

“Ok, walk this way,” the reflection began to do a silly walk, marching stiffly, not bending at the knees or elbows. Obidaan looked at him, sighed, and was about to do the same thing, when he though about what he had just gone through. He walked the way he always walked, following behind the reflection.

“Drat, we usually catch people on that test. It’s such an old joke. Nice to see you can see the double meaning of it. You’re doing well. I’m very impressed.”

“Thank you,” Obidaan was staying serious

“Conformity.”

“What?” he heard him but didn’t understand what he meant.

“That last test, conformity. It’s nice but conformity is for the majority. The majority of people don’t wield our items. Nice catch.”

“I just didn’t feel like playing the game, not after what I just went through.”

“Good enough.”

They walked toward two doors. “In this test, behind one of the doors, there are 3 hideous trolls. They won’t rationalize with you, they won’t talk with you, they will just want to rip your head off and eat you for dinner. They have no sense of civility. Pure animal instinct and they want to use it on you. The other door is completely empty, a totally safe passage. Depending on how you pick determines how easily you make it to the other side. You have the power of divination, I suggest you use it.”

Obidaan meditated for a moment, getting in touch with the Seers. They gave him a couple of messages. Once he received the messages he stood up and without hesitation proclaimed. “I pick door number two.”

The reflection opened it up and there, as if in suspended animation where three very angry trolls. “Seems you picked the wrong door,” The reflection said.

“No, I picked the correct one,” Obidaan has his weapons out and a satisfied smile on his face.

“But door number one was safe, it was the easy one.”

“Exactly,” Obidaan felt he had the upper hand in this challenge.

“So, then why this door?”

“I am a paladin.”

The reflection smiled, “You don’t go for the easy way, do you?”

“No. As they just told me, a paladin that chooses the easy path is no paladin. I have to face the dangers, not flee from them. Only then can I be the example I am meant to be.”

“Outstanding! You are so good at this. Oh, one more thing. If you die, you loose.”

The fight was furious and desperate. The trolls showed no mercy and ripped at his flesh. Only his paladin skills allowed him to barely make it through the fight. The final swing, with muscles aching, mana drained, and smites used came down to Obidaan thrusting his sword deep into the heart of the troll as it attempted to bite his entire face off. Still breathing heavily from the fight, Obidaan pulled out a flask of oil, poured on the remains, and with the last bit of mana he had, used a divine spark to light the bodies. He staggered through door number two. As he staggered, he began to wonder again. Why was that so hard? It seems as a paladin, a defender of the people he should have been able to dispatch three trolls with ease. However, it took everything he had to defeat them. Obidaan concluded that, obviously, as part of his test, he was not given regular trolls but enhanced ones. It only made sense that if he was to get such a superior weapon he’d have to show superior fighting skills even against the seemingly mundane.

On the other side, he was completely healed. A single applause was heard.

“Wow, great fight, and kudos for the flames; so many forget that, get almost to the door, only to be dragged back into combat.”

“So, what’s next?” Obidaan was feeling energized

“I don’t know. There sits a door,” He point to the opposite end of the hall.

“Let’s go,” Obidaan pointed at it and began walking.

“Ok.”

Obidaan was about to open the door when he looked back at his reflection, “Wait. What was the test for this area?”

The reflection smiled, “Not gonna tell you!” He said in a sing songy voice. “That would be cheating.”

“So I just have to open this door?”

“If you want to; free will and all that you know.”

Obidaan opened the door. There in front of him stood a small boy and an old man. “What am I supposed to do here?”

“Sorry, didn’t I tell you? The tests get harder as we go along. The only hint I can give you is you can ask them one question.”

“About what?” Obidaan still wasn’t getting it.

“Man, haven’t you figured out this game yet? What part of one question can’t you understand?” the reflection seemed irritated at Obidaan.

“But there are so many categories.”

“So, what’s your point?”

“Which do I choose?”

“Whatever. I told you, one question. No more hints. If you ask me a question again, they’ll answer and that will be it.”

Obidaan thought for a few moments and then asked, “How do I get out of here?”

The little boy pointed to the door, the old man pointed to the floor. Not really understanding what the old man was doing, Obidaan took a step into the room, toward the door. As soon as he stepped on the stone, it began to sink, quickly. He looked around frantically, then finally noticed where the old man was pointing. Before it became too far for him to jump, he leaped to the stone the old man was pointing at. As soon as he did that, the old man then pointed to another stone. Following his pointing, Obidaan made it to the other side.

There his reflection waited, “Ah the duality of questions; amazing how they can be answered, in this case, two separate ways and still be correct. You started to choose the naiveté of the child but settled for the wisdom of the old man; the one who read into your question, while the child answered it directly.”

“How many more tests are there?” Obidaan asked.

“I don’t know. It’s up to you.”

“Up to me, how?” that answer really got to Obidaan.

“I can’t answer that.”

“Why?”

“It would give away too much information.”

“Wait, ok, let me see. You can help me, but I notice you can’t lie,” Obidaan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the reflection leaned against the other wall, arms crossed.

“Correct.”

“But you can obscure the truth,” he raised a finger.

“I can’t answer that,” he raised a finger.

“I’ll take that to mean yes. That means there is a truth about this test you are obscuring.”

“Yes. No sense saying ‘I can’t answer that.’ You’ve figured that part out.”

“You said it was up to me, right?” Obidaan patted his upper arm with his hand. “So what if I want to quit now?” The reflection did not copy him.

“Then you would fail.”

“How do I succeed?” Obidaan looked at the floor, back to the ceiling, then at the reflection.

“Pass the test.”

“You said test.”

“Yes.”

“But I’ve gone through a series of tests, you’ve called each one a test, and I passed them.”

“Yes.”

“But I haven’t passed The Test.”

“I can… yes.”

Obidaan thought for a moment, and then it hit him like a ton of bricks. “The free room!”

“What about it?” the reflection remained totally unemotional and detached.

“There was not test.”

“Yes there was. Every room had a test.”

“Right, but that one all you said was ‘there’s a door.’ When I asked about it, you said that would be cheating.”

“Yes.”

“You gave me a free door and I opened it.”

“So, where are you going with this?”

“One test,” he raised his finger and looked his reflection dead in the eye.

“Yes.”

Obidaan thought some more. “Decisions. ‘Is it my fault you made a bad decision?’ That’s what you said about our fight.”

“Yes.”

“Control. Be myself. Get past you. These are things we’ve talked about but I’m not doing that,” Obidaan began to pace.

“You are, in a way.”

“But not the way I’m supposed to.”

“I can’t answer that.”

He turned back and looked at the reflection, “That means yes.”

“I can’t answer that either.”

“Ok, control, decisions. Wait, we haven’t gone to the next test yet.”

“Are you sure?”

“This is it?”

“Could be; up to you.”

“Again with the ‘up to me’ comment. Well, then. I choose to end this and go to the castle.”

“Open the door,” the reflection motioned his hand across his body and bowed slightly.

Obidaan went to the door and opened it. There, in front of him was the exit to the woods and the castle. “This was ‘The Test’ all the time wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” the reflection seemed totally autonomous now, no longer mirroring Obidaan, he walked up to Obidaan and put his arm around his shoulders, “Getting bonded to a soul item is no easy task. It is painful and long. Also, it bonds to the soul, not the skin. It becomes one with you, a part of you, like your arm, or heart, or brain,” he pointed to the body parts as he mentioned them. “The question never was about conformity, or justice, or taking the hard road. It was about control. Will you control the test or will the test control you?” He removed his arm and now faced away from Obidaan, toward the door, “Like most people, you assumed there would be a series of test, a set number, and after you passed them all, you would be allowed into the castle.” He now turned and faced Obidaan, “There is a set number, 15. If people go through all 15, and we give them encouragement as they pass each one, they fail. We give each person an opportunity to ask as many questions as they like about the test before it starts. After it starts, we make it up to conform to what you want to hear.” He was almost in Obidaan’s face now, but backed off just a bit, “We leave things out in hopes you overlook them. We throw another at you to not give you time to think. But every so often we just present a blank segment, to see what people will do; often times the just trudge on, without thinking.”

The reflection took his hand and shook it. Holding it, he concluded, “When you walk through the door, your group will make it to the castle door. You will have no recollection of the tests but you will know that 1: You passed, 2: you made it harder on yourself than necessary. Congratulations and we hope nothing but the best for you,” the reflection faded at this point.

Obidaan stepped through the door. He was back on his horse and they emerged from the woods in front of the castle door.

“You did it!” Relina screamed and reached over to him. “You passed.”

“Yes, yes I did,” he said with a sly smile.

“
Eat, eat!
” Zarinthis, leader of the Historians exclaimed, “Eat hearty, and when you are full, eat some more!”

“I am so stuffed,” Obidaan proclaimed, “I don’t believe I could eat another bite.”

“You, most of all, Obidaan, must eat until you are beyond full. It is the only way to handle the trial you are about to face.”

The Vanguard made it to the castle in about 45 minutes. Once there, they were warmly greeted by Zarinthis Palanthar and a group of his workers. Zarinthis with peaceful brown eyes was a rather large man in height but fit stature. It was obvious by the way he ate this was not his first feast. His brown curly hair made him appear younger than he was; even with hints of grey in his temples, you could not tell he was in his 60s. He appeared to be a man 20 years younger.

Obidaan and the others enjoyed the treatment of the first day, lavish baths, massages, and all manner of pampering. He was told that he and his group would have a great feast prepared for them tomorrow and they were looking forward to it. This feast, however, was a bit different than most. When they cast their eyes upon it, instead of seeing exotic meats, vegetables, and fruits, this was rather simple: meatloaf; chicken, fish, mashed potatoes with gravy, macaroni and cheese, greens, turkey and dressing, and apple pie with ice cream; comfort foods. Zarinthis explained it was part of the ritual, it was necessary to eat comfort foods to help the soul with the trauma it was about to face. It is also necessary for the others to eat as sympathetic helpers. The more food consumed the better for the soul. It would not ease the physical pain, just the emotional pain, some, and prevented insanity.

They ate for over 3 hours and still plates were brought out. Belches and bad behavior began to take over as people stuffed food down their full throats. Belts loosed, buttons nearly popped; still they ate. Finally, stuffed beyond their capacity, the group passed out from the shear volume of it all. Zarinthis smiled satisfactorily as he continued to eat.

The next day, the crew awoke in fine beds with fresh linen. They had been disrobed and put into pajamas. It was late in the morning when Obidaan, the most stuffed, finally awoke. His belly ached from all the food and he immediately went to the bathroom, spending over an hour there.

When he finally emerged, still belching, he was taken once again to the dinning room, where they were treated to a breakfast of eggs, sausage, bacon, grits, hash browns, coffee, hot chocolate, waffles, pancakes, biscuits with gravy and honey.

“Please,” Obidaan said, “I can not eat any more. I have never been so stuffed in my life, I can’t any more!”

“Understood, but do eat something.” Zarinthis said, he had no trouble shoveling the food in, “it’s necessary to continue the enchantment on you.”

Reluctantly, Obidaan picked up a spoon, scooped some scrambled eggs, and placed them in his mouth. He chewed diligently and deliberately and swallowed hard. A huge sigh came out of him. “No more.”

“That is fine; we can proceed whenever you are ready. Please, take your time.” Zarinthis was serious about not rushing and strongly implied it in his voice, “The trial and pain you are about to endure is unlike anything you have every experienced, nor will it be like anything you will ever experience again. The ritual is
extremely
painful. There is no way to counter it. You will scream, cry, and pass out. Because of this, we rush no one. Some have sat here for weeks before finally deciding, other days. Still no one has left without a tattoo.”

The others were around the table picking at bits of food. The only one who seemed to have an appetite was Alister and even he couldn’t go beyond one helping of food. The others stuck to coffee, biscuits, or a few eggs.

“Thank you for this honor,” Obidaan said. “By the way, could I see the weapon that will be tattooed to me?”

“Of course, right this way.”

He escorted Obidaan, with the others close on his heels, through a hallway and down a flight of stairs to an armory. Across from the armory was a surgical room with a table, straps, wooden pegs, and tattooing instruments.

“You may choose any weapon you like. All of these are capable of bonding with you.” They were exquisite in nature, they had no equal in design. “However, here is the one we feel suits you best.”

Zarinthis reached into the array of swords and pulled out a finely polished long sword. It was finely polished. The guard was rounded, ornately designed with the symbol of the seer on one side and the symbol of the paladin on the other. Though it looked delicate, when touched it was stronger than it appeared. The detailed carving was exquisite a lot of man—hours went into this sword.

The hilt was heavy, perfectly balancing the sword. Wrapped in aged leather, it gave a soft feel and molded to the wearers hand, giving a sure unflappable grip. At end of the hilt, a silver circle with a ruby was embedded, giving it the look of an “eye”. The perfect cut of the ruby added to the beauty and balance, allowing him to spin it easily. Obidaan was overwhelmed by its craftsmanship. It made his sword seem flat and unwieldy. He held his hand flat and spun the sword slightly, it moved in a smooth motion. One could almost feel it slicing the air as it slowing spun around.

A quarter of the way through the spin Obidaan balanced it on the edge of his hand, still it spun with no waver or hint of falling. He let it roll to the back of his hand before catching it. Silence was the only thing he could answer with as he handed the sword back to Zarinthis and nodded.

“If I may,” Don interrupted, “I’d like to test the sword.” Don noticed Obidaan’s look and wanted to make sure he was making the right decision. He knew how to properly test any weapon to judge its worthiness. This was going to be the biggest decision of Obidaan’s life; he would not let his blood brother enter lightly into this contract.

“By all means,” Zarinthis did not hesitate to give Don the sword. “I’m familiar with your sects’ knowledge of weaponry. Compare it to any weapon here. Also,” he pulled Obidaan’s weapon from its sheath, “You must compare it to his current sword.”

Don took both weapons; he held the new sword in his right hand and Obidaan’s in his left. As he tested them, he switched hands several times. He began dancing with the swords, putting them through various movements, spins, and thrusts. He smacked the air with each blade, watching it vibrate. He did a serious moves, foot stamps, and claps were part of his routine. Then while continuing the fluidity of his movements, he danced with an axe, a mace, staff, and spear, putting each through a rigorous test. At one point on the staff and spear, he stood them up and climbed up them like a monkey climbing a tree. While suspended on each, he did a serious of acrobatic moves, never himself touching the ground even flipping the weapons and replanted them without ever touching the floor. The spear left an abnormally small cut on the floor. This was a testament to both the skill of the craftsman as well as Don’s skills as a wielder.

A huge smile was on his face, something uncharacteristic of him. He was not one to show overt emotion one way or another. Breathing heavy, he recovered himself, put back the weapons and picked up the sword meant for Obidaan. Still panting, he handed it back to Zarinthis and said, “It is acceptable.” Though Obidaan pinged, it was obvious he was lying and everyone knew it

“How do you really feel?” Obidaan asked with a grin. He saw his brother excited and wanted him to express it.

Don’s eyes got big and he walked over to the weapons, “They are exquisite! Never in my life have I had the honor to exercise with such weapons. Their feel, their balance, their shear poetry; they are not weapons they are works of art. It is as close to perfection as you will get. For the first time in my life, I envy you, my brother.” They were all surprised by his comments, “We are taught not covet. We train the mind, body, and soul. We forsake wealth and materialism because it clouds a weak mind making them greedy. I have trained all my life, disciplined myself to go beyond what is in front of me, believed that spirituality, love of your fellow humanoids, and moderation in all things are keys to happiness. Yet I would throw it all away to have one of these weapons attached to me. I would endure any pain, do whatever I had to, shun the world if necessary, to have one. Yes, for the first time in my life: I. Am. Jealous.” He looked directly at Obidaan. “I always thought a ‘soul weapon’ was a weapon that was attached to the soul. I am wrong. These weapons are built to be one with the soul. They are symbiotic in nature. They need a soul to operate at their fullest potential. In return, they offer. . . completeness. I can not describe it. It’s like thinking your life is complete, till you meet your soul mate, then you realize a part of you has been missing.”

“Wow,” was all Obidaan could say. Everyone else was uncharacteristically silent.

“Curious,” Zarinthis said, “we have had many play with our weapons, none have ever described their experience as you have. All feel better after feeling them, or feel they have touched the perfect weapon, but it seems our weapons have touched your soul. That hasn’t happened before. We will need to study this.”

“Now?” Relina asked. She was finally able to say something.

“Well, not right this minute, but while Obidaan is getting tattooed, we can study this phenomenon.”

An awkward silence now filled the room. It was finally sinking in the depths of what was going on. A well—disciplined monk displayed jealousy. Still, no one truly realized what they were in for.

“Any questions?” Zarinthis asked.

“When do I start?” Obidaan asked, holding his sword, “Also, is there anything else I need to know about these weapons?”

“As I said, you may start whenever you like, but remember, once you start, there’s no stopping. If you wish to have another meal, we encourage you to eat beyond your capacity.” He then took the weapon and cradled it like it was a baby, “The important things you need to know are, when it bonds with you, it becomes a physical manifestation of the tattoo. Since the tattoo can’t be removed, neither can the sword. Even if the sword somehow broke, all you would have to do is resummon it and it would appear good as new. Once bonded to you it can never be removed. This is beyond permanent. When you die and your soul goes to its final resting place, so does the weapon. The most important thing is the powers of the sword will not manifest till after the bonding. Each weapon manifest powers based on who they bond with. As time goes by, powers may change, increase, decrease, or reverse depending on what you do. Be careful that it doesn’t become a crutch. It’s powerful, but you must still wield it. The sword can read your thoughts. That’s how it will know what to do. This will make it seem more intelligent than it really is. Treat it as a sidekick or partner. If you belittle it or it feels you are taking advantage of it, will resist you. It won’t do it forever but it may hold out at a crucial moment. For lack of a better description, it’s amoral. All it cares is that you use it purposefully. It will slay a friend just as easily as a foe. Do you understand?”

“Crystal clear; let’s get this done.”