No Good Deed (13 page)

Right this way
then,” Zarinthis said, he then motioned for an assistant. “Will you please escort our guests back upstairs.”

“If it all the same to you,” Relina started, “I’d like to stay for a while and watch.”

“I appreciate your dedication,” Zarinthis said, “but that is strictly forbidden. It is for your own well being and safety.”

“I can handle it,” Relina was resolute.

“No, you can’t!” Zarinthis was equally resolute. “No one can. No caring humanoid can endure to watch a loved one go through the pain he is about to endure. The people who do it are purposely detached and specially trained for the situation. They will not talk to him beyond general instructions. ANY bit of feeling for the recipient would result in madness this close to him. My dear lady, your love for him; after watching just a few moments would result in your brain turning into goo. It will be bad enough hearing the screams throughout the castle — there is no way to stop them. The screams come from his soul; nothing can contain that type of a scream.”

An awkward silence again permeated the air. They began to wonder what it was they had gotten themselves into.

“Why?” She asked.

“The soul was never meant to have anything bonded to it. We are breaking the very fabric of nature. That has consequences.”

Quietly, solemnly, the others went with the assistant up stairs. As they were leaving Zarinthis added one last thing, “Don,” he grabbed the staff Don had been looking and threw it to him, “please meditate with this tonight and tell us what happens. Also, if you could work out with it in the morning, I would be greatly appreciative. We must figure out how you deduced the weapon’s nature.”

“Gladly,” Don said as he caught the weapon. He could almost feel it pulsate in his hands. It felt so natural, so normal, as if it were a part of him. As if it had chosen him.

“This way Obidaan.”

The table was in a vertical position. Obidaan was stripped down to only a cloth around his mid—section. Arms out, elbows bent, he was painstakingly and carefully strapped down to the table. Many straps covered his legs and arms. Each finger was individually strapped down. A strap went across his neck and a second one across his waist, exposing his back. Boards were put on his sides under his armpits to keep him from moving from side to side. The table was then moved to the full horizontal position. The room was darkened as lanterns shown only on Obidaan’s back and the weapon.

The weapon was on a separate table. A piece of transparent parchment was placed over it and the sword was traced on the parchment. Then using special tools, traced the outline of the sword on his back, only it was smaller than the original sword. It took 2 hours to complete the drawing. They were just about ready to proceed.

“What is the name of the sword?” a technician asked flatly.

“Huh?” Obidaan said.

“Your weapon must be named before we can proceed. If you have not thought of a name, please do so now,” her voice was cold and uncaring.

Obidaan thought for a moment, “Mystic,” he said.

“Mystic, it is,” she said, then proceeded to put a thick wooden stick in his mouth and wrap it around the back of his head. “We will begin in exactly 60 seconds. The pain will be unbearable. Cry out if you have to. Cry, scream, do whatever you feel is necessary. Don’t worry, you will pass out during the procedure.”

Another assistant was rubbing his back with an ointment. “The ointment will dull the physical pain; we have no way of dulling the pain your soul will feel. Are you ready? This is your only chance to say no.”

“I’m ready.”

“Very well, 3..2..1,” they were all inserting ear plugs, “begin.”

She took what looked like an ordinary tattoo needle, but longer, she then touched it through the paper to the sword, the needle began to glow white but not hot. She then matched it to spot on his back and placed the needle in his skin. Because it was dulled, Obidaan felt nothing as the needle penetrated his skin. Then all at once, he felt a different sensation. An extremely sharp pain, like a fine dagger, shot through his body, no not his body, his soul. He could tell. His body was in no pain at all, but his soul felt like it was going to be wrenched from his body and was fighting with everything it had to stay in place. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced. It also expressed itself through waves of emotions. It was almost like watching Relina die repeatedly at the hands of a psychotic madman, who was once your best friend. He bit into the peg, straining not to say anything.

The process repeated itself and this time Obidaan bit further into the thick stick. Splinters were in his mouth and between his teeth. His mouth bled a bit, but he did not feel it. The emotion of extreme despair was overwhelming him now. Were he not tied down he would kill himself at this very moment to end the misery.

It continued some more, unable to hold in the pain, Obidaan screamed out. From a dull cry to a soul—wrenching scream, his very essence cried out. Everything that made him who and what he was cried out. He took a breath and cried again. His screams shook the castle.

The others could hear his cries. They had never heard anyone cry out like that, ever! This wasn’t from physical pain, it was a soul being tortured, total agony.

Relina, sitting on her bed reading, couldn’t hold it, tears welled up. She reached for a pillow and cried into it, falling forward on the bed. “Obidaan, my love!” She screamed, “What are they doing to you? Was it worth it? Is it worth this? O gods, see him through this, please! O, my poor love!” She broke down, unable to deal with the screams. Her true love was in agonizing, soul wrenching pain and she could do nothing. She felt helpless. She turned over, staring at the ceiling, she screamed. Screams of frustration and helplessness. Tears flowed down her face and soaked the sheets. She continued to move around on the bed as her screams began to match his. It was as if they were in synch now. His screams now projecting through her.

Don was meditating, with the staff in his arms. As he heard the cries, he knew what Obidaan was going through would be worth it. He believed this was going to be Obidaan’s greatest moment. He began rocking a bit as he increased his meditation and sought the inner peace Obidaan’s soul was desperately seeking. Tears began to run down his cheeks as he realized he could not find it. He wanted to cry out but held it. Held it for Obidaan. Held it for himself. He was a monk damn it! Emotional situations like this do not become him! He used his discipline, his training, and the staff to help focus. As he focused within, he could see Obidaan’s soul screaming, lurching to reject the weapon. Obidaan’s screams resonated in his ears, through his very soul. The long healed scar on his right hand, where he cut himself to become a blood brother with Obidaan began to bleed. Don opened his eyes in horror as he looked at his hand. It was as if he had just cut it. Blood flowed out of the wound, over the weapon, and pooling on the floor. Don pulled out a piece of cloth and wrapped his hand. Within seconds the cloth was soaked and completely red. Don looked up, closed his eyes and screamed. Tears now flowed down his face and he began to cry. For the first time in a long time, the monk showed his true emotion. He put his hands over his face as gut—wrenching sobs poured forth from him. He let the wave of emotion run through him and run its course. As he tried to meditate, he broke down, tears streaming down his face —he did not try to wipe them away.

Terry had been whittling arrow shafts when she heard Obidaan’s pain. Unable to contain her emotions, she cut herself slightly with the knife. She put her finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding. Frustrated, she threw her stuff to the floor. She walked to her bed, flopped on it and put a pillow over her head. Seconds later, she rolled on her back and looked at the ceiling, screaming and crying.

Alister paced his room, each time more frantic than the last one. He reached for his lute and began to strum it but no tune came. He threw the lute against the wall; had it been of lesser construction it would have shattered. Instead, it bounced harmlessly off the wall onto the floor. He got back up and began pacing again and wringing his hands. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. Running to the window, he opened the shutters and screamed at the top of his lungs. Tears flowed uncontrollably down his face. He then balled himself up in a corner. The tears continued to flow.

Tomas was frantic. He paced the room, crying and pounding on the wall. Going to his hands and knees; teeth clinched, he let out a yell. Low at first, then louder. He pushed off with his hands, only on his knees now, yelling to the sky, tears streaming down his face. He jumped up and burst out of his room and across the hall to Relina. She heard him as he burst open the door and sat up. Her face was red from all the crying and screaming. Relina opened her arms and motioned Tomas to come to her. He ran into her arms. They hugged each other tightly. Still they’re pain could not be abated.

Obidaan screamed for over two hours. His very soul was being torn apart and the pain became unbearable. While three people tattooed him, another was misting water onto his face, while others were cleaning him. Obidaan had already soiled himself twice and threw up once.

After an hour, the others became unbelievably tired and passed out where they were. Even Don, who could feel it coming, tried to break out of his meditation but couldn’t before the desire for sleep overwhelmed him and he fell backwards onto the floor.

Obidaan was becoming incoherent. He babbled about nonsense screamed and finally, six hours into the procedure, passed out. The workers continued on their tasks, unaffected by the events.

It was morning before the others recovered. Obidaan could be heard screaming through the night as he faded in and out of consciousness. The others, in a somber mood, dragged as they made their way to the dining table. No one smiled or talked. They barely acknowledged each other. Relina helping Tomas with his food seemed to be the only acknowledgement of camaraderie. They each grabbed a plate of food, placed it in front of them, and pretty much stared at it. Don was the only one who seemed lucid enough to eat. He was also carrying the staff with him. Still even he had a hard time.

“I will not attempt to make small talk with you,” Zarinthis had a heaping plate of food and was digging in, “the sympathetic pains you are going through are normal for this procedure. In a way, they are a blessing to Obidaan because it distributes some of the distress among his loved ones. Mind you, what you feel is nothing compared to what he is going through. Still, every little bit helps. I would strongly urge you all to eat what you can. Not only do you need to keep your strength up, he needs you to as well,” Zarinthis put a whopping helping of eggs, bacon, and sausage into his mouth.

The other began to eat, but it was stiff and methodical.

“Don,” Zarinthis was slicing into his pancakes, “you have meditated with the staff? What have you learned?”

“Yes,” Don was more alert than everyone else, but still lethargic, “Yes. Like before, they are symbiotic in nature. They seem to have some sort of flow of energy around them. I can’t really describe it, almost like a life force. They definitely like to bond with humanoids. I dare say the only reason this staff has not bonded with me is because I have not undergone the tattooing. Still, I can feel it ‘giving’ to me. I think it’s the only reason I’m not as useless as the others this morning.”

“We’re not useless,” Terry shot back, Her head in her hand, she moves the fork to her mouth, only to drop it back onto the plate. Her head then sank down to the side and she almost went to sleep, just catching herself before her face hit the plate.

“Sorry,” Don replied. “Anyway, Zephyr here ...”

Zarinthis dropped his fork, “You… You named it?”

“It wasn’t intentional. I was meditating on it and all of a sudden I hear a voice ask ‘what is my name?’ it was a soft voice, like a gentle breeze, so I named it Zephyr. It thanked me then nothing.”

“This is most disturbing, yes. That should not have happened.” Zarinthis clapped his hands; an assistant appears. “Take the staff ‘Zephyr’ to lab 2. Have it thoroughly examined.”

“Yes sir,” he said. Taking the staff from Don he proceeds out of the room. A few seconds later, a thud, a slight cry out, and rolling sounds were heard. Everyone looks to the noise and to the amazement of all, the staff was rolling back, on a flat surface, into the room and came to rest at Don’s feet.

The assistant came running into the room. “I’m sorry sir, I tripped and it got away from me.” He began to pick it up again.

“Never mind, you may go.” Zarinthis stops him, “Well, it seems we have something unprecedented here. This is the first time that a weapon has chosen someone. You are not the first from your sect to have touched or even tested our weapons. Still this is very unusual and unprecedented. You may keep Zephyr, however, we can not bind it to you since you did go through the test. I will be most curious to know how this union turns out.”

Don picked up the staff, concentrated slightly, and the staff shrunk to a size that could easily fit in his pocket. He placed it there and went back to eating breakfast. Again Zarinthis’ jaw dropped, “You have already begun to train it? This IS unprecedented. There is no way anyone should have kind of control over an unbonded weapon.” Then he noticed Don’s hand, “You’ve been cut? What happened?”