What Is A Hero?

The king's eyebrow lowered in anger, "Now you listen to me! I am King Tellarius! I don't have to put up with your nonsense or your blasted ignorance!"

"Speak as much as you wish," Qortaka said, not even looking the king in the face and giving him little attention, "You are a still a coward, and you certainly are no hero."

The eyes of Tellarius lazied themselves, and he began plucking at his beard as his mind plucked at opportunity. "How would I become a hero?"

"There are numerous ways," Qortaka said, "But to be a hero, it requires undivided devotion and action."

"What will you give me for becoming a hero?" the king asked.

"If you become a hero," Qortaka said, "Then that is reward enough."

"No reward?" Tellarius said, "Then you should not have woken me up in the first place!" He crawled between the covers and tried to start sleeping again.

"Well, then," Qortaka lamently almost quietly, "You will one day die, after having accomplished nothing. Your name will be just another name on the wall of kings who were cowards. Blessed by the church and hated by the people. Even the slaves detest your name. Your life, unlike theirs, is not one of toil. It is a life that shall end and you will die without any word or merit to your name."

All the while Qortaka spoke, the king listened with keen ears. After a moment had past, he lifted the covers and sat on his bed. "Now," he said, "Maybe I would be willing to change..." He paused for a second, thinking, and then said, "Willing to be a hero."

"I will return in the morning with details to what you must do," Qortaka said, disappearing and leaving the presence of Tellarius. The king slept a sleep of kings, between the comfortable sheets made from materials gathered thousands of miles away. His slaves, their lives short and miserable, slept on the ground outside. The king knew tomorrow brought opportunity, pleasure, and leisure. The slaves knew that tomorrow brought the stinging lash of the whip, the hoarse voice of the overseer, the incalculable cruelty wrought upon their blistering flesh.

Surely, as it did every morning, the sun arose, brightening the land with its florescent glow. As Tellarius consumed the meal prepared for him by slaves, managed by overseers, he sat in wait, pondering when Qortaka would come. "Sir," a slave came to Tellarius, "There appears to be a fantasm that wishes to see you. May she?"

When he had finished speaking, both the king and the slave -- for a change of pace -- heard the same noise, as Qortaka glided through the walls. "Although I appreciate your willingness to help deliver my request to your king, it is unnecessary." The slave nodded obediently, almost fearfully, and then fled the presence of the king and the god, his sandals making a rough sliding sound as he departed.

When the slave was gone, the king spoke. "So," he said bending over closer to the god, "What must I do to become a hero?"

"I find this peculiar," Qortaka said, "Unlike any other way, you strive to become what your slaves are -- or were -- like. Hoodas portrayed what you have never had: being a hero. The rest of her life was significantly unlike your own."

"Yes, yes," the king said, "Do not concern me with petty things. Can you answer my question, now?"

"To be a hero," Qortaka began, "You must do what is uncomfortable. Break the traditional barriers, think as an individual, do not favor friends over justice, reform cruelty, become civilized, remove every iota of barbaric intent from your mind. Nothing too sacred to question and destroy, nothing too custom to evict from your civilization. If you do these things, then you will be a hero."

The king dipped a pastry of his breakfast into a bowl of hot drink ever so carefully, and then with as much strategy as his generals placed the food in his mouth, evading any stains from his dress. He pulled his finger from his mouth, his tongue ruggedly absorbing every bit of taste from it, and with his eyes lazily gazing on his hand, he let out a sigh of pleasure. "Yes," the king said, turning to the god, "I think I have what it takes to become a hero."

Looking upon the king with a near disdainful expression, Qortaka said, "Then, I leave you to become a hero. I shall return within a year to see your progress."

"Cheers, then!" the king said, lifting his wine goblet, his mouth full of food. Upon the god departing the presence of the king, the king laid back for a moment, allowing his food to digest. "Slave #59204505!" he called, as a slave in sandals came running.

"Yes, master?" the slave asked.