The Messenger

There it was again. Like a good friend returning. It was clean and it was pure. Hate. Apart from the relentless heat, it was the dominant factor in my life and had been for years.

It wasn't just random hate; it was specifically focused on the thing on the horizon, approaching the station. Some regarded it as a person, some just called it The Messenger. For me it was The Thing. It had been destroying my family for as long as I could remember, and I had sworn years ago that I would never forgive and never forget. It didn't matter that The Thing was the sole reason for our existence and the existence of this messenger station where we lived, or that we had to obey and serve it. One day, I would have my revenge, consequences be damned.

My parents had told me that there were many messengers, but only one came here. I knew that, even though I had never seen its face.

All I could see was a small dust plume, but I could already feel the hate that was always simmering under the surface start to flare up and focus. I knew it was him. No one else ever visited this damn station.

The messenger station was the last outpost of civilization before the radiation zone began. It sat in the flat, endless desert like a foreign object. Like a splinter, disturbing the perfect desolation. It looked like a tiny, but impenetrable, black castle. Mainly because that's exactly what it was.

When I was a child, a man had reached the station with the last of his strength, coming from the radiation zone. Before he died, he told us that there were huge ruined cities there, but devoid of any life. No one but The Thing had come by since then, and it had never traveled any further. We were literally at the end of the world.

Mom and Dad had already gone down to the courtyard to greet him in their usual "proper," meaning disgustingly servile, way. Rationally, I knew they had no choice. The Thing was as powerful as God. He was the queen's spy, judge and executioner. The station existed to support him. Our lives meant nothing. They were reasonably comfortable because for some reason, the queen wanted this station to exist. It didn't change anything about my hatred for him.

My parents kept telling me we were the lucky ones. After all, we were alive. But what good was being alive if it meant prostrating and prostituting yourself before this Thing? One day, I promised myself. One day, my rage would claim its due. In that promise was my only hope for self-respect.

I knew that everyone in the few remaining towns we knew of would kill us without hesitation to be able to live here. It didn't change a thing; this was a matter of principles. I was eighteen, old enough to understand what I saw and the resulting clean, righteous hate was inevitable.

I took one last look through the old telescope. Like many things surrounding us, it was hi-tek, pre-war. Like many hi-tek things, its advanced functions were dead. Unlike many broken hi-tek things, this one was still of some use, as a plain telescope.

Reluctantly, I left the lookout post and made my way towards the courtyard. My presence was expected and required, and this was not the time to reveal my plans, mostly because I didn't have any. All I had were violent dreams of revenge and the certainty that my chance would come. How did I know? I didn't know, and didn't care. I just knew.

I dragged myself into the hateful courtyard. The gate was already open, and my parents were waiting in the searing heat for The Thing to arrive. I was expected to stand at their side and bow to him. I felt like I had to puke, but I loved them and didn't want to cause trouble for them, so I did what I had to do. As always, I hated myself a little for it.

The Black Queen was evil incarnate and the messengers we served were her most powerful tools. Black was the royal color; we lowly peasants were forbidden to wear it. Needless to say, the figure emerging from the shimmering heat was completely black. A black horse carried a black clad figure under a black cloak. The hood and the face mask with the weirdly pointed beak nose must have been uncomfortable as hell in the heat. Inwardly, I smiled as I imagined him sweating bullets inside that costume. He was not imposingly big and his stance wasn't impressive either. Still, I had never seen anyone challenge his absolute power. The reason for that was on his right leg.

The Gun.

Like all working guns in our world, it was hi-tek. There were older, non hi-tek, but still pre-war, guns around, but nobody had ammunition for those, anymore. The messenger's gun was a huge thing, almost half a meter long and as thick as my arm. In the dark, you could see it shimmering blueish ever so slightly, meaning it had accepted its bearer and would work for him. That blue shimmering was the true source of his and the queen's power. That didn't make it legitimate. Nothing could.

As usual, we stood in the courtyard in silence, awaiting our fate, like the damn servants we were. As usual, I watched my parents trying to act like we were one happy family. As usual, you could cut the tension with a knife. My father stood there, a shell of his former self, weak and broken, like a beaten cur awaiting the kick that would finally break him. Each messenger visit seemed to suck more life out of him. He was turning from a man into a victim. He seemed aged beyond his years, his eyes showing a sadness that fueled my anger every time I saw them.

My mother just stood there, pretty as always, a thin smile pasted on her face, unmoving as a messenger mask, pretending that nothing was wrong. I really tried to hold onto the last remains of my love for her. We all knew what was going on, and we never talked about it. I knew losing me was driving her crazy, but she was on the wrong and I wasn't about to make this easier for her.

Finally, It rode into the courtyard like it belonged to him, which was probably quite close to the truth. As usual, my father rushed to his side to help him dismount and as usual, he was brushed away like the fly he was turning into. Groveling, my mother curtsied in front of the asshole, smiling in a sickeningly inviting way. In a heroic effort, I again did my best not to puke and to keep my face neutral.

As always, It just ignored them and turned in my direction. I could see the watery blue eyes behind his polished black mask as he tried to stare me down. This had become our welcome ritual. Despite my parents' admonitions, I refused to curtsy before him. His eyes seemed amused as he watched me, like watching a prey that he could play with, that couldn't escape anyway. I vowed that I would find a way to beat him. Unfortunately, that meant beating the whole kingdom, which was a bit much, even for a clever eighteen-year-old like me. My time would come: I could wait, and as I waited, my hatred of him and the whole damn system would only burn hotter.

I could have sworn that he could read my mind. If he could, he obviously found what he saw amusing, as he chuckled before he turned around to retreat to the messenger room.

The messenger room was totally off limits for me. I knew every nook and cranny in the station, but I didn't have the faintest idea about that room. In my mind, it was a lush place, full of luxury and totally different from the frugal and functional rest of the station.

Silently, not looking at each other, we left the courtyard to tend to our duties. Mine was to take care of the horse and it was a welcome task, distracting me from what was to follow.

When it was time to go to bed, I again couldn't resist peeking along the hallway. I watched in silent horror as my mother left their bedroom and walked towards the messenger room. Again, it tore at my heart to hear my father sobbing in their bedroom. Again, I felt powerless rage overwhelm me, unsure at whom it was directed. I wanted to scream, but fought the urge. Later, damn it. Later. My time would come.

Helplessly, I watched my mother enter the messenger room to enjoy an evening of adulterous sex. Again, I felt like she betrayed me, my father and herself. I felt like my father betrayed us all by accepting this, allowing himself to be broken and humiliated. And I felt like I had betrayed myself with my silent acceptance. I hated them and I hated myself, but most of all, I hated the damn Thing.

I would kill him one day. That, I swore.

Early in the morning, I prepared the messenger's horse as I was supposed to and left the stable immediately. It was vital to avoid seeing him, so I wouldn't do anything dumb, which would help only him. The less I interfered, the quicker he'd leave. Again, I would spend most of the day in one of my hiding spots, just to avoid the awkwardness of seeing the parents I didn't respect anymore.

The messenger was being chased.

There was no doubt. The unthinkable was happening. This was The Thing. How could anyone attack a messenger? The thought was inconceivable to me. I had no idea why they were even called messengers. It sounded way too harmless. They were power incarnate, the most feared beings normal persons would ever meet. Chasing and attacking one was unimaginable. I had heard rumors of rebels called The Reds, who allegedly wanted to overthrow the queen, but had discounted them as wishful thinking. Most importantly, even in the unthinkable case they succeeded, what would be gained by replacing black with red?

Still, it happened right before my eyes and it explained my father's hasty departure from the lookout post. He had already seen it, but as we had no guns, there was nothing he could do to help his malevolent master, except to wait at the main gate and close it behind him. I watched the race for a while, hoping they'd kill the bastard. I willed it to happen with everything I had. I was a bit worried about his nameless horse, which I had come to like over the years.

My father rushed to the gate to help his enemy, to help the man who had been systematically destroying him. This would have been the perfect opportunity to get rid of The Thing for good, without any recriminations. But no, what did the old fool do? He saved The Thing's life. Fuck. Just a little wait would have been enough. Just a few minutes until whoever had been chasing the damn crow was finished with him. No one would have blamed him. Why was he so keen on saving the man his wife had an ongoing affair with?

I could think of several reasons, but I didn't like any of them. Either my father was already completely broken, as I had feared for quite some time, or my mother reported to the queen and my father knew it. His failure to help The Thing couldn't be kept secret, then. Or, even worse, he knew that my mother wouldn't forgive him ending her long-term affair. Or, and that would be the worst, my father secretly enjoyed watching them. Shit, couldn't at least one of the answers shed a tiny bit of positive light on my parents? I felt the last remnants of respect for my parents leave my mind.

A crack in the distance broke my thoughts. Although I had never heard the sound before, I knew it was a shot. I admired the persons brave enough to chase a messenger who had a gun. They did what I burned to do. They fought the Black Queen and her evil minions. They weren't weak, broken puppets, like my parents.

I ran down the narrow steel stairs towards the main gate to see the arrival. Father had already opened the main gate like the idiot he was, letting gushes of hot dry air and dust invade the courtyard.

I had grown up with the sight of messengers arriving and leaving our small world. They had always visited us infrequently, but the intervals had increased from a couple of weeks or even days to sometimes months recently. Father had commented that this was a sign of the decaying empire, but we were generally too much out of the loop, here at the end of the world, to really know about such things.

The messenger's entrances were the only noteworthy things happening in our secluded world, and they followed a fixed choreography. First, my father opened the gate. The Thing rode into the courtyard, slowly, and preferably, amidst a dramatic cloud of dust. We held the reins, helped him wherever we could, while he mostly ignored us and immediately retreated into the messenger room.

This time, things were different and a little less dignified. As soon as the gate was open, The Thing galloped right through it, looking behind him, as if in panic. An arrow was sticking from his saddlebag. Although I had witnessed the scene from a distance, the sight shocked me. Messengers were close to gods in our world. Still, the arrow closely missing him was a clear proof of his vulnerability. My parents had already lost my respect, now my enemy seemed to be next in line.

As he stormed into the courtyard, he held his gun, pointing it behind him. I had never seen anyone actually use it. People in the village we sometimes visited for supplies had told me that a messenger just touching his gun was enough to silence any form of opposition. It was clearly not enough this time. There was a piercing whip-like sound as, for the second time, I heard a messenger gun being fired.

He obviously tried to fire it again quickly, but this time nothing happened. He briefly looked at the weapon as he was cursing and made the last few meters into the courtyard. He certainly knew his weapon very well, and had clearly expected it to fire again, but it didn't. This puzzled me, but I had no time to think about it.

He forced his black horse into a brutal halt, just as my father slammed the gate closed and locked it. We immediately heard faint thumping from outside, but were not worried, as the station was pre-war and pretty much impregnable. Still, the messenger kept looking behind him, as if in panic, which destroyed even more of his mysterious and untouchable aura.

Finally, he seemed to calm down, pulled himself together and tried to regain his arrogant attitude. For some reason, he looked directly at me, as if my reaction mattered most. Of course, his face was completely hidden under the hood and the shiny beaked mask, but I could have sworn he was embarrassed. Shaking it off, he dismounted the horse and strode into his room.

Later, after I had tended to his horse, as I lay on my bed and tried to sleep, it occurred to me how much this had shaken me. It was yet another sign of the old order crumbling, as my father had mentioned so often. Red rebels had actually chased and attacked a royal messenger in broad daylight. There had been faint rumors about such things, and I tended to dismiss them, but I had now witnessed it. Obviously, there was some kind of conflict going on out there and it irked me that I didn't know anything about it. Whatever was going on, if I was on one side it, it was definitely the wrong one.

Unable to calm down, I decided to go up onto the lookout platform and look at the stars, as I did often. I hid in a corner, as the darkness it provided seemed to enhance the brightness of the stars.

After a while, my father joined me on the platform, but didn't notice me. Embarrassed, I watched my father cry. It wasn't just a light cry, but soon turned into heavy sobbing. I remained in my dark corner and was glad when he went down again without having noticed me. Somehow, that would have been the worst.

I didn't know why he was reacting like this; he had made his own bed. He had allowed my mother and The Thing to have a long-term affair right under his nose. He had failed to seize today's opportunity to get rid of the messenger. We both knew where my mother was at that moment and we both knew it was the result of his weakness. Why cry about spilled milk now? I wished he wasn't so damn weak. I wished he could think as clearly as I did.

Still unable to sleep, I went down to the courtyard again, pretending to check the horse, just to have something to do.

In the perfect darkness and silence of the courtyard, time seemed to stand still. I relished the feeling. It was a clean and perfect moment, without the ugliness that filled my life. I wished it would last forever, but it was broken by a light scratching sound I couldn't place.

I cracked open the gate to see what made the noise. A wounded man in red rags lay in the dust in front of the gate. I quickly closed the gate again, not knowing what to do. During the chase, I'd heard just one shot, but this poor guy obviously had been unlucky enough to catch it. Just as obviously, the Red's companions had just left the poor sod in the desert to die. It took me only a second to decide the Reds weren't any better than the queen. Just leaving someone behind to die was unacceptable.

What about me, I thought. Was I any better? Could I leave him to die in front of the gate?

The station was strictly off limits for anyone but my family, the messengers and, technically, the queen. No stranger was allowed to enter the station; that was one of the basic rules instilled in me.

Still, there was a man dying outside, needing my help. Who had made those rules anyway? The queen everyone hated? The messenger I personally hated? My weak father? My adulterous mother? Why should I care about any of their rules? I had a stronger moral compass and more common sense than any of them.

I opened the gate.

The man was barely conscious, mumbling some kind of chant I couldn't understand. Tending to his wound right there was unthinkable, so I pulled him to the stables, which were my domain. The puddle of blood we left behind didn't look good. His moaning stopped at some point. I thought he might have died and caught myself being relieved by the idea.

In the dim light of the stables, I took a look at the wound. It was a clear shot into the belly and messy as hell. I had not much experience with gunshot wounds, but this didn't look good. I had some basic medical knowledge, but this was way beyond it.

He surprised me as he suddenly started to speak clearly.

"We almost got him, right?" He even tried to smile.

"Yeah, you almost got him," I replied, trying to look positive.

"Thanks for helping me."

"You're welcome," I said, although I didn't have the faintest idea what to do.

"Why do you do this? You're working for the Black Queen. We are enemies."

"I'm not working for anyone. I just grew up here and I never chose a side, but this might be the day to do so."

"What happened?"

I thought that he seemed to grow progressively weaker, but there wasn't much I could do, except keeping him company until he died.

"The damn messenger is having an affair with my mother. It is destroying my father and our whole family. I've been watching this for a long time, but today, something snapped."

"Messenger? That's the official name. We Reds never use that. They are the cockroaches. Yours calls himself Abigor, by the way."

"I think it's always the same one."

"Yeah, as far as we know, it's always the same one. We've tried to get him a few times, but he's sly. Today, we tried an open attack. Listen, I know I'm going to die..." Just to confirm this, he coughed some blood. "...totally worth it. He killed my family. Later, it turned out it was just a mix-up. He wasn't bothered at all."

"I will kill him."

"Girl..."

"Seriously."

He looked me in the eyes for a few seconds and nodded.

"Take this," he said as he placed a faintly glowing hi-tek object into my hand. I took it and the blue glow got bright immediately. Way too bright for the dark stable. I wished the glow would stop and it did so immediately. It was probably just a coincidence, but it almost felt as if it had obeyed me.

"You're a chosen one," he weakly said. It was actually the last thing he ever said, but he looked strangely content in the end. It was as if he was certain that I would finish what he had started. I didn't even know what exactly it was. Kill Abigor? Kill all the messengers? Kill the queen? All of this sounded tempting, but behind my general hatred, I had doubts about what would happen afterwards. Still, something clearly needed to be done. It was better to die trying than to end up as one of those helpless victims my parents had become.