The Messenger

I carried his corpse back through the main gate and cleaned up any blood trails so my father would find him lying outside and not ask questions.

Later, in my room, I lay on my bed, my heart still pounding. Finally, something was about to change. Anything was better than just living a lie like we did. Sleep was out of the question, so I inspected the object the Red had given me.

It was still dark, as I had wished it to be in the stables. Rationally, I still assumed it had been a coincidence, as simple me controlling a hi-tek item by thought seemed inconceivable. In the stables, it had looked like a single object, but closer inspection revealed it was a dagger in a sheath. The materials and shapes were so similar it was almost impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. It was surprisingly light.

The thing was black. Totally black. It was the blackest thing I had ever seen. Not a speck of light was reflected. It was as if a bit of reality was missing, replaced by a black nothing.

One end was cylindrical, the other was pointed, and the shape smoothly transitioned in between. Cautiously, I pulled it out of the sheath. I expected a shiny blade to appear, but it was just more black nothingness. I couldn't imagine such a matte-black thing could cut anything. A quick test with my finger confirmed this. What was supposed to be a cutting edge was completely dull.

On a whim, I pushed it into the bedframe. To my shock, it went through the old hardwood like butter. I quickly put it into the sheath and tried to calm down again. How was that possible? Even if the thing was extremely sharp, entering the wood like this should have been impossible, with as little force as I had used.

Of course, hi-tek was a synonym for magic, so I shouldn't have expected a worn-out bread knife. Becoming bolder again, I took it and ordered it to glow again. I could control the brightness effortlessly. Even though I was afraid of the blade, this was going to be handy just as a lamp. Then I remembered the blade had refused to cut my finger and the Red had called me a chosen one. I had no idea what that even meant. Chosen for what? By whom? How? And how had he known? Was there a mark on my forehead or something? Too many questions. But as I fell asleep, somehow, I knew my day was coming, maybe quite soon.

Our lives were hypocritical at the best of times, but after each messenger visit, we lived a slow-motion nightmare for a few days. The tension was as thick as the smiles were insincere. My father was clearly depressed, I was angry and my mother tried to act like everything was just peachy. I spent most of my time in my room, the stables or at the lookout post, watching the stars and trying to come up with some sort of plan to stop this madness.

I really tried my best not to hate my parents. I smiled at the right moments, but I didn't try to look sincere when I did. They knew that I knew what was going on, and I wasn't about to let them forget that. My sense of justice wouldn't allow it.

It was just shit. They talked and talked, but nothing but shit came out. Inconsequential things. Anything but the elephant in the room. There was no use in screaming in frustration, no use in starting a huge argument, no use in anything. Frustrated, I stared into the distance as they droned on in the background.

For once, I was glad for the desolated landscape. It matched my mood perfectly. I felt like some disillusioned old person who had seen enough of the world to know that the place was shit.

I looked briefly at my mother. Her fake cheeriness. The pretend loving doe eyes she made at my father. Her pasted-on smile. Was life inevitably like this? Did we all start out clean, just to end up soiled, like the smiling cheater sitting across the table?

My father wasn't much better. When I was young, he was my giant. My rock. There was nothing he couldn't do, nothing he couldn't protect me from. Now, I saw a broken weak man with sad eyes, pretending everything was fine. Pretending his wife wasn't cheating with a guy, just because he had a gun. Pretending I didn't know about it and still respected him.

I swore that I would not live like my parents. I would die first.

I knew the basics of life. It was mostly dull routine, interrupted by a few important moments. All I needed to do was not fuck up when one of those came. It seemed so laughably easy that I wondered how even my dumb parents had been able to fail. I could have asked them, but what was the point? They weren't honest and they probably wouldn't understand my point anyway.

When I couldn't stand their thinly veiled misery, I wordlessly jumped up to do something. Anything was better than this. Any chore was welcome, and luckily, there were always plenty available. Anything was better than slowly watching my father rot and decay and his smiling wife, who caused this, right next to him.

This time, nobody followed the messenger. I had no idea if any of the Reds from before were still alive. I somehow felt they weren't. The Black Queen wasn't exactly famous for her forgiving and merciful ways. She certainly wouldn't tolerate a direct attack like the one we had witnessed. Of course, I was just guessing. Maybe such things happened all the time, with a queen powerless to do anything about it.

The scene in the courtyard was as awkward and humiliating as it always was. This time, though, it seemed the messenger looked at me far longer than usual, and it gave me the creeps. My mother watched us, her usual fake smile pasted on her face.

It seemed I didn't know my mother at all. If her true personality was still there, it was hidden under layers of pretense and that damn smile. Essentially, she was a stranger, living among us. Losing her like this must have devastated my father even more than her ongoing affair.

At night, like I had done many times before, I hid in the corridor and waited for my mother to show up. I had no plan, just the vague feeling something needed to be done. I refused to live like this any longer.

My mother appeared from my parent's bedroom as always, clad in just a light robe, with that eternal smile. I wanted to punch it from her face, but tried to focus my hate on the messenger instead. My mother was weak, I decided, while the messenger was the true evil. The Thing. Abigor. I wanted to keep his name in mind when I destroyed him.

I thought about following her into his room immediately, but decided to wait. I would catch him when he was weak, after having sex with my mother. As usual, it took just a few minutes. After my mother had returned to my dad, still wearing just the robe and the smile, I looked at the closed door to the messenger room.

It looked like any other door in the station, made of old hardwood, almost black and plain. For years, I didn't even like to look at that door. Touching it was a sacrilege, opening was totally out of the question. Only my mother ever entered it, to keep it clean and have her affair.

I had the wildest fantasies about the room behind it. They took a life of their own, until it became a vast hall, full of unimaginable riches, with a muscular and intimidating messenger sitting on some kind of throne. After I had grown up way too soon, I dismissed most of them, but I still expected the most luxurious room in the station.

The reality was slightly more mundane. The room was almost empty, shabby even, but spotlessly clean. There was just a bed and some kind of wardrobe, on which his black apparel, including his mask, was hanging.

To top it off, there was no intimidating, powerful man to be seen. Instead, I saw a pale and smallish elderly guy with a pot belly and a shriveled penis looking mildly surprised. His appearance was not exactly enhanced by the socks he was still wearing or his ridiculous combover. He wasn't just pale; his skin was sickly yellowish. The whole thing made me think of decay. His paunch was weirdly detached from his scrawny body and the smell was nauseating.

I wondered how my mother was able to stand this. One thing became crystal clear, she wasn't doing this because she physically desired this man. This made what she did a little better, but not much.

The only thing emanating power was the gun lying next to him on the bed.

"Ah, honey, want some as well? You are right, it's about time. I would have taken you soon, anyway. Just wait a bit, I will need a few minutes to recharge. Take off those clothes for me, will you? I'd like to see the goods first."

With that, he started to fondle the thing between his legs. I just stood there, stunned and frozen.

"This is really my favorite station. Entertainment is great and it's even on the Queen's orders."

"What?" Whatever that meant, it didn't fit into my view of things.

"Yeah, she ordered me to visit your parents ever since they got sent to this station. They are the only reason for me to come here. There's nothing else around this shithole worth mentioning anyway. Rumors say that your dad and the Queen were a couple once. It seems one of them had an affair and they split. I have no idea why, but it seems she sent them here as soon as he got together with your mother. Good way to get rid of someone, if you ask me. That's when she assigned me this area. I don't know why, I've never been a big hit among women, but the queen specifically told me what to do with your mother. She's a beautiful woman, I've always enjoyed this. Everyone wins, you see? The queen has her will, I have an easy assignment with some extra entertainment."

"Apart from my dad."

"What?"

"He doesn't win."

"Who gives a fuck about him? He's lucky to have such a wife and this safe post."

"Well, and my mom."

He chuckled a bit. "Yeah, she always acts as if she doesn't enjoy it, but that's just our game. Deep down I know she does."

"You know that this is rape, right?"

"Well, young lady, it would be rape if I said so. I'm the judge around here. Come here, I will show you what else isn't rape as long as I don't say so."

He slowly started to get up and I watched in repulsed fascination as his pot belly moved in front of his body as if it was a separate life form. Luckily, as he stood up, it hid his flaccid penis. To my horror, he started to advance on me, a lusty grin on his face.

I moved backwards until I felt the door at my back and cursed myself for having closed it. On the other hand, what would have been gained if it wasn't? My parents would be unable to stop him, anyway. They clearly were powerless victims in this, as I was about to be. I needed to keep them out of this.

"We're going to have fun, little one. You're eighteen, it's about time. You're mine now, like your mother is. The Queen will be delighted."

"Get away from me." Damn. I hated how my voice quivered, like some frightened animal.

"You're going to enjoy this; your mother sure does. Just imagine what this is going to do to your father. I'm afraid it's going to kill him on the spot." I could smell his foul breath as he chuckled. "The Queen might give me a bonus if it does."

It felt like my arms were soiled when he gripped them and pulled me towards the bed with a surprisingly forceful grip.

"Let me go. This is rape," I pleaded, and hated myself for pleading.

"I am the judge around here and I say it's education."

All I could think of were his ugly penis and the dagger I had tucked in my belt. They seemed to be made for each other, but there was nothing I could do. He had turned me around, clutched me from behind and pinned my arms to my body as he started to slobber my neck and groan.

Finally, he used his right hand to grab my breast, which gave me the leverage to break free and run to the door. I had to force myself not to leave the room, though. This needed to be resolved there and then, if only to protect my parents.

He watched me with genuine interest, like a predator watching an easy prey.

"Oh, this is good, my little one. It's so much more interesting if they resist a little bit."

"Yeah, I bet they all resist. Look at you. You're ugly as sin. No woman would look at you if she could avoid it."

He looked at me, stunned, clearly not used to hearing the truth. Then he started to smile.

"You know that I'm going to kill you, right? I just haven't decided if I'm going to kill your parents as well. And, of course, there's always the question of how slowly am I going to do it? Am I going to make them suffer? How much fun am I going to have? All that depends on how nice you are to me now."

"You bastard." I was sure, should I have the chance to think about this later, I would wish to have replied in a million more pithy ways, but that lame line was all I could think of right then.

"Maybe. Yes, probably, even. Still, I'm the one with the gun and you aren't."

He picked up the gun and aimed it at me. Suddenly I remembered the dying Red, and the dagger he'd given me. I pulled it from its sheath and pointed it at him. It remained dark, while the Thing's gun glowed slightly, as it always did.

He started to laugh. "You came with a knife to a gun fight? Maybe I should shoot you now and use your body as you are dying. Hey, maybe I should even make your parents watch. Would you like that, little one?"

Damn, if any human deserved to die, it was certainly this sick bastard. All I needed was a plan how to do that and not die before I could. I wasn't going down without a fight, though.

His piggy little eyes stared at me for a moment. I swear I saw him drool. It was all I could do not to puke. While it might have been fun to watch his reaction, I had my dignity to preserve.

"A nice belly shot. It will take twenty or thirty minutes for you to die. That will give me plenty of time."

Totally focused on his finger, I watched him pull the trigger. Like an idiot, I tensed my belly muscles, but nothing happened. We both looked at his gun, equally puzzled. For the first time, I saw a messenger gun completely dark.

"Fuck! Not now. Not when I can have so much fun," he whined.

I looked at my own weapon, which had started to glow again. The shine got stronger and stronger, until even the cursing messenger noticed it. Finally, the blue light was almost dazzling.

"What the fuck?" he asked. "You're a chosen one. That can't be. We haven't seen one in... I don't know... You're not supposed to even have that..."

Suddenly my hatred for this Thing and all he stood for blazed bright and hot within me. I didn't make a conscious decision, but my legs and right arm sure did. I could have sworn it wasn't my brain that was controlling them. It was the dagger that made my feet move and the dagger that made me lift my hand. The dagger made my arm do a perfectly elegant arc, with the messenger's neck at its apex.

There was no resistance, just a faint red line on his neck that got wider quickly. The dagger toned the glow down to just a light shimmer as the messenger pointed at me accusingly. Clearly, some killing was what he had in mind. He did seem to object to being on the receiving end, though.

"Abigor," I said as he slowly crumpled. It was the first time I ever said his name. I could have said all kinds of shit, like 'die, you bastard' or 'you deserved this,' but it seemed idiotic to keep talking to a dying man. I just watched him bleed out in silence.

He was dead. I stood over him, very much alive. I had sworn I would kill him, and I had. I didn't feel like celebrating; it was more like, finally! Something had happened that was right.

Then it suddenly dawned me that my problems had just begun.

I was standing inside the forbidden messenger room, right in the middle of a royal messenger station and was looking at the bled-out corpse of a messenger. What I had was a bunch of problems. What I was clearly lacking was an idea how to proceed.

One thing seemed certain. Life as I knew it had come to an end. I didn't know if that was a good thing or not, but it didn't matter. I might be dead meat, but I needed to keep my parents out of this mess somehow.

The penalty for killing a messenger would be a gruesome death, that much seemed certain. Not just for me, but probably for my parents as well. Even in the unlikely case only I would be executed, my parents' safe life in the station would come to an end. It would be wrong for them to suffer for what I had done; I felt the need to protect them. They meant no harm; they were just too weak to handle life.

That meant they were also too weak to confide in. I would have to handle this on my own. First, how would I get rid of the corpse? Next, how could I vanish from this station? If I was gone, maybe my father would be free to do what he needed to do about my unfaithful mother. Even more importantly, vanishing was the only chance to save my parents' lives. I decided to just leave the messenger there for my father to dispose of. If the corpse was never found and I was gone, they might be safe.

The solution was as obvious as it was elegant. The messengers always wore masks. Well, except when they were raping someone, apparently. I was quite tall for an eighteen-year-old girl, while he had been rather short for a grown man. His clothes would fit me with no problem.

I took a last look around, thinking about the station, my parents and life in general. Already it seemed to be fading into some historical twilight, as my new life opened up before me. I washed the mask before I tried it on. It had always looked so frightening, but on close inspection, it was mundane, cheap even. It was polished metal and attached to the head with a simple string. The raven's beak didn't seem imposing anymore, it just looked ridiculous and like a hindrance. At least the boots were pretty nice and fit surprisingly well. I had plenty of time until sunrise, so I washed the clothes enough to get the Thing's stench out of them. I dressed and looked at myself in the mirror. My long brown hair was well hidden under the hooded robe. I looked exactly like he had and didn't like that thought. All I had to do now was not become what he had been.

The only thing left to take was the gun. It still lay on the ground where he had dropped it, black, inert, but still threatening. It had always been the symbol of absolute power, like a mandate given by God. It seemed like a sacrilege to take or even touch it.

On the other hand, it had either malfunctioned, which might mean it was useless, or refused to kill me. In that case, the gun and the dagger had decided on the outcome of the fight. They had agreed on who was to live and who had to die. Their reactions had seemed synchronized. I was beginning to accept that those weapons had some kind of will of their own. If they had, they seemed to be on my side, at least for now. They certainly weren't on Abigor's, and that was food for thought.

Hesitantly, I extended my hand. I half expected to be struck by lightning, but instead, the gun started to glow. The light was pulsing slightly and seemed to welcome me. I thought about what the Red had said about being a chosen one, and with an effort, I picked up the huge weapon.

Like the dagger, it was surprisingly light. This was the first time I could look at a messenger gun closely. Its shape was as simple and elegant as the dagger's. It was just a tube with a small hole at the front end, a grip and a trigger. It was as simple and functional as it could get. Although it must have been very old, it looked brand new.

The grip surprised me by changing shape and molding itself into my hand. I felt the dagger in my belt vibrating slightly. It was as if they were communicating with each other, or with me.

I had heard of old, pre-war guns that needed to be loaded with ammunition. Nothing hinted at that. Apart from the trigger, there were no discernible features. I already knew it sounded like a whip when fired, and it didn't seem to shoot bullets. It seemed that it couldn't be loaded, which was a good thing as I had found no ammunition among the messenger's belongings. It obviously shot energy only, wherever that came from.