The Messenger

I put it into the messenger's holster, which was now on my thigh. I felt a lot more secure with it. I could hardly just leave, but saying farewell personally might be too much for my parents.

A farewell letter seemed the way to go. They could burn it and feign ignorance when this fiasco was investigated later. I briefly confessed to having killed the messenger, said sorry to have left such a mess behind, explained that my leaving was the best solution and advised them to blame me for everything. I wished them well and told them to try to repair their marriage. I felt strangely composed as I did this, but suspected the emotional breakdown would come later.

This was the moment the last remnant of my childhood ended and that saddened me more than leaving my weak parents behind. I loved them despite their weakness and hoped to see them again one day.

I went down to the messenger's horse. We had really come to like each other over the years, and it felt like my only true friend sometimes.

With a heavy heart, I opened the gate, mounted the horse and left the station in which I had spent my whole life. It should have felt like leaving a prison, but it didn't. Trying not to look back, I rode through the cool night air for a while, relishing my freedom, feeling totally in control of my life for the first time ever. I felt calm and ready for whatever was about to come.

After a few kilometers, as day dawned, I finally looked back at the station sitting in the empty plain like a splinter. I had been outside many times, but not like this. I didn't belong there anymore, and suddenly it didn't look like home anymore, like a safe shelter, but hostile, like an impregnable fortress, made to keep me out. This was how outsiders felt about it, and I realized that was what I'd become.

It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea how to behave in the world outside. How did people expect to be treated by a messenger? Hell, I didn't even know where I was going. I knew where the next village was, but that was the limit of my geographical knowledge. I had no plan at all.

The messenger's horse, which by now I regarded as my horse, didn't have such problems. It just went where it was used to going. I thought that was a pretty good idea and decided I would make up a plan later, if I had to.

It turned out our first stop was the small, nameless village where we used to buy our food. I was familiar with some of it, but never enjoyed being there. I had always regarded the station as poor, but the total poverty of this place reminded me of how things really were. Unwashed people in rags were sitting in the dirt. Some privileged ones owned simple, empty huts made of junk. Many were obviously sick from eating poisoned or contaminated food. Everybody, even spoiled me, was able to tell which food to eat and which not. Only the truly desperate ones ate the bad stuff, and the results could be seen all around me.

In the past, our visits were always welcome, as we brought much needed cash when we bought top grade food. The village looked the same, but the open hostility towards me cast it in a completely different light.

Every single person turned around and stared at me. All conversations died. Some were bold enough to point their fingers at me. Right then, nobody was openly violent, but this was as far as they could take their defiance without an open rebellion.

My horse had come to a halt, as a circle of people had closed around us. The whole scene was still eerily silent. If this was how life as a messenger felt, I could do without it. Being hated by everyone would inevitably change a person. Even the gentlest soul would become what those people expected a messenger to be. Still, I doubted Abigor had ever been a gentle soul.

I felt panic starting to take control as the ranks of people, looking accusingly at me for things I hadn't done, began to close around me. On instinct, my hand fell on the grip of the gun.

The weapon reacted by trying to out-shine the glaring sun, blinding everyone, including me. Even my stoic horse became uneasy. The yellowish noon light was tinted blue, giving the whole scene a surreal aspect. The people around me were as shocked as I was and I was glad the mask hid my reaction. It was obvious none of them had ever seen a hi-tek item shine like this. It was as if the blue glare alone physically pushed people away from me.

Yes! This was what power felt like. I felt like a god among lesser mortals. I felt special, invincible and... stop! This was wrong. These were good people and they had every right to despise the messengers. By coincidence, I was on the wrong side of this conflict and shouldn't relish this power as I had.

To stop this madness, I signaled my horse to move on. We had come to understand each other with the smallest gestures. I think we were both relieved when we had left the village unscathed. Luckily, old Abigor carried plenty of rations in addition to money. I silently thanked him for his generous donation to my cause. I just needed to find out what that cause exactly was.

As I left the village, I entered unknown territory. The thought elated me until it became clear that even after hours and days of traveling, almost nothing changed. The desert had given way to the sparsest vegetation and a few hills appeared on the horizon. I saw black birds from time to time. I had always assumed some parts of the kingdom looked much better than ours, but what I saw so far didn't impress me.

Most importantly, there was not a single person in sight for days. The excitement was long gone. Although I resented my parents, I realized that I missed them almost painfully. I even missed the damn station. I was lonely and a bit homesick. If I sometimes felt insignificant, I also felt that, finally, something was beginning. I was doing something, not just having things happen to me. Besides, I was used to being alone and keeping my thoughts to myself.

I had plenty of time to think, as I let my horse take me where it would. We were probably going to wherever it was that messengers went, when they weren't out messengering or fucking someone else's wife. That was fine with me, especially as I didn't have any better ideas. The horse didn't seem to mind, either. I was probably lighter than Abigor, and I know I smelled better.

This "chosen one" business, now. Both Abigor, my enemy, and the dying Red, his enemy, said it. It seemed to have something to do with the weapons: they had glowed when the "chosen one" was mentioned. Chosen. By whom? For what? How did it fit with what I knew was right? For one thing, it seemed it meant the weapons wouldn't kill me, or let me be killed. That was a plus: at least I wouldn't bleed out while I figured out some sort of a plan.

We had settled into a nice routine, my horse and I. I knew how to get supplies and have my horse taken care of in small villages without any disturbance. The more aloof and arrogant I acted, the fewer problems I had. People just took my money, did what I wanted and never asked questions. Showing signs of being human and compassionate would only cause problems.

I wondered how this would change me if I had to do it for months and years, but pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I knew I would never become what Abigor had been. I had no idea why, though.

A few days later, I got the change I craved, but not in a good way. The first thing I noticed was some kind of path starting to form in the empty land. After a while, the path became clearer, mostly by the junk adorning it on both sides. Later, a town appeared in the background, clearly much bigger than the little villages I had left behind.

A few kilometers outside the town, I could vaguely see some kind of man-made pit. The stench implored me not to look, and I wished I hadn't. It was full of human bones and decaying corpses, carelessly thrown away like junk. I stood there, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. My parents had always told me how brutal the world was and how fortunate we were. I had always nodded mechanically, as they expected, but I was sure they were wrong. Fortunate was exactly what we weren't, I was sure.

It turned out they had told me the truth and the proof was right in front of me. The starvation and sickness I had seen in the smaller villages hadn't prepared me for this. I was heading towards a town full of people who didn't even bother burying their dead.

Not seeing another option, I continued to ride towards the town, but the complacency that had set in was gone in an instant. I intently watched my surroundings from that point on, noticing things I hadn't seen before. Animal bones, decaying machinery, piles of junk. I expected traps all the time, but nothing happened.

I always thought the station was simple and ugly until I saw the smaller villages. Upon entering this bigger town, even that place seemed like heaven. The stench was unbearable and changed all the time. Decaying organic material, feces, burnt flesh, it was all there in a dizzying composition.

The first person I noticed was a vicious looking, older guy with a long white beard and dark sunburnt skin. He had a long, jagged machete on his back as he was pedaling across the street on a tricycle. I looked around. Yes, there were other people around. No, nobody seemed to regard this scene as unusual. Neither the gaunt woman with the red painted face and the skewer through her cheeks nor the almost starved guy with the pot belly pulling some junk behind him, like a dog with a leash. Nobody seemed to notice anything, they all just seemed to stare ahead with empty eyes. The little tricycle was squeaking pathetically. I hoped it would collapse, just to break this unreal scene, but it refused to do so.

Everyone seemed to carry some sort of blade, from large knives to machetes to huge two-handed swords. Apparently, they were not just decoration but objects of daily use, as the countless scars and missing limbs proved. This was clearly a society based on violence and the law of the strongest. The messenger always had been the only intrusion of implied violence into my totally peaceful life and I had resented him for that. Suddenly, the whole messenger/judge concept made sense. This place really needed some kind of peacekeeping power, but never got it.

As no one noticed me at all, it seemed clear that people were used to visits from messengers. Either they were unable to keep any kind of order or they just weren't interested. I guessed it was the latter, as people were just as disinterested in me. They weren't hostile, they weren't curious and they certainly weren't friendly. Everyone was minding their own business, which mostly involved staying alive.

Shrugging, I continued on my way and noticed that although people hardly noticed me, they always kept at least five meters distance from me. I had the idea that messengers just shot anyone invading their space and guessed it wasn't far from the truth.

I heard some kind of grunting from my left and realized I hadn't heard anybody talking at all. It was as if humankind had unlearned speech, at least in this town. Their communication seemed to have regressed to an animalistic level.

I looked at the source of the sound and took in the sight, glad to have my mask hiding my astonishment. The man was tall and extremely wiry. The sun had burnt his skin until it was leathery, furrowed and dark brown. Like everybody else, his torso and face were painted with thick stripes. His were white, and I had no idea if there was a hidden meaning behind this. He wore a thick steel ring around his neck which looked like a slave collar, but could have been decoration just as well. A vast collection of deep ugly scars told his history of knife fights. Some of them hadn't healed and didn't look as if they ever would.

He grunted again, trying to draw my attention to the merchandise he wanted to sell. I looked at the shabby bowl full of muddy water. I knew how to recognize contaminated water, and this was the worst I had ever seen. Only really desperate people drank this, which meant most people in this town did.

Silently, I shook my head and moved on, undecided whether to pity him or be angry about his attempt to poison me for a small amount of cash. Like everybody else, including me, he probably didn't have much of a choice about anything.

After a while I got used to the weird people and felt quite safe, as they avoided getting close to me. Even small children seemed to know that rule, and I didn't want to think about how it might have been established.

Everyone was wearing pieces of metal or plastic, the larger the better. After a while, it dawned on me that they were hi-tek or even older pre-war machine parts. It almost seemed as if they were holy relics and people tried to incorporate them into themselves somehow. Maybe they hoped their magic would somehow rub off on them. I guessed the various piercings and the gruesome cheek skewer I had seen served a similar purpose.

I knew humanity wasn't in good shape, but hadn't expected anything like this.

My horse continued to lead the way until we ended up at what might have been stables and some kind of flophouse. The whole process was well established. My horse was taken care of quickly. Money changed ownership, I was shown a halfway decent room and was served an edible meal. No questions asked, no words were spoken and I was fine with that.

On the next day, I left my accommodation and walked back to what had looked like some kind of food market the day before, leading my faithful horse. The market was way too big for the pitiful amount of food on offer. The sellers had futilely tried to arrange it in a way that made their tables look less empty.

The meagre supply didn't seem to be a problem, as there was almost no demand. There were plenty of hungry looking figures hovering at the edges, varying from looking starved to almost dead. Their desperate eyes followed the few buyers as they inspected the food on offer.

I finally found some decent looking goods when I noticed a group of people, huddled together. They were notable as they were the only ones watching me. If they hadn't appeared so pitiful, I would have thought of predators watching potential prey. I shook off the idea, bought what I needed and went on, trying to get out of this hellhole as quickly as possible.

If this was how the bigger towns looked, the kingdom really was on its last legs. I had no idea if bigger cities existed and decided I didn't really want to know. It seemed misery was proportional to settlement size.

I made camp after having put enough distance between the town and me to feel safe. It was a nice spot that had obviously been used by others for that purpose many times before. Later, I realized this choice had been a grave mistake.

I had gotten used to the presence of my weapons. It was as if I had company, as if there was someone around all the time. In calm, introspective moments, like just before I fell asleep, it was as if I could feel how they used my eyes and ears to perceive the world. Both weapons were always acting absolutely in sync. It was as if they were one connected personality, using me, but protecting me as well. This personality seemed to know me, but I had no idea about it. It could be evil, it could be good, it might not care about mere mortals or morals, it might not even be advanced enough to have something like an opinion about anything. The weapons had saved my life, so I shouldn't complain. Still, it was like travelling with an alien and potentially deadly companion.

I thought about this while I fell asleep. Suddenly, the dagger under my belt started to vibrate. I opened my eyes, realized it was dark and I had missed a few hours. I looked around, but there was nothing but total blackness. I strained my ears, but apart from the horse's breaths and my heartbeat, there was just silence. Still, I could sense something around me. I could feel the danger.

When I grabbed my gun, it was pulsating as well. The slight blue shimmering my weapons showed so often was gone. That was good thinking, as it would have given away my position.

I heard some soft rustling to my immediate right and I tried to even stop breathing, afraid the sound would give me away. Fuck, how could they have found me in this total darkness? Because they know this area like the back of their hands, I answered my own question. Because I've been an idiot by setting up camp at the most obvious spot.

I heard another soft sound, this time even closer and to my left. I had no idea what to do. If I was suitably outnumbered, even my weapons wouldn't save me. My left hand then surprised me twice. First, I realized it held my dagger and I hadn't even noticed taking it. Second, it suddenly stabbed out to my left until it hit something soft.

There was a groan as response and I immediately felt my knees buckle. This made no sense, until I felt something fast swishing right over my head. My right hand, holding the gun, moved upwards effortlessly, even as I moved down and pulled the trigger. The sharp whip crack seemed obscenely loud in the total silence.

There was a fight to the death going on. I was present, but I didn't really participate, apart from my life being at stake. I felt like a passenger in my own body. I called them 'my weapons,' but had to wonder who really owned whom. They used my sensory organs and my muscles however they deemed fit.

My left hand didn't seem to be needed right then, but my right swept the area and pressed the trigger six more times. Although I still didn't see anything, I knew each one was a perfect hit.

I really wished to see something, to know what the fuck was going on, when the weapons complied and started to glow, illuminating a gruesome scene with an inappropriately clean blue shine.

I had just killed eight people. I looked at them, shocked, and immediately started to find justifications. They had tried to kill me. No one had forced them to. Except, when I looked at the half-starved figures, something had forced them to. Their choice clearly had been to steal my food or die trying, or to starve. I could almost hear their thoughts. They knew it was going to be risky, but it was success or at least a quick death. Anything was better than the misery they had been in.

Calmly, I looked into what was left of their faces. There was a couple and their adolescent son. There was an old man with a missing arm. One man had a really bad looking infection on the left side of his face. I couldn't tell whether the right side was affected as well, as it was gone.

None of us had a choice. It wasn't a massacre, it was self-defense. I was still me. The justifications went on and on, but I felt like it had changed me. I was more hardened and less caring. I did not like that idea.

I couldn't sleep there, so I packed and saddled my horse in the weapons' blue light. I had a long way ahead of me, at least I guessed I did, and a lot of thinking to do.

I thought about the day Abigor shot the Red while he fled into the station. At least the question whether the guns could fire repeatedly was answered now. Still, my gun had only given Abigor one shot, just enough to shoot the poor Red. I realized that shot had only been granted to kill this Red. The man had died, only to give me that dagger. It seemed like such a terrible waste.

The weapons' purposefulness and ruthlessness scared me and I was glad they were on my side, at least for now. A tool was being used, and that tool was me. I had changed from a caring person to a ruthless killer, and that decision had not even been mine. I didn't like that thought, but the alternative of being dead wasn't really appealing either. My survival depended solely on the weapons; without them I was totally unfit to survive in this hostile world. I was afraid if I wasn't already down to Abigor's level, I would soon be. I had better figure out some way to avoid that.