Chapter One: The Final Message

So here we have an excerpt from the Messenger. This is the first chapter of the book, which I figure is as good a place to start as any.

Please enjoy.

The Messenger

Chapter One: The Final Message

                “It’s not your fault, you know.”

                I glanced at the elf out of the corner of my eye, the quill in my hand dripping ink onto the page I had been writing for him. The words were in no way related to the message I had written thus far, and yet it seemed oddly relevant to my own thoughts.

                “I’m sorry?”

                He managed a grin, painfully struggling with each word that escaped his lips. “You’re going to make a dying man repeat himself?”

                Looking around the rest of the medical tent, I wondered if there was some other person to which he spoke, but none presented themselves. He was most certainly referring to me. “To what do you refer, Lieutenant?”

                “Whatever it is that has your mind elsewhere.” The elf replied, glaring at me intently with one eye as he cringed with the other. “You’re a wanderer, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

                “This is no time to concern yourself with my affairs, Lieutenant.” I said, motioning to the paper in front of me. On it held his last words to his family, which up until that point I had been diligently transcribing. “You have much more space for whatever you wish to say.”

                “…but very little time.” He added, looking straight up at the ceiling of the tent. “You are too formal, Messenger. My family already knows how much they mean to me. I’ve told them on many occasions, at every opportunity, because I knew this day would eventually come. Yes, write them that I love them. Do so as many times and in as many words as you see fit.”

                He rolled his head slightly to get a better look at me, though he winced the second he moved. His time would soon be at an end, and he had already made peace with that fact. It was impossible to deny, not with the bits of shrapnel that could easily be seen through the bandages around his chest and stomach, wood that once made up the very ship on which he had been manning.

I closed my eyes at the painful sight, knowing good and well that his time in this world was almost at an end. I knew little as to what caused his injury, although I heard that his ship had been attacked by Ogsans.

It was a fairly typical story during wartime, but I wasn’t there for the details. I was there to help. And that help meant getting him to tell me what he wanted me to write his loved ones. “I trying to help you, Lieut-”

                “You, on the other hand, concern me.” He said.

                “You hit your head, didn’t you?” I asked, trying not to seem too frustrated with him.

                He grinned with great effort. “Perhaps.”

                “Then I’ll tell you again: do not concern yourself over my matters.” I said. Motioning to the parchment, I encouraged him to continue. “While you still live. Please. Think of your family.”

                “But I’m already dead, don’t you see?” He frowned, not even having to explain his words. “You’re not living, you’re existing. I can see it in your eyes. There is no pleasure in life for you, no reason to live, no purpose. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to simply give up, which is why you are here, yes?”

                I sat there a moment, stunned. He certainly wasn’t wrong, but there was no way I would allow myself to focus upon my own beautiful regrets. Not there.  I tried to brush it off. “You could say that to just about half the wanderers out there and be right.” I said, “Doesn’t mean you are now.”

                “Ah,” he replied, “but I have the feeling that I am. You are running away from something that you blame yourself for, something that not only ruined your life, but the lives of many others. You…” he paused, as if somehow recognizing something about me he hadn’t before. “You think this was all because of you, don’t you? You think it was your bullet that caused this mess.”

                I looked about the room, concerned someone else would overhear. When I realized no one else was paying us much mind, I leaned forward, whispering in the most threatening growl I could muster without being too loud, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about her.” He motioned at the ceiling once more.

“Who are you?”

                “Tailon Danahan by name, but just a man.” He said, though it was hard to understand. “I’m a man whose hours have run dry. You need not fear what I know.”

                Still, quite paranoid that someone might hear, I lowered my voice further. “You know not of which you speak, elf. I would recommend that you think of your family at this time and not of me.”

                His eyes drifted off, looking at nothing. Yet, he still remained conscious of the world, resting eyes with a single, extended blink. “Very well.”

                I put my quill back to the paper. “Continue, while you still have time.”

                He opened his eyes, staring at me as if to study me. After a moment or two of silence, he finally spoke again. “You seek redemption.”

                “No,” I said, becoming increasing frustrated. “What I seek is closure for your family.”

                He hummed, partly in pain but mostly in thought. He licked his lips, “The friends I could have relied on went down in the same fight that put me here. You are a man of your word, are you not?”

                “Aye.” I nodded. “Of that you can be sure.”

                “Then I am finished with this letter.” He said, taking a few breaths before speaking again. “A pair of promises I ask of you.”

                I frowned, pointing the tip of my quill at him. “I make promises to no one.”

                “Nurse…” he began to moan, holding up his arm.

                I quickly batted his arm down, whispering loudly. “Alright. Fine. Your way it is. What do you want me to promise?”

                “Promise me first.” He said, his voice becoming weaker by the moment. “Promise me you will do as I ask.”

                I hesitated, unsure of what he may ask of me. To make an oath I would typically require knowing to what I was swearing. Yet, in this instance I had little choice, at least until he passed. With the least amount of honesty I nodded, though I told myself that I would only agree were it something I could actually promise to.

                “I have a daughter. Belesprit is her name. She is somewhat… estranged. Not unlike yourself, I suppose. Yet she is still my blood.” He said, the memory more painful to bring up than his own physical wounds. “Years have passed since we last spoke, and I… I wish to request forgiveness of her. Please, when you meet her… ask her to forgive the foolishness of her father, as he did hers long ago…”

                It was a heartfelt and simple request, but I could not bear to lie about relaying such a message. I began to shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I-”

                “I’m not finished,” he interrupted. He knew his time was short, and would not have any further pause as he spoke his last wishes. With a few last gasps of air, he managed to ask this second task of me: “My family will be taken care of. Of this I ask and nothing more. Of you I ask… this… please.”

                Of that request I could not answer aloud. Not that it would have mattered much, as at that exact moment his final breath had been taken, the light leaving his eyes. It was an occurrence I had seen all too often, one of which I refuse to ever grow accustom. His death was most troublesome for me in that I never said a word in reply.

                The nurse arrived a short while after, checking his pulse before looking at me with a frown. With a shake of her head, she slowly covered Lieutenant Tailon Danahan with a sheet. It was all could do to continue my work that day, as his final request tugged at my mind despite my effort to simply forget it and move on.

                For me, this had been just a job. After all I was a wanderer, a man for temporary hire. I had no stake in the Lieutenant’s war, I had no stake in whether his family lived or died. I was in this for the money.

                At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself, but I wasn’t very convincing. How could a good man deny a request like that? Perhaps heeding his request could, in some way, recover my own lost nobility.

                I made my leave of the oppressive air of the medical tent, taking a small stack of letters to a soldier who waited outside of the opening. I gave him each correspondence, one at a time, making a count as to receive the proper reimbursement for my efforts. Yet one message I kept back from the stack as I came across it, letting it hover over the tally for a moment before pulling it back.

                “What’s the matter, stingy?” The man said, quite annoyed at the dely. “Your arm cramp up?”

                It was right then I promised myself that night I would honor Tailon’s final request of me, if not for him than for the peace of mind it would bring me. “I… I wish to deliver this message. Personally.”

                The soldier raised his eyebrow. He apparently did not hear me correctly. “You wish to do what now?”

                I cleared my throat, and with a bit more confidence, and perhaps a slight bit of sarcasm, answered him a second time. “Let me rephrase; I accept the assignment to bare this correspondence to its terminus at the requisition of the recently departed Lieutenant Tailon Danahan.”

                “Right.” He nodded, but it was not because of comprehension, or even a lack thereof. It was a simply a matter of trust, and he obviously did not trust me. Where I in his position, I would completely understand his attitude. More than likely they would want to review each message as to keep some military secrets from being divulged or what not, but I was determined to respect a man’s final request. There was no way I was going to back down easily.

                I continued to hold the letter, motioning at it with an unwavering glare. “I insist.”

                The soldier said nothing for a moment, irritated yet amused. Finally, with a grin, snatched the rest of the letters and wrote down a number on a slip of paper. “All right, smartass,” he growled, handing it to me and motioning over to the command tent, “but it’s not up to me. You’re going to have to take it up with the Captain.”

                “Then I shall.” I said, plucking the paper from his hand.

                Leading me over to the opening flap, he less than graciously opened it for me and waved me in, following only after I entered. Inside, an older officer sat at a small table, hunched over a stack of papers with a glum look on his face. This was Captain Rankin.

                As he continued to write, he acknowledged our intrusion without even looking up. “What is it?”

                “I’m sorry, Captain, but this wanderer wants to deliver a message.” The soldier said, his contempt for me more than showing through his voice as he repeated his best impression of me: “Personally.”

                Only then did the Captain glance at me, pausing his work for the briefest of moments before returning. “Thank you, Private. I’ll take it from here.”

                “Aye, sir.” The soldier turned to leave, managing to squeeze in one final frown at me before he left.

                The Captain said nothing for a few moments, leaning slowly back into his chair as he looked me over. It was a look that made me more than a little nervous, yet I remained still and firm until he finally spoke. “You seem familiar to me, wanderer. What’s your name?”

                “Mercher, sir.” I replied, swallowing. “Mercher Channing.”

                “Odd name.” He said, mostly to himself. He folded his fingers together and leaned forward in his chair. “Alright, ‘Channing,’ if that’s your real name, let me be clear on a few things. First, this is a rather unusual request from a stingy. Second, I don’t usually grant requests from the likes of you. Third, I don’t like you.”

                The Captain continued, motioning to the work he had laying out on his desk. “Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past eight hours, Channing? I’ve been writing my rather impersonal condolences to the families of those who never got the chance to say what those men in that tent did. That is not to say that these men don’t deserve as such. Right now all I really want to do is rip out the hearts of those responsible.”

                There was very little of me that could not comprehend his anger, and thus I nodded. “I understand…”

                “Of that I doubt highly,” he cut me off, rather irritated that I even dared to speak, “‘A sense of vengeance a wanderer may have, but of loyalty they have little,’ or so the saying goes.”

                Saying nothing, I looked at my feet.

                He paused for the briefest of moments, taking the time to release the shortest of sighs. “But to do my job, I need as many men here as can remain. A man delivering these is a gun I could have filling Ogsans full of holes. And, though it pains me to say, you’ve already done these men and their families a great service to be on hand to write these letters for them. I’ve also had several of my men go as far as to recommend you based on past service for their personal correspondence. A messenger is your primary vocation, is it not?”

                “Aye.” I said, a reply as truthful as it could be at that moment.

                He hummed. “Then despite my better judgment, I’ll humor you as to why you would even want to bother. But,” he said, holding up a single finger, emphasizing his point, “you need to give me one damn good reason not to laugh your sorry butt out of this tent right now.”

                While I understood his position, I couldn’t help but feel angry at the man. It took me a minute to reign in my composure so as to not chew the Captain out, but he simply saw it as a sign of hesitation. Of fear.

                He leaned back in his chair, motioning for me to explain. It was a rather intimidating gesture, which he followed shorting after with, “Let’s hear it, if you please, Mr. Channing.”

                “Because,” I began, “to be quite honest, he asked me to.”

                Rankin hummed a frown. “He asked you to? That’s the best you can come up with? No old debt to settle or sob story?”

                “I don’t tell sob stories, Captain.” I said. “I tell the truth.”

                “The ‘truth?’” He grinned. “You want to know something funny? For some reason I believe you… despite my good sense.”

                I said nothing in return, simply awaited his decision.

                He stood, flattening his palms against the desk. “You surprise me, Channing, most men of your stature would lie to get what they want.”

                “I am not like most men, sir.” I said.

                “Indeed.” He nodded. After a momentary pause, he gave his answer. “Alright, I will approve your request on condition.”

                “Such as?”

                He reached down, picking up several more envelopes. He then held them straight out to me, motioning for me to take them. “You take and deliver these as well. Unfortunately, my men need me here more than they need me attempting to comfort the grief-stricken widows of their comrades.”
                How thoughtful. “Of course.”

                I reached out to take the letters, though he added one more thing before he allowed me to take them.

                “I cannot approve any extra pay aside from what we’ve already agreed upon. This is entirely volunteer on your part.” He said, looking at me as if expecting me to drop the job right then and there. “Though I suppose I could offer a meal?”

                “Keep it.” I said, pulling just a bit harder. This time he let go. “Thank you, sir.”

He seemed impressed by my answer. He did his best to cover it up by sitting back down at his desk, but the look on his face said everything he refused.

I turned to leave.

“Godspeed, Mr. Channing.” He said.

I stopped, turning slightly as I raised the flap of the tent. At that moment I wasn’t sure where this could eventually lead me, but at the time it felt like redemption. Had I known what events would be put in motion when I walked out of that tent, I more than likely would have just thrown the letters back in his face. There wasn’t anything stopping me from doing it, either. But looking back now, well, maybe it was worth it.

“Thank you, Captain.” I said.

With that I stepped into the night.