The Messengers: The Painted Word

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Messenger! . .Hey, Messenger!"

Warbling birdsong battled with raucous crow calls in the new green of the nearby maple grove. It took the large man a moment to realize he was the one being called, but he pulled his hood closer around his face before he turned to face the middle-aged woman running down the village road towards him. "Can I help you?" Then he noticed she was distraught, and he tensed up even more.

"Have you heard? The Prince Consort is dead!"

The man's blood ran cold and he stood there, frozen. The bright spring day felt as if it were turning black. He barely noticed the woman lose all composure and cry openly. Finally he willed his suddenly dust-dry throat to give voice. "D-dead? He can't be. . ."

"It must have been some kind of accident! He was too--he was too young."

The man's head snapped upward. "Did someone say it was an accident, what happened?"

"No, no one's said anything. It must have been an accident because he wasn't sick. . .I couldn't believe it, either. But it's true. You can ask the other Messenger in the square."

"Oh." The man turned, his spear hanging loosely in his hand, headed out of town instead.

"You're going to tell people?"

"What?" he asked woodenly.

The woman took a few steps to follow him. "Your assignment takes you away from the Capital. You're going to spread the word?"

"Yes, of course." As an after-thought he added, "Go lightly."

"Go lightly," she murmured, her face wrenched with sorrow.

He said as he walked away, almost to himself, "It's a desperate kingdom that has no ruler."

* * *

"I graduated over a month ago." Malachi of Ophiniel stood precariously on a wooden table bench dragged out to the hall mirror while her mother arranged and studied the length of the young woman's new long, wool-like cape.

"Yeh, well, the village wanted your graduation celebration to coincide with the festival." Malachi frowned to herself, seriously doubting that the graduation of a Messenger from a larger city was a civic event. And her northern province of Cael proved doubly provincial; the Festival of the Ancient Archons was merely a paid government holiday most places. Perhaps a cause for some informal parades in the three Capitals and for outdoor, spring parties of varying degrees of abandon for anyone else who needed the excuse. But in her part of the kingdom it was the biggest market day of the year, a time for spring homecoming. Remembering her classmates from secondary school would be at the festival, Malachi suddenly felt cold and sour in her stomach.

Muriel of Ophiniel placidly ignored the three house cats who suddenly rampaged through the front hall then just as quickly moved the rollicking chase elsewhere, and she examined the specially-made pockets inside the front flap of the gray-green cape made to hold a Messenger's calligraphy pens. "Mom, it's fine--"

"Can't you just let me take a second to enjoy this? after five years of training. Really, the whole town wants to see you look like the perfect Messenger."

Malachi scoffed as they heard a snort of laughter from her little sister Tandal in the other room, then pushed her mom away when she tugged at the new laced, white blouse. "I think this is as good as it gets." She felt guilty when for just a moment her mother's eyes showed hurt. "I only meant, here everyone is making this huge fuss over me, but back at the Capital I'm just another Messenger."