The Messenger

Art by Christian Sarvela - 2021

The bell rang from the high castle. The deed was done, the blood was spilt, and the Golden Throne was empty.

In walked The Messenger, his robes a deep black, his tunic a dark red, and his eyes an enchanting blue. He approached the Silver Throne facing the floor as a sign of solemn respect, his hood pulled low over his face. The only weapons he possessed were his words. His only goal was to bring news.

He knelt before the Silver Throne, the seat of the Silver King, the occupant of the Silver Castle, which stood atop a silver hill overlooking the Silver City. The king’s silver beard stretched towards his silver belt, his hand held a slender, silver staff, and his feet shuffled in his silver slippers.

The Messenger paused, waiting for the Silver King to give his usual words of welcome. Instead, there was silence. The Messenger raised his head, filling his eyes with confusion and worry.

“Sire,” he said, “I bring news of the King from The Golden Kingdom.”

The silver staff hit him fast without warning, his head snapped back from the pain and shock. The Silver King recoiled his silver staff back to his side, scowling in disgust.

“You bring scheming and trickery, do you not?” the Silver King scoffed. “Was one assassination not enough for your power hungry malice, boy?”

The Messenger’s face stretched into a sly smile, “And how have you heard of such news, great Silver King of the Silver City, if I had not told it to you first?”

The Silver King smiled, though the smile appeared to have no traces of friendly intent. “I have other ways of knowing the occurrences of the kingdoms, boy. Do not mistake me for an old fool.”

The Messenger laughed heartily, “Oh, you misunderstand me, my king. I simply believed I was your only source of knowledge from the other kingdoms. I believed I was the only one who was allowed to pass through the ancient gates after the Great Schism. I am the neutral party you have all declared as your servant.”

“As I said, boy,” the king leaned in closely, “they were only rumors, nothing more.”

“Well then,” The Messenger remarked, “tell me what you know, and I shall tell you what I do. Then we might be able to compare our… rumors…”

His words trailed off towards the end, the emphasis put on the last word. The king was afraid of being seen as an old fool, was he? Well, The Messenger wouldn’t be seen as a young one.

The Silver King rose to his feet and beckoned for The Messenger to do the same.

“Let us take a stroll,” he waved for his servants to exit.

The two men walked side by side towards the gardens outside, the fresh air smelling sweet in the summertime breeze. The sky was bright, yet cloudy. The Silver City stretched below their wide balcony with its silver streets, silver brick buildings, and silver-leafed trees. It was a calm summer morning, very few were out in the city, for no one knew yet of the news from the Golden Kingdom. Why, that was for The Messenger to deliver.

“Tell me then,” the Silver King asked as he overlooked his kingdom below, “how was the deed done?”

“One of his servants slit his throat in his sleep,” The Messenger shook his head with true sorrow. “Blood splattered on his golden sheets.”

“Your tricks do not work with me, boy,” The Silver King faced The Messenger, holding his gaze. “Tell me news that is true, the news you say you have sworn to deliver.”

“Well,” The Messenger smiled, “if you wish to hear the truth, I shall deliver it.”

“That is what I wish.”

The Messenger breathed in deeply, then began, “Well, it’s your wife, sire. The Silver Queen appears to fancy the servants from the fifth wing of the castle. In fact, she slept in your bed of silver sheets with him just four nights ago under the silver stars while you were away in battle.”

The Silver King seemed appalled, “Why--why no… I don’t believe this to--How do you know of this?”

“Oh, I hear many things. But most of all, sire, I am a very perceptive person. You see, The Silver Queen wasn’t very keen to meet me today, now, was she? She knew I knew and was afraid if I knew what she thought she knew I knew, you would know the new news she thought she knew I knew.”

“That is true,” The Silver King frowned. “Yet, now I know the new news she thought she knew you knew.”

“Yet she does not yet know you know what she thought she knew I knew.”

The Silver King’s face contorted into a scowl, “I shall apprehend her and that traitorous servant at once! She shall be put in the silver dungeons! She shall--”

“Wait, my sire,” The Messenger interrupted calmly. “I wouldn’t be so quick to call the guards…”

“And why is that?” The Silver King’s face was red with anger.

The Messenger leaned in close, “Because the guards are scheming.”

“Scheming?”

“Yes, scheming a scheming scheme of deceit to overthrow your regime,” The Messenger whispered. “They may have been seen scheming their scheming scheme recently?”

“Yes!” The Silver King’s eyes widened. “I’ve seen the schemers scheming their scheming scheme.”

“What sort of scheme scene have you seen?”

“I’ve seen a scene of them scheming the scheme while the sheen of their swords gleam!” the king exclaimed, then his voice shrunk down to a whisper. “Whatever will I do?”

“Well, if there is no one in the castle to turn to, you must rely on other allies,” The Messenger advised.

“Yes!” the Silver King smiled. “I’ll have the people of my city assist me! A rebellion! Only this will be a revolution led by the kingdom's own king, in an effort to cleanse corruption from my own castle!”

“You mean the reed farmers of your villages?” The Messenger asked.

“Why, yes!”

“I’m afraid then that you did not read what the reeders have been reading.”

“And that is?”

“Well,” The Messenger replied, “The reeders read what all the readers of the reed villages read, and they read that the reeds need more feed (red reed seed) but they have no red reed seed. However, the reeders read that the red reed feed could be freed from your greed. So, they agreed that you must bleed for your greedy deed, keeping the red reed seed they need.”

“But I committed no deed to keep the red reed seed!”

“That’s what you believe.”

The Silver King pulled violently at the few silver hairs still left on his head in frustration, “Do I have no one left to trust?”

“Perhaps not,” The Messenger calmly examined his finger nails.

“Well then, I--I…” the king was in a panic, his kingdom was crumbling around him. “I--I don’t know what I shall do… I--”

“It seems as if the world is not what you thought it to be…”

“No, no. Not at all,” the king looked over the railing of the balcony. “My queen is a liar, my guards are traitors, my farmers are rebels.” He paused, continuing to look off the balcony, “It appears… I have nothing left to live for in my Silver Kingdom.”

Then, the silver king jumped, falling to his city below, waving his silver staff, his long, silver beard blowing in the wind, before colliding with the silver road below, creating a single splatter of dark, crimson red in an endless sea of silver.

The Messenger called for the guards, “Ring the bell from the high castle! The deed is done, blood is spilt, and the Silver Throne is empty.”

And so goes on The Messenger, his soul a deep black, his victim a dark red, and his eyes a devilish blue. He travels to the Bronze Kingdom facing the floor so as to not be seen, his hood pulled low over his face.

The only weapon he possesses are his words. His only goal is to take power.