The Carrier Pigeon, Page 2

The Carrier Pigeon

  This is the story of two children playing in the woods. The time was an era before years were significant and when the world was less populated. Scholars would guess that these events took place in a year that was only triple digits, though nobody knows for sure. If one was to hire a medium and interrogate the two protagonists, they wouldn't be able to give a clear answer either, for their memories have been lost to the sands of time as their lives have aged and left them with far more prescient memories of their romances, struggles and achievements of their brief time on this earth.

  Let's begin at the outskirts of the story by introducing our two protagonists with an average age of 9. Their names are Margaret and Duncan and have spent most of their lives in an uneducated city where they live in a shanty full of parasites. If you were to pull up their sleeves, you may find some bumps along their arms from parasites. This is the reason that they have come to enjoy spending as much time away from the house during the day as their father attends to business in town and mother serves as a wench somewhere.

  If one was to seek guidance around the woods, Margaret and Duncan would be a pretty safe bet. Because of their free time, they have been able to find hidden tunnels that the rivaled southerners used to sneak into town and steal goods. They didn't know exactly why these two land masses hated each other, but they learned not to question it after mother smacked Duncan for asking such a foolish question. It left an impression on Margaret to never open her mouth on issues regarding borders.

  On this day, Margaret was running away from something in the woods. As she held a stick in her hand for protection, she climbed over rocks and patches of grass. She considered climbing a tree, but knew that it would limit herself if the tree were to fall over. She was agile enough to risk jumping from branch to branch, but didn't know if she had enough time to properly do it. Mother had complained about her coming home with a bruised shinbone one day and thus she only took calculated risks that would help her long term. This chase wasn't one of them.

  As she approached the outskirts of the trees, she saw an open field. As a deer ran off in the distance, she looked behind to see someone still chasing her. She decided to go into the direction of the deer. As she looked up, she saw a flock of birds flying west. Blocking her hand from the sun, she kept running through the open field, occasionally having to jump over muddy holes and far worse.

  As she headed back into the forest, she looked out at the southern town. It looked rather festive on this particular day. She saw flags and spears being risen. She saw debris flying. There were men in armor on horses that were screaming. They were nowhere close to her, so she didn't find any threat as she began to navigate her way around the trees. She looked up and saw an owl sleeping. She looked over and saw a squirrel circling a tree with acorns. She also felt her legs starting to tense up.

  It was starting to approach 10 minutes of consistent running. She had started this venture from the house and didn't stop despite mother's beckoning call. The town looked festive when she left and she wasn't sure why. They were bringing out horses and wearing their fanciest outfits. She thought about it, but not too much in fear of running head first into a tree. As she reached another clearing, she came to a direct stop.

  She was at the foot of a river. Looking both ways, she noticed that there was no way around it. She could try swimming across, but the distance was too much for her. As she found a boulder, she decided to rest for a moment. When all else seemed hopeless, she fell to the ground and spread out her arms with her eyes closed. Her heaving chest was a dead giveaway that her death fakery wasn't going to work.

  The footsteps stopped before her and she did her best to ignore it. Physically, she was trying to push away the force with her eyes closed. However, as a stick poked her, she let out a loud scream before looking up. With a smile, she saw Duncan staring down at her. Holding up the stick, he swung it around in triumph as he began to walk towards the riverbank. He picked up a stone to skip it around the river. After three successful skips, it gave a loud crash into its grave.

  "You're dead," he said with a laugh.

  "Not fair," Margaret said while brushing dirt off of her blouse, "Why must you always play the lead role?"

  "Because," he said with a smug grin, "I'm better. It's what father would want. And besides," he said while pointing the stick at her, "I'm not going to be taken down by my little sister."

  "Oh yeah," she said standing up.

  She approached without caution and with dark eyes. Her body still trembled from running for so long. As she approached the smiling boy, she stopped. With a smirk, she held out her hands and pushed him into the river. As he flailed, she laughed for a moment as Duncan yelled his revenge to her. He tried to grab her, but her height proved to be favorable. It wasn't until he grabbed her long brown hair that he managed to thrust her onto the ground. His wet clothes dampened hers.

  "Quit it!" she said while flailing.

  "Where's the fun in that?" he laughed while shoving the stick into her armpit, "There, I killed you again."

  As the two continued to bother each other, they heard a loud thud nearby in the forest. As the two stopped, they got up and walked towards the trees. As Duncan took initiative, he walked over to the tree from where the noise came from. Using the stick, he pushed aside some grass before finally seeing what the noise was. With wide eyes and a deep fascination, he gave out an ecstatic laugh.

  "What is it?" Margaret said from outside the trees.

  "It's a bird," he said while poking it, "And it looks like there's something on its leg."

  "Duncan, don't..." she said as her brother reached down to an unknown object, "It could be sick."

  "I doubt it," he said while poking it, "But it is dead. Clumsy thing must have flown into this tree." he said while looking towards the sky, "I don't know how."

  "What's that?" Margaret said, pointing to the paper that Duncan retrieved.

  "Give me a moment, will you," he said as he unfurled a small paper. Lowering his eyebrows, he scratched his chin, "I don't know what this means."

  Margaret pulled it away from him and read it aloud, "Stuck in tower. Send help. Harold Carson." she looked over, "What does that mean?"

  "Don't rightly know, Margaret," he said while walking back to the river.

  "But this bird must have been sending it to someone important." she said while analyzing it again, "Where do you think the tower is?"

  "Don't rightly know. I've never been into the town before."

  "It could be where the king lives. I've seen lights come from the castle's tower the past few nights. That's probably it."

  "So are you suggesting that this letter was for a southerner?"

  "Yes."

  He stood and stared out at the river for a few moments. He let the sound of running water soothe his mind. He thought that he heard swordplay off in the distance, but it might have been a rustled up paper. Looking back, he cried, "We can't help him."

  "But why?" she said while holding up the letter, "He clearly needs help and mother said never to ignore the wounded."

  "That's for the northerners, Margaret," he said while skipping another stone unsuccessfully. "If we gave this letter to a southerner, we'd be providing an invitation for anyone to come and make themselves welcome in our town."

  "What's so wrong with that?"

  "Have you seen a southerner? They're ill tempered and violent types who wish to burn down the north. Now tell me," he said while leaning in, "Do you want that?"

  "But what if this was for a northerner stuck in the south?"

  "Not likely," he said while pointing to the sky, "Look at the direction of the other birds."

  As she stood there, she looked and thought of some way to coax her brother into agreeing, "Maybe the bird's retarded."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Retarded. You know, he's not right in the head." she said while tilting her head, "Did he have a clipped wing or a broken leg?"

  "Not sure," he said as he pi
cked up another stone, "Was poking it too much to tell the difference."

  "Let me see it," she said while running into the forest to retrieve it. She didn't have any issues with picking it up. As she looked at it, she noticed that the bird felt different. A few of its features felt bruised and its head wasn't the familiar oval shape. Looking at its leg, she tried to make sense of what exactly was wrong with it.

  "You know what," Duncan said as Margaret came back out with the bird, "Maybe the old fool just grabbed a bird out of the sky and put the paper to its leg." he laughed as he sat down on the grass, "It's so silly to think for a moment that any bird is capable of carrying notes for humans."

  "It's happened before," Margaret said while spreading out the bird's wings and observing its wingspan, "Remember the story that father told us?"

  "He's a chronic liar."

  "I choose to think more highly of the man who raised us," she said as she found nothing particularly wrong with the bird, "This bird is quite peculiar."

  "Quit wasting your time, Margaret," he said while looking over the river, "There's no way that we can get that letter to anyone. We don't even know who it's for. And it's not like we can do anything," he laughed, "We're just kids."

  As Margaret finished observing the bird, she placed it on a rock out of the way. As she looked at the paper, she looked over the river and saw people walking. She wasn't sure if they were armored men on horseback or a wandering traveler. She tried to get a better view, but couldn't do much without crossing. By that point Duncan was laughing at her and about to fall asleep as a few bugs began to crawl over him.

  "We have to do something," Margaret said while growing anxious, "What if he's the man the message is for?"

  Duncan looked across the river, "What if he's a murdering psychopath? Why would you want to risk it," he yawned, "Let's just head back into town. Mother should be home soon."

  As Duncan began to walk away, Margaret became too fascinated with the man across the river. As she saw her brother disappear from sight, she decided to hold her breath and began to wade across. Duncan didn't care. As far as his story went, he headed back to town and never spoke about the incident with mother. When mother asked about Margaret's whereabouts, he shrugged his shoulders and claimed that she was out with another one of the many friends in the surrounding area. Speaking as Margaret was a trustworthy girl, it wasn't too much of an issue for mother.

  Meanwhile, Margaret had managed to make it across the river. As she crawled up the riverbank, she balanced herself on a rock. She could see the person wandering around. As she pulled out the note, she tried to read the name on the parchment. With a sigh and some shakes, she ran towards the man, dressed in simple garments that draped over his stocky build.

  "Excuse me sir," Margaret said while clutching the note with ease.

  "Are you lost, little girl?"

  "I have received this letter from a dead bird and I was wondering if you could help me find someone."

  "And who might this be?" the man said in a bemused voice as he slumped down to look at her face directly. The man had a thick brown beard and was likely in his mid-30's.

  "Harold Carson."

  "Harold Carson?" the man said while scratching his beard, "That's a peculiar name. Where does he live?"

  "He's stuck in a tower and I don't know where it is."

  "Why, little girl," he said while waving his hand around, "There are many towers around these parts. Would they be in the north or south?"

  "I'm not sure," she said while watching the note smear from water damage.

  "Well, it wouldn't be wise to head south," he said while patting her wet shoulder, "War has just broken out and the village is nearly destroyed." as he looked forward, he puckered his lips, "In fact, I don't know that it's wise to head north, either. I have word that there's a massive attack coming soon."

  "Then where should I go?" she said, "I need to give this note to the right person."

  As he laughed, he walked towards the riverbank and sat while looking across the river, "My dear, I know you mean well. Please take my advice when I say that it's best if you let this letter go. If you don't, you may be captured and killed by southerners."

  "What is this war about?" she said while eying the rock where the bird was roasting.

  "I don't rightly know," he said while letting out a sigh, "I choose not to get involved with knowing these things. It helps me sleep better at night."

  "When will it end?"

  "When they have a winner."

  "How do they pick a winner?"

  "Process of elimination."

  "Don't you think that Harold Carson deserves a chance at winning?"

  "Well, little girl," he said while standing up, "I think he is safest in that tower right now. To send for help will only put him more in harm's way."

  He stood up and the two parted ways. As she sat alone by the riverbank, she tried to read the note again. As she looked over at the bird, she kept thinking about how pointless that bird's death was. She needed to complete Harold Carson's quest. Letting out a loud sigh, she decided to stand up and walk into the forest. The strange thing was that despite a life of exploring every tree, this was a new experience for her. She had never crossed the river and didn't know if there was any strange creature or terrain on the other side.

  For the most part, the journey was very familiar. Not all that much was different. As she reached the end, she found a field and another deer running. She saw birds flying and the sun beating down on her with the same purposeful heat. She held her hand up to block the sun as she headed through the empty field and reached the edge of infinity. Once she was there, she saw the south.

  It was underwhelming, especially since nothing had really happened to it. Save for a few familiar rundown shanties, the place felt like it had the same model. She even thought that it was possible that the parasites congregated back and forth each day. It made her laugh as she noticed that everyone was dressed very similarly. She even felt like she saw a doppelganger running around a nearby butchery. She stopped to approach the window where a brute man was slicing up a pig to a desensitized crowd of people.

  As she found someone standing around, she tugged on his pant leg. "Excuse me, sir. Do you know a Harold Carson?"

  As he shook his head, Margaret kept walking around. This became a redundant pattern until she felt no choice but to finally approach the castle. When she noticed that there wasn't any tower, she knew that Harold Carson was likely imprisoned north of the border. As she walked into the castle, passing nervously by soldiers, she walked up to a random man in fancy clothing that was infatuated with some food that he was playing with.

  "Excuse me, sir." she said as he turned around abruptly, "Do you know a Harold Carson?"

  "Harold Carson?" he said while holding his chin, "Harold Carson, why yes. I know a Harold Carson."

  "I received a letter from him about..."

  "I overthrew Harold Carson months ago. He didn't know how to run a country. He was too brutal to his people. I sent him to a prison north of the north. How you came to receive a letter from him is absurd."

  "I found a dead bird in the forest, and..."

  "That's even more appalling," he laughed, "Unless he attached it to one of those pigeons that wither away, I don't see what he was thinking. Pigeons are scum."

  "So, I took this journey for nothing?" she said while crumpling up the paper.

  "You could say so, my dear," he said while touching her shoulder, "Are you from the north? I can tell by your accent." with a nod, he smiled, "I will have my man ride you back to your home at my expense."

  "But sir," she said with nervousness, "What about the war?"

  "War?" he laughed, "There is no war. Who told you that?"

  "A little birdie." she said as she prepared to leave on the back of a horse who had her home within a half hour. As she saw the countryside, she noticed that everything that Duncan and the stranger had said were lies. Everything was peaceful and probably serve
d as an excuse to keep her from getting lost. As she arrived at home, her mother seemed paranoid that a southerner had returned her child. Margaret would laugh because she was the only one who knew just how dangerous the south really was.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Thomas M. Willett is a writer based out of Long Beach, CA with a passion for film, TV and getting inside your head.

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  © Thomas M. Willett, 2015