The Tattooed Heart (Messenger of Fear 2)

Messenger came to me and opened his arms. I wanted so very much to go to him, to be wrapped in his embrace for the first and last time. But I said, “I am not to be touched.”

Messenger shook his head. “I know the images that will fill my mind. I know the pain it will cause, but the greater pain would be in not saying farewell.”

He took me in his arms, and I felt him stiffen as each of the horrors we had witnessed together once more flooded his mind. But he did not pull away, and I held him for a while. How often had I dreamed of that moment? But now it was different than the emotions I had imagined. I was not holding the Messenger of Fear. I was not holding the boy I had longed for. I was saying good-bye to a friend.

We separated at last.

“Go to her,” I said, making no attempt to conceal my tears.

“As you wish, Messenger,” he said.

“But hey . . .”

“Yes?” he asked.

“I suppose you won’t be able to see me. I’ll be . . .” I sighed. “And you’ll be . . . But I wonder if you’d mind if from time to time, when it’s all too much, you know, I wonder if you’d mind if I sometimes looked in on you.”

“I will see you here,” he said, and touched his heart.

Then, he was gone.

I was alone with Daniel.

And I realized that I was dressed differently. I wore a dark coat that fell to my knees. There were boots on my feet. Rings on my fingers. And to any mortal eye I allowed to see me, I would appear as a girl of uncommon beauty.

I used the sleeve of my new coat to dry my eyes. I took my time because if there’s one thing Daniel did not lack, it was time.

I looked up at last. “I have things to do, don’t I?”

“You do indeed,” Daniel said.

“I still don’t know his name.”

Daniel nodded toward the golden tablet where the letters were cooling but still glowed.

“Michel?” I read. I don’t know what I expected; it was a good French name. And I could see him as a “Michel.” Now. But in the end it was just a name, and not very important.

Just as my name was no longer important.

For I was no longer Mara.

And I was no longer an apprentice.

I would bring terror to the wicked, and to teach me humility, I would be marked with the memories of that terror. I would be alone for a terribly long time. I would feel pain and sorrow. But I would feel joy as well. I would serve Isthil and the balance She maintains.

I would fight to preserve existence itself.

For I am the Messenger of Fear.