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He notices five months into their friendship, and he feels like a fool for not noticing earlier. It's only when the courier removes that gray headscarf he's always wearing, that Joshua Graham sees the scars. They're very small, and easy to miss. Two parallel lines around the neck, not continuous, but like tiny dots made of scarred skin. The kind of marks a slave collar leaves when tied on too tightly, for too long. Graham sees, and he is concerned.
He knows this courier didn't come to kill him, and it's foolish to worry about that now. The White Legs are gone thanks to him. The Dead Horses and the Sorrows are healthy and strong, because of him. They opened their arms, and the courier accepted their embrace. He's learning their language, their customs, making friends with everybody. He's a humble man, a kind man, ferocious when it comes to defending what he cares for, but noble and calm even in the heart of the storm.
No. The courier is a child of Zion now, and a friend of Joshua. There is no room for resentment in his heart.
Another five months pass. The courier has become his right hand, his lieutenant, his friend. He helps him with his bandages when the tribe healers aren't available. He began sleeping next to Joshua two moons ago. Now they share the same bighorner hide in the cold nights.
It happens one night, when the courier leans against him, their foreheads touching and their breaths relaxed and even. The courier gently kisses him, harsh bandages separating their lips. He never complains, never expresses frustration about it. He accepts it.
The kiss is returned with a warm embrace, and they exchange a lot of words that night. Concern and doubt plague both their hearts. But by the dim light of a dying fire, the decision is easy to make.
He can't see the Courier's body in the dark, but he feels it. His hands roam his naked body, his bandaged face a caress against his skin, sweeter than any kiss. He remains covered, only his vest gone, because it's not a choice he can make anymore. But he feels the courier's heat under his fingertips, and this heat makes the pain feel muted, distant. He feels desire, something he didn't believe himself capable of anymore. He feels blessed and unworthy, but eventually accepts the happiness, little by little.
He feels the scars on the courier's back before he can see them.
He hesitates for a moment, and when he realizes what they are, he finds them impossible to mistake. They're wide and long, heavily pronounced, carved into his skin with angry determination. They're lashes, too many for Joshua to count with only his fingertips to feel.
The courier says nothing, but he goes quiet. His respiration stills. Joshua can't think of words to comfort him, so he opts for embracing the courier's shoulders and bringing him closer. The courier breathes again, pleased. His arms embrace Joshua with gentleness, their weight comforting to him.
He sees the scars in the morning light. The courier sleeps next to him, his naked body splayed on the bed. They are faded, but they still look red on his skin.
He covers the courier with a fur. Protecting him from the cold, not trying to hide the evidence of his past. The courier stirs, a soft smile appears on his face. Joshua says nothing.
Weeks pass. Joshua needs to know, but he can't bring himself to ask. The words come to him one rainy morning, with the courier resting against his chest. His arm holds him close, as he caresses the man's shoulder. His hand wanders. He ends up touching the scars.
“How did you not attempt to kill me the moment we met?” he asks.
The courier smiles, but there's a bittersweet pain in his heart.
“You know I'm not that kind of man.”
He remains silent until the courier asks if he wants to hear more. He doesn't, but he nods. He wishes he could ignore it, pretend that the courier was never enslaved by the Legion. But this is a thing he needs to know about the man he loves.
“Where?” he asks.
“In Arizona.” the courier begins. He closes his eyes and nests his head against Joshua's neck. “Back in 67.”
Joshua's mind races, trying to recall his whereabouts around that era. The Courier confirms his fears.
“Around Phoenix.”
He closes his eyes. Tries to remember, to recall the faces of each slave serving in that settlement. If he had seen the courier there, he would remember. He could never forget his eyes, full of peace and wisdom. Or perhaps he could. He hates the thought, that he was so close to this man in the past, but he was too blind to see him.
What he does remember is his campaign at Phoenix. He remembers the Swift Bloods, the Lanzas, the Sons of Aguila, and a few other minor tribes they conquered that year. Phoenix is where they processed those recruits. Phoenix is where he broke the souls of thousands of soldiers.
Joshua gives thanks to God, that the courier didn't belong to any of those tribes.
He can't find words, because even a sincere apology feels hollow. The courier shifts on top of him, and he feels him reach for his bandaged hand. He grabs it tenderly, and once their fingers are intertwined, his grasp tightens. It brings Joshua little comfort.
“I was sent to the ruins of the industrial district, to survey old world technology.” the courier narrates “The officers tried to set me apart from the other slaves, you know? My skills were valuable. They tried to pamper me. I refused. They didn't like that. They threatened to send me with the scavengers permanently, since I liked hanging with them so much.”
Joshua knew the role of the scavengers, stripping down old world buildings for materials. It was rough and dangerous labor, with the constant danger of collapse, and exposure to toxic debris.
“Their conditions were so poor, I tried to help them as much as I could. I didn't have any decent medical equipment, so I used my privileges to sneak in stimpacks and med-x. I got caught and reprimanded a few times.” the courier pauses. He takes a deep breath, and he resumes his tale. “One night, I got 15 stimpacks into the scavenger's camp. Seven workers were badly injured, and I knew healing powder wasn't gonna cut it. They recovered, but I got caught. I got a lash for each empty needle they found.” Joshua feels the courier chuckle against his chest. “They only found nine.”
Joshua manages a smile, as he feels pride for the man.
“I assume they didn't let anyone tend to your wounds.”
“Yes. It was a painful few weeks, but I was kept working the whole time. Legionaries would bring me old schematics and spread them on the floor, while I was in bed. I explained them and they took notes.” The courier slowly gets up and looks Joshua in the eye. “Having something to do helps keep the mind off the pain, doesn't it?”
There is a smile on his face, but Joshua doesn't feel the humor in his heart. He continues holding the courier's hand, as he speaks.
“I saw you” the courier says. “A few times. In the training grounds.”
He doesn't need the courier to continue, and fortunately, he doesn't. Because Joshua can remember each day in perfect detail. He remembers the shouts, the insults, the constant beatings. Discipline and order, no room for mercy. Man after man, broken and bruised until they fell in line. Broken and bruised until they obeyed, and when they failed.
He remembers cutting a decanus' arm while his men watched. He remembers dragging a recruit through camp, defacing him with a brand. He remembers his sins and regrets, day after day, night after night. Too many to count.
The courier senses his distress in the way he closes his eyes, in the way he frowns, and his body tenses next to him. He leans forward, his nose brushing against his, and Joshua opens his eyes. The courier whispers.
“Vengeance can't change that. Nothing can. God has changed you, and that's all that matters.”
He knows the courier doesn't believe as strongly as he does, so each time the man acknowledges his faith, it brings happiness to his heart. His words are wise and comforting, and once again, Joshua finds himself undeserving. This man loves him with a love so strong, it casts his shadows away.
He smiles, and the courier's face lights up. He looks beautiful in the morning light. They look into each others eyes for an eternity, unable to look away, until the courier softly kisses the bandages over his mouth.
“A new day begins...” he says, arching his eyebrows.
Outside, the skies respond with a distant thunder. He wants to think it's God's way of telling him to stay in bed a few minutes longer.
The courier is a man of science, but today he feels like listening to God.