Of Mine Enemy

chapter eight

Clocks are impatient. They turn night to day, pressure the feet to hurry. Time infects the blood, sickens the mind, worries the hands until they tap, tap, tap, tap on wooden tables while the world waits. Waits for what? It doesn't matter. Soldiers marching to the tick-tock of an angry fist. Perilous seconds separating a soul from life and death. Alexander hated clocks.

A little boy sat cross-legged in front of a towering monstrosity, his head swinging back and forth with the sway of each second counted by the grandfather clock rooted in the halls of his father's establishment. He was meant to be seated somewhere out of the way, where, if he were needed for some strange reason, he could easily be located. Of course, though, finding the company of the house maids and kitchen ladies quite unbearable, Alexander had scuttled along, taking post in front of the endearing object that chopped away time second by alluring second. He never understood how it worked - how such simple gears and creaky metal could carry on and cry out every minute lost. Alex found it redundant to peer at a circular face. It unnerved him to find his reflection in the glass covering the cogs. The contraption was ugly - made for his father personally. Supposedly, there were no other clocks such as this one in the world.

Alexander found this hard to believe.

His father was always persistent in his tellings - there was not a thing Alexander could create that would fair better than his mastering of something long practiced. How could a man make something so unique, if it had not yet been done? Alexander placed his hands on the glass, shoving forward to test its sturdiness. The clock didn't teeter. Leaning closer, Alexander pressed his forehead to the cool glass and peered through the murky wood, searching for the ticking gears inside. As he pulled his face away, he caught the swiftly approaching company of his father and the men he'd hailed from Arlua. Eyes widening, Alex leapt to his feet and scurried behind the cover of the clock just as they drew close, peeking from around the bend of the clock.

"She requests that we meet her unarmed," one of them was saying as his father marched angrily down the red-carpeted halls. "I am no fool, but perhaps it would be better if we obliged, sir? Maybe she is serious - a treaty could draw her to our side. They will not disobey their leader."

James skidded to an abrupt halt, swiveling around to face the man speaking. He seemed rather startled that Lord LeRoy had whirled with such intensity, his hands drawing to his chest, crunching a pad of parchment he'd been scratching notes on. Alex sank further under cover, his little fingers holding tight to the pristine wood. Brown eyes danced over strangers, before they settled on his father.

"I do not care what it is Saiorse Addinell wants," James told his men quite fiercely, his fist curved together as it fell to rest over his heart. "She is a part of the darkness endangering this kingdom and we must be rid of her."

"Will her followers not pursue us?" The older man questioned, wrinkles creasing his eyes while he questioned his captain. James met his gaze without any uncertainty, shaking his head once. Alex drew his lip between his teeth, wondering who Saiorse was and why she was part of the darkness. Why would someone favor night over day? You couldn't play when it was dark. Alex felt sorry for her.

"They will not know who took her," James explained in a hushed voice. "I will not allow my children to walk the same earth as satanic beasts." He looked to a smaller man, pudgy and perhaps far older than the rest of them. He too, seemed rather conflicted. James pointed his finger at his chest. "I want every lavender stem in a mile radius brought to my home. Crush it and make a liquid. Forge an arrow with it." He turned away from them, leaving them to watch as he took his leave. He spoke over his shoulder. "If Saiorse is gone, so is their confidence. You cannot have a world without order. Kill Saiorse Addinell - you kill them."