Enmity

Prologue

   The boy lifted his dark eyes from the burgundy carpeted floor as he saw the door to his father’s study briskly open out of the corner of his eye. A man, approaching his mid-twenties, emerged from the study, dressed in a brown overcoat.

   His striking brown eyes reallocated themselves onto the boy, who was patiently sitting on a wooden bench opposite to the door, twiddling his thumbs over his interlaced fingers from boredom.

   “Your father wants to speak with you.” He said, running a hand through his short, thick brown hair.

   The boy drew his bushy eyebrows together. “About what?”

   “Something very important.” The man vaguely replied, raising the hood of his coat over his head. “I must be on my way now. I’m very sorry we didn’t get to that game of chess I promised you.”

   “It’s fine.” The boy said grimly. He was a tad saddened that the man was already departing within an hour of his arrival.

   The man walked over to the boy and placed a large hand on the top of his head. “I’ll see you in two days, little man. Hope we can have our game of chess then.” He slightly muddled the boy’s long, thin black hair before he strode off down the hallway and exited the manor through the main entrance.

   The boy readjusted his hair with his thin, lengthy fingers and peered inside the study through the half open door. His father, a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair much like the boy’s own, stood on the far end of the room. His gaze was set on the severe blizzard raging outside the study’s large panel of windows.

   Gradually, the boy rose to his feet and strolled into the study, positioning himself in front of his father’s desk.

   “What’s the matter, father?” He asked in a minute voice, grabbing his father’s attention.

   His father turned to regard him, revealing a strained look on his face and a glass of whisky firmly placed in his right hand, a quarter full. He wore his usual maroon vest over his white linen shirt, and brown pants.

   “There’s something very important I must tell you, son.” he stated.

   “Well, what is it?” The boy asked after a short pause.

   “I’ll be leaving home today.”

   “And go where?”

   “Far away.” He replied, taking a sip of his amber-coloured beverage.

   “Can I come?”

   His father hesitated. “No, it’s too dangerous to bring you.”

   The boy could feel his eyes start to well up and sting, yet he managed to hold back his tears. “Why must you go, father?”

   A sigh escaped his father’s voice. The boy knew very well why his father was leaving. He was given the explanation frequently, yet he couldn’t help but repeatedly ask.

   “To make the world a better place, son.” He replied in a dull intonation, taking another sip of his whiskey, this time draining the glass. He placed the vacant glass down on his desk and walked over to a neighbouring cupboard, where he retrieved a glass decanter full of more whiskey.

   First Jason leaves, now father? The boy thought. Can this day get any worse?

   His father began to replenish his empty glass with more whiskey, but abruptly stopped as he noticed a tear running down his son’s right cheek. He placed the decanter down, and took a seat in his leather armchair behind his desk.

   “Sit.” He gently ordered, gesturing to one of two auburn armchairs on the opposing side of the desk. The boy complied and took a seat in the armchair closest to him, wiping the tear with the woolen sleeve of his navy blue sweater.

   “I understand you’re sad, son. Not everything in life goes the way you want it to.” his father said. He took a short pause subsequently, his eyes tightly fixed on the decanter and its contents. “I may never see you again.” He finally divulged.

   “Why, father?” The boy’s voice cracked.

   “This war…” He replied, his voice trailing off. “I honestly don’t think I’ll make it back alive.”

   “So why go then?” The boy asked frantically, more tears streaming down his pale cheeks.

   His father let out a dry laugh. “It’s hard for you to comprehend. You’re only nine, but in time you’ll understand. Some people have to die for a better cause.”

   “But what will happen to me and mother?”

   “You must take care of her now. You’ll be the man of the house when I leave.” His father said. “But, Jason will visit once in a while to check up on things, so don’t you worry.”

   The boy was heartbroken and was certain his mother would be too, that is if she hadn’t already found out. His dark eyes shifted to the floor and tears continued to pour out of them.

   “When will you leave?” The boy asked, keeping his gaze on the floor.

   “Now.” His father replied, standing up and grabbing his coat.

   “You don’t care about us, do you?” The boy said.

   His father sighed again. “I care about this family more than words can put together. I’m doing this for the wellbeing of this family, son. Those Imperial bastards, they caused all this.”

   The father neared his son to the point that he was hovering over the child. “If you want someone to blame, blame them. Never tell me I don’t care about you, because that’s all I do.”

   The boy kept his eyes away from his father. As a result, his father bent over and grasped his chin, redirecting the boy’s face in his direction. “They’re enemies, son. Remember that. Enemies. They always will be. And I’ll kill every last one of them, for this family and for this dominion.”

   His father released his grip and grabbed a book from one of his many shelves, handing it to the boy. It was a purple, leather-bound book with a cover void of any writing or etchings.

   “This is the final gift I have for you. It’s my legacy. Treasure it for the rest of your life.” With that, the father gave one last look at his only son and left the room.

   The boy stared at the book, teardrops plummeting on its smooth cover. He knew, at that moment that was the last time he would see his father and that the book was all that would remain of him.