The rays of Sun crept quietly into the room, illuminating the bags littered about. You shield your eyes, hoping to catch the last few moments in sleep’s arms. But it’s futile, you know you must wake up. There was so much to do today. You have been both giddy and anxious about this day for some time. Your friends could not believe that you have waited so long to experience this, but you had had an irrational fear for so long. It was only on a whim that you flung caution to the wind and said “whatever happens, happens”. Your parents were shocked that you would do such a thing, always assuming you to be a chicken. Today, you prove them all. You review your checklist, ensuring everything you need is packed.
Soon it will be time to leave, and the anxiety and fear you tried avoiding begins to rise. Your stomach starts twisting with doubt, you start envisioning the worst. You screaming as you tumble to your death. A solemn news reporter informing the public of your demise. Your devastated parents weeping at the loss of their only child. But for a second, you muster up some bravery, finding it tucked away in the recesses. You’ll be okay, and if something did happen, then it was fate. Think positive. It’s almost time to depart, too late to back down now. Your Uber is here, and you jump in. The drive is quiet only the pounding of your heart disrupts the silence. You arrive at your destination and it feels surreal. The last time you have been here was a decade ago.
This place is alive with energy. People bustle back and forth, announcements blast from the speaker, and the sound of wheels rolling on the floor drowns out everything. After an eternity of lines and waiting, you finally sit down. You’re backing up. There is no escape, you either will land safely or you won’t. Nothing more you can do than say a prayer and hope for the best.
I dare to look in the mirror and find pain and misery, an inability to experience joy. Hollow eyes stare back, reflecting the emptiness of the soul within. There’s no life, love or laughter in the reflection. It feels like I have been pulled outside my corporeal state, separated to act as a bystander to my physical demise. Numerous betrayals, lies, and treachery have beaten me down, leaving only a rotten, festering core.
The two dukes climbed the steps to the king’s chambers, hoping for a resolution. His graces, Lord Beckford and Lord Thurston, had been in a decades-long blood feud, dating back two generations. Beckford’s great-great-grandfather had stolen parcels of land from Thurston’s ancestor. The two dukes had battled it out in a duel that saw Lord Thurston’s great-great-grandfather ram a sword into the belly of the conniving Lord Beckford. Since then, the families have been at war, with each side claiming bloody victories. The two would duel tomorrow. Lord Beckford had just signed off on a document when a rap on the door jolted him. He ignored the stammering servant, profusely apologizing for the interruption, and stretched his hand forward to take the missive. Spotting the royal insignia, he skimmed it. It was an order to come to the castle at once and refusal would mean certain death.
Beckford’s heart beat with trepidation as he entered the castle, a far contrast from the excitement he used to feel as a child coming here with his father to witness the pageantry. He stood nervously, observing the detailed etchings on the walls. The few times he had stood in this room, he never had time to observe its careful craftsmanship.
“So good of you to come quickly. I take it the roads were not too terrible?” the king’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“No, your majesty, I was most fortunate in travel,” he replied, bowing deeply in front of the king to kiss his hand.
Suddenly, the footsteps of another became louder. Beckford opened his eyes and saw the familiar crest of his enemy approaching. Lord Thurston was here, but why?
“Since you both are here, let us dispense with the pleasantries,” said the king, reclining slightly in his seat. “Normally, I could not care less about two men wishing to tear each other apart like rabid dogs, but you both possess two of the largest duchies in the kingdom. Surely, you are both aware of the tensions with France,” he said.
Both men stopped seething and faced the king. They were well aware of the impending threat. The French king’s request for access to a critical English waterway had been denied because of a failure to repay a debt. Rumors swirled he had begun plotting with some mercenaries for revenge. The kingdom, typically tranquil aside from the Beckford-Thurston feud, had been on edge for weeks now.
“The peace between France and England is fracturing with each passing day and war looms closer. You both must convince the other lords to fight for my cause!”
“Your majesty, the other lords are weary of war. Many remember the last war with France, the money spent, the land burned, and the fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons buried in the cold ground,” Beckford stated with a quiet resolve.
“Additionally,” interrupted Lord Thuston, “the lords in the West will refuse to support any cause having to do with Lord Beckford and his band of scoundrels!”
Lord Beckford narrowed his eyes dangerously, imagining his revenge for the insult.
“Enough, this feud of yours has gone on far too long, and since I need both of you for what is upcoming, I propose a solution to end this nonsense: a marriage betwe-”
“Marriage!” the outraged dukes yelled simultaneously, nearly forgetting who they stood before.
“Yes, marriage between your daughter, Lady Beckford, and your son, the Marquis,” the king said proudly.
“Betrothed my daughter to this filth, your Majesty? I would rather send her to nunnery,” Beckford retorted, his face turning beet red at the thought.
“Likewise, your Majesty, I have already pledged my son to Lord Dustin’s daughter. The match would bring vital Scottish lands into the family. Beckford’s daughter provides nothing of value to us,” countered Lord Thurston.
“Luckily for all, it is not your decision. I shall hear no more on the matter. The banns are being posted as we speak. Within a month’s time, I want both Lady Beckford and Lord Thurston married in the church, thus uniting both dukedoms. The neighboring lords will have no choice but to pledge their support for this war. Gentlemen, you must swallow your pride and allow this to happen for the greater good of the kingdom,” the king replied, leaving no room for argument.
The king stood up from behind the table and gracefully descended the steps, leaving the two men stunned.
Isaac couldn’t remember all the details of the day, the day the Harrowers came and attacked his village. A sneak attack so well planned that no one could have anticipated it. Late in the night of the fateful day, the troops attacked. It was a carnage, a veritable abattoir with appendages and torsos strewn about. The mangled bodies of the most defenseless lay discarded in the burning sun like refuse. Isaac hid while listening to the horror of slaughter. He could do nothing to protect his loved ones then. Now all he could do is weep for them and ask whomever sat in the sky looking down to absolve him of his sins. The Harrowers thought they destroyed everyone in the village, but they left a survivor who would spend his remaining days seeking revenge.
