Inheritance

The waning warmth of decades of prosperity soothed me in my bed as snowy winds howled outside our family estate. My father, the prime minister, had reclined beside me and was showing me an ornamental cavalry saber, an heirloom passed down from generations before. I marveled as I beheld the extraordinary sight before me, something more incredible than the antique weapon. My father rarely had time to leave his desk to visit his son; the demands of running a country was a greater responsibility than I thought I would ever be. He was unsure of himself in this fragile moment; a side of him I almost never saw.

“When my father first showed this blade to me, the world was much more narrow and desperate than it is now,” Father’s voice was struggling against soaring to its usual air of commanding authority; this was one of the few occasions he deemed significant enough to permit his humanity to surface. It was disconcerting to me. I was well- versed in etiquette when dealing with nobility; however, this stranger before me left me unsure of how to act. He went on, “With this saber my great grandfather overthrew our oppressors and assumed the noble burden of safeguarding our land, with it you will carry on his legacy. This is all that I can give you, I wish I could give you so much more. One day you will pass this saber down to someone who you love more than your own life, someone you wish you could always hold in your arms. You’ll plead with your body for more time, but it will let you down, and if you are blessed you will be the one held as you pass away into a better life. I do not ask you to accept this gift of mine yet, but the day will come that I offer you this again, and I pray that you will accept it.” I swallowed hard and opened my mouth, “Of course I will, you know I love you, Father.” That ruddy-faced roaring statue was only a simple human staring softly back at me There was no joy sparked by my comment, his eyes only looked weary. I often wondered if I had disappointed him somehow.

In the years that followed this encounter I struggled to remain diligent in my studies; hunting and wrestling always appealed to me more than history and statecraft. My mother passed away a week before my thirteenth birthday. She has been a modest woman with no love for expensive things, the only thing she left behind was a heart shaped locket; a gift given back to my father, its original giver. After that I rarely saw my father. In his grief he isolated himself from our family, often choosing to sleep in his office then risk encountering some acquaintance in those ornate gilded halls. In my grief I reapplied myself to any duty I could find. I worked as hard as I could for about a week before I collapsed at my desk and wept for her for the first time. My grief began to turn to fear as social unrest grew outside of our walls, with so little contact I soon began to worry that my father was giving up, or had finally cracked under the pressure of his office. Angry roaring crowds outside the gates had become the norm. I tried to ignore the accusations they hurled against him, I was selfish but I was young. Years flowed by before I married my best friend, and held my son for the first time. He was so beautiful, he changed the way I looked at the world. I knew at the upcoming new year’s feast my father would name me heir to his empire, I knew in this precious moment it was a burden I could not assume.

“I’m not going to leave you,” I whispered to his scrawny, pink face, “They don’t need me as much as you do.” I knew that I would break my father’s heart, that I would be depriving him of a legacy, but his lonely life had left his son without a father when I needed him most. The thought of me following in his footsteps was now unthinkable.

A smile was a rare sight to see on his face these days, it pained me to see it slip off of his face as I told him what I could not do. My voice was trembling, “For the sake of my wife, for the sake of my son, I can’t…” My father hardened his lip and embraced me, silencing my babbling. His father would have beaten him if he had cried, even now he refused to be vulnerable in my presence.

“I would be proud of you no matter what you chose, Alexander. My office is not my legacy, you are. I am ashamed that I have nothing to give you, but I understand why you refuse my gift. For the sake of my son I will not present the saber at tonight’s feast.” At the feast he laughed and drank with his friends as if nothing was bothering him, a skill he had developed in the wake of attacks made by his adversaries who had assumed his grief had left him weakened. Everyone silently remarked how he refused to choose a successor. I sent my family home after the evening concluded, I had business that needed that needed my attention. Having accomplished my work, I fastened my jacket and set out into the snowy night to enjoy the quiet of a walk.

The wind made the those dark buildings of the city rattle and groan like the bones of old men, even in the absence of the jeering crowds the hatred and grief of this place still cut through me like a knife. This was no weather to walk in. As I made my way back I began to hear shouting and commotion, the sounds of an assault. A young man in dirty, ragged clothes was being savagely beaten by three officers of the state police. In my horror I intervened and had relief summoned for the broken man. After I was assured the guilty parties would be punished, I visited the man in the hospital who had been recovering for the last few days.

Tears flowed down his face as he confronted me, “Where was the prime minister’s son to save my mother from starving in her bed? Where were you to deliver us from your father’s daily abominations? I know it is a sin what we will do, but his family does not need to suffer for his crimes. I hope you understand that we never wanted to become this; that you forced us to become animals! Tonight your house will face justice. You are only innocent because of your prosperity, but you are innocent regardless. Make this sign tonight,” he placed his closed fist inward against his chest, “And you will not be killed with the rest.” I left the room terrified for my father’s life, this did not seem to be a baseless threat. If revolutionaries would be bold enough to attack the estate, they must be working with someone on the inside who would compromise our defenses. I told my father that I suspected insurrection, that I wanted him to stay with my family for the week until the matter could be investigated. He laughed bitterly in response, “They are restless children. I’ve heard many threats in the past, if I lower myself to consider them, I am lost.” He would not listen no matter how much I begged.

I was sitting in my childhood bedroom when gunfire erupted downstairs. Smoke filled my nostrils as I hid behind my old bed. Men clattered past the door, sparing me in their haste. I staggered out into the hallway to find my father as soon as I had the opportunity. He was dying from his wounds on the floor his office. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I should have given you so much more, but I’m afraid this is all I have. I should be holding you.” The house was in flames as he died in my arms. I wandered like a lost child out of the inferno before I was confronted by a revolutionary. The man had that broken heart shaped locket stuffed in one his pockets along with other spoils from the house.

“Do you stand by the old man that burns in there?”, He demanded. I could tell he knew who I was. With a shaking hand and a breaking heart I made the sign. “How can I be noble? If I stand for him, I fall, corrupt. If I flee him, I live a coward,” I sobbed.

“Your treacherous estate now holds the blade, at least they have a legacy,” the revolutionary jeered, “Did you do it for your son, or did you fear a bullet? You’re not noble, you’re just a fool. You get to freeze with the rest of us now. You wealthy bastards, you’re all the same.” The man laughed as he rejoined his comrades elsewhere in the darkness. The warmth of that house no longer protected me from the frigid wind. In that rain of fire I realized that the world was just as narrow and desperate now as it ever was.