Write To Rank 2022 -- Contest Collection

Round 2 - Yellow Belt: Family

My heart is beating hard, dirt, and blood clinging to my skin. Thousands of thoughts which had run rampant in my head before have ceased to exist, the clashing of swords, the crackling of fires, and the cries of men nearly silent. He is here, and that is all that matters.

The ambush had worked.

"Elijah...please..."

His voice is soft, weak, everything he'd been when we were small, when fierce, poisonous rivalry wasn't hanging in the balance. The leather-bound handle of the weapon in my hand squeals against the material of my glove as I make my advance.

"Please," He pleads again, the rise and fall of his chest under his tunic shallow. Blood like tar coats his ring-less hand on his stomach, dying the blades of grass surrounding him. Even in the night, I can see the sweat glistening on his pale skin, his eyes catching the nearby fire. "We're family!"

"Family?" I scoff with a shake of my head. "'Family' means loyalty, protection, and trust. I got more of that from a horse than I ever did from you.

If I had the knowledge of an outsider looking through the looking glass, the pain twisting his countenance would have been enough to extinguish my fury, to end this midnight massacre before it could go further...

But there is a slight problem: I have been preparing for this moment for a decade, and the bloodlust won't stop until I have killed its initiator.

I lift the blade, letting the light from the blaze beside us gleam against the polished steel. I want him to be terrified. I smile when the emotion appears on his face.

"The sword of King William Barnett Warrick II, the fourth ruler of the unstoppable 'Copycat of Rome,'" I spit, transfixed by the gleam of the polished steel. "Now it belongs to you, the 'Backstabbing Usurper.'" I fix my brother with a devilish grin consumed by a darkness I have only known in stories. "How ironic is it that the same blade that has protected you for ten years is now the very thing that will end your illegitimate reign?"

"Is that what Mother had you believe?"

Silence. Cold. Someone had plucked the torch from my hand and plunged my world into utter darkness. The sword drops at my side, clattering in the grass as Isiah attempts to sit up.

"You are not Mother's son," Isaiah begins, determination etched onto his face, "and she resented you because of it. The hunting you down, the threats – they were all to stop you from butchering our people."

"No," I whisper, my throat tightening, "y-you hated me and wanted the crown, so you drove me away-"

"I have been searching for you ever since Mother fled," he continues with a shake of his head. "I discovered her plan and she ran before I could confront her." His eyes shining like embers, he extends his bloody hand towards me. "We can stop her together, brother. No more fear. No more sorrow."

Gritting my teeth, I take his hand.