To crown a king

Two twins, one throne. A dark day sees to brothers forced into a duel to the death by their father.. To achieve a simple purpose. To see which is worthy to prevail and rule their troubled kingdom.

"The sea holds no prejudices.. The sea does not take favourites.. Or chose sides. The sea is fair and just.... But it is not merciful" my father stood on the podium addressing the throngs of people who had come to witness the ceremony. Thousands stood listening to his words, crowded all along the quays, attending under fear of death. The clouds hung ominously in the sky, darkening the mood and threatening rain, a cold wind blew through the crowds, causing a chill right to the bones.
"The sea will make the decision.. Which one of my sons is worthy to take my throne, which of them has the strength and will to persevere, to be victorious.. To rule" my father had a way of making even the most cruel actions seem justified. Even the murder of one of his twin sons.
His hard eyes found mine through the crowds, looking.. Daring for an objection. I gave none.
I glanced over at my brother, he stood on the opposite platform hanging over the dark abyss of the ocean. He stood calm and cool, with nothing but determination in his eyes. But I knew it for a lie. We had been taught well how to hide our fear, father made sure of that. At age six when our dog had bitten him he made us watch as he put down the miserable beast. Then we were slapped for crying. From that day on we were brought to every execution to "harden us up" and believe me there were many. Father's cold stare would watch us the entire time.. Begging us to object. We never would.
My brother glanced at me and our eyes met. In that moment we both saw each other for what we were. Frightened naked boys, shivering on podiums above the relenting darkness of the ocean. One of us never to return.
The crowd had begun to jabber, making wagers and swapping predictions. Apparently any excuse to gamble is good enough for people, even if it involves the death of a 15 year old prince.
My father cut off the rabble with little more than a clearing of the throat. He had an unnatural talent for causing silence without even raising his voice.
"Are we ready to begin?" He asked without an ounce of compassion in his voice, like he was announcing the beginning of a meal.
I stared down into the water, looking at my own reflection, wondering if the water would simply swallow me
up and end it all. I watched the waves slowly drift in and out of the shore, like little boats trying to make land but always crashing, never making it there alive. They rejoin at sea to try again but never make it. Stuck for an eternity trying again and again to reach something for an eternity but inevitably failing each time.
I looked over at my brother again and saw the same blank stare into the sea. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. We almost shared a mind he and I. We would often find ourselves saying exactly what the other was thinking or even saying the exact same thing at the exact same time, often causing hysterics. This time it was not quite as funny.
We used to swim from this very pier, on endless carefree sunny days, we would jump into the sea and splash around for hours. Making competitions of who could swim farthest and fastest. I then thought of how similar this competition was to the ones of our childhood. There is something very disturbing about recalling a warm memory, and feeling utterly cold.
My thoughts were interrupted by a deafening silence, I realised father's question was not rhetorical and he actually expected an answer. That was typical of him, getting his own children to agree to their death.
"I am" I said.. Sounding far more confident than I felt, my brother echoed me with the same false bravado.
A smile then appeared on my father's face, a smile I will never forget. There was no warmth in his smile, it was more of a cold sneer. Almost mocking us.
He never smiled when we joked or laughed or played. I had only ever once witnessed a smile with true emotion. When I had stolen my brothers favourite toy and he had punched me square in the face, breaking my nose and shattering two teeth. On that day I saw something in my father that I had never witnessed before, pride in one of his children.
Two guards then approached to stand at the end of each of our platforms. In case we decided to escape I suppose. As if we had anywhere to run.. Father's men would hunt us down in the hour, as they do with anyone who displeases him.
"Begin" he said with almost no conviction. As if he had already grown bored with the proceedings and simply wanted it done. Efficient as ever...
I looked over to share one final moment with my brother but he was already making the jump into the cold, unforgiving sea. "Always the faster one" I thought to myself, "always stronger, always had to he the winner" No matter what we did we were always compared to the other, no matter what i accomplished I was always runner up.
I followed suit, plunging into the depths and feeling the icy cling of the water. After the initial shock and feeling of numbness went away, I dove deeper to find something I could use to fend off my brother, I didn't have to kill him, we didn't have to follow father's rules. If I could find a rock or something big I could knock him out and still be victorious, maybe we could both make it out,
The competition was simple. We dove into the water and it was a fight to the death using whatever we could find on the depths of the sea floor to murder the other. Simple, brutal, effective.. That was my father to the bone.
I felt around the sea-bed, running my fingers through the sand searching for something to use.. But there was nothing. In a blind panic I looked all around but there was nothing except seaweed and a few pebbles. But then I looked over to my brother and saw the cold glare of steel, he held a short, jagged dagger in his hand. I recognised the blade, it was a nasty Celtic dagger designed for efficient killing of unarmed opponents. Short, sharp and light it would tear me to shreds.
It seemed the sea held no prejudices.. But my father did.
A cold rage filled me, an unspeakable anger at the inhumanity and unfairness of the situation. I felt bile rise up from my stomach into my throat and i swallowed it back, i would not give them the satisfaction of seeing me sick. But then it all made sense. This was not a competition, it was an execution. I then remembered where I recognised the blade from, it was the one father kept for executing traitors and deserters, how fitting.
Our father always considered us lost causes.. Too weak to rule and too stupid to advise. But that day when my brother attacked me my father saw something in him. A strong will and the ability to seek revenge then take it. Traits my father admired and saw as a necessity.
That event woke something in my brother, he became more cold and distant and more attatched to father. The two of them were often together while I was left alone in the castle to read books and attend school. It then occurred to me what all of those days alone were for, training to rule... Training to kill.
It was all clear.. I was weak and he was strong. I was a weakness that had to be cut out and removed.
I resurfaced over the water, coughing and spluttering as the cold air hit my face. I had stayed under too long, I was out of breath and weak. But I had an ace up my sleeve.
My brother emerged from the water in front of me.. I was ready, I knew what had to be done. He advanced on me, knife gleaming above the water, confident that he could do what needed to be done. He had trained for this.. He was ready for this.
He approached me with cold confidence, instilled from years of hard lessons and punishments. He was close now, almost close enough to touch. He brought up the knife for the killing blow, but I looked him dead in the eyes, and saw him for what he was.. A frightened boy. He saw me too and a look of horror spread over his face, he saw what he was going to do. I knew what he was thinking, what if we refused? if we both didnt take part and simply left? But I knew better.
My brother had made two grevious errors, that hesitation.. And believing he had the upper hand, failing to spot the jagged rock in my hand. But the greatest error came from my father, he had chosen the wrong brother.
In a cold fury I raised the rock and without a moment of doubt I smashed it against my brothers head. Once, twice, with a meaty smack. Blood spurting from a newly formed hole, I continued. Blow after blow with blood and brain flying in all directions I reduced his once handsome head into a meaty pulp. Like a smashed watermelon.
In moments like this it's strange what will be foremost in your thoughts. As I looked down at his floating corpse I looked to his face, he had always been the more handsome one, the stronger one, better with women. I don't think girls would choose him over me anymore.
A laugh emerged from my lips, at the absurdity of the situation. After being betrayed and almost murdered by my entire family sometime it's good to see the humour in a situation.
It began as a quiet, nervous giggle but grew into a great bellowing laugh.
The water had turned from its deep blue to a dark crimson red all around. Bits of skull and brain floated all around me and my entire upper body was coated in the blood of my brother.. With my blood.
I then looked to my father, with a look of pure calm and determination, and he looked back at me, with that look of pride I had only ever seen once before, that pride.
I looked down at my hands.. Filthy, tainted with the life blood of my own dear brother, my other half. Then i realised what i had done.. I hadn't bested him, I had given him exactly what he wanted. I saw my father beam down at me, the stronger brother had got rid of the weaker and he had an heir, just as planned. I looked to the knife in my brothers hand, still clean and innocent as the child holding it. I took it up and held it to my throat, determination in my eyes.
My father looked down, bewilderment on his face. This did not factor into his carefully laid plans. His bewilderment then turned to rage.. Anger was never far from my father, he was quick to jump to it whenever things didnt go his way. He looked to me with a fury I had only glimpsed before "What the hell are you doing boy?! Have you gone mad?!"
I smiled back at him, for too long I had feared his discipline, his harsh beatings and punishments. I looked him dead in the eyes and opened my throat from ear to ear. As the blood gushed between my fingers I felt no pain, no remorse.. Only the petty victory of having finally overcome the harsh rule of my father, the possibility of being reunited with my brother and the hope of his forgiveness.

Author's Note

Nothing specific, all feedback is appreciated but be aware that this is the first piece I have ever written so please try not to be overly critical.

Reviews

[Nigel Newman]

Hi. I was doing a sweep back through my messages and came upon your name, so I took a look at this. It needs a proof read for a few spelling and punctuation corrections (most notable ones probably were chose when you meant choose and having 2 eternally's or eternity's in the same sentence, possibly because you moved the original one and then forgot to delete its original placement). Putting that to one side, I found this very gripping, well paced and well told. Obviously it's a classic theme, back to Cain and Abel etc; and even in modern times the intent of the survivor to kill themselves (and thus cheat the organiser of their victor) is, of course, echoed in 'Hunger Games'. Personally I would space out the paragraphs a little more - I found it a bit dense on the page. Nice job!

[Lyndon A.postol]

Your character's psychological journey deserves applause. A good study of a son under his father's agonizing hands.