Born of Blood (this one is about a year old)

As a child of servants I had never expected to become anything more than a servant. I could never have seen the events that brought me to this moment. As I placed my hands upon the cold stone of the low balcony the past few weeks flashed through my exhausted mind. I remembered waking from a dreamless sleep to the sound of knocking, and the king’s advisor rushing in and rousing the old man. The two of them spoke frantically and then the sound of running feet began echoing from the down the long corridor. The rest was so blurred by my anguish I could not find the defining moment, that one single moment when my life had been changed forever.


I shook myself and focused on the present. Gazing at the huge crowds of people that had gathered beneath the balcony, I shifted my weight uneasily and looked to the north, east and south. The fires were nearly out, but smoke still billowed from many of the people’s homes and businesses. Splintered planks and charcoal beams rose to meet the fringe of morning sun. Fields lay wasted. The crops that would have fed the people were torn and mangled beyond salvage, and a pile of corpses rotted beneath the broken city wall. A few random men were still hauling more bodies, as delicately as they could, to the edges of the morbid hill. The air stank of smoke, blood, maggots, filth, and death.

As my tired eyes lit upon each offense my heart fluttered with agony, knowing what must come, what I must do now. I cleared my throat and spat the thick phlegm on the stones at my feet finding myself caught, for a moment, by how even and smooth they were, no doubt having been worn down by the slow, troubled tread of many kings who had come before. I let my eyes trail from them, up along the gnarled twists of thin brown vines that clung with tiny fingers to the crevices between the stones and, finally, to the masses of people waiting for my words. They looked so tired and dirty, worn as I had been by the past weeks of labor and feud.

The enemies had poured in by the thousands, and we had felled nearly all of them. The few who survived fled, all but the small clump which now stood, staring up at me from the front of my people. The deepest sorrow flowed through me as they watched my every tiny move, their eyes searching mine, pleading with me to show them mercy. I was the son of servants. I was the commoner. I was the only one who could save them, change their fates. My eyes rested on the smallest of them. She was just a child, maybe four years old, innocent. I wanted so much to spare her. She was not guilty of her father’s crimes. She had not brought the invaders to our gates. She had not plunged a knife between the king’s ribs. She had not betrayed her father.

The citizens began to grow restless, uncertain of my hesitation. They began muttering and milling about. Some still gripped the blood stained weapons which had won us our fight. My mind slammed back to the day after the enemies had first breached the gates. In the hopelessness and fear that followed the invasion the people had looked to me, because I felt none. It was my anger and the disregard for my own life that had elevated me to this station in mere weeks. Now I would have to finish the fight to keep it.

I stared down at the five prisoners before me. Tears streamed down the women’s faces, panic flooded the princes’ eyes, and the child. The child was calmly looping her thin, little fingers through the heavy chains that bound her to her parents. Slowly I released the stones that had given me comfort in their firm support and drew myself to full height. I would never fight for this again, I would remove all question. Lifting my right arm and clenching my fist until my fingernails had dug in far enough to draw blood, I stretched out my thumb. As the crowd grew silent, still, I slid the now bloodied digit across my throat, from one ear to the other.

Five axes whispered in the chill, and little more than dull thuds quickly answered back. The people cheered, chains clanked as they fell, and then, silence. An icy shiver rippled down my spine. I knew I would remember her always, her smiling face, her sweet laughter, the way she always tugged on the shirt of the servant who had slept on her grandfather’s floor when she had wanted the boy to smile, and now, the scent of her fresh young blood mixed with the morning dew. Fate was cruel, and I was now the one true king.