Each Sunday, Weekend Writing Warriors offers a selection of eight-sentence excerpts from writers in multiple genres and forms. Check out the full roster here.
Naime is not taking this duel seriously; she thinks I’m going to step back from it, even as her own blood runs down her face and neck, staining the funeral garment with its stiff brocade and high collar.
She’s calculating the mere scratch she could give me, that would release us both from the circle; that thought’s intolerable–and I catch fire with rage, and charge at her. Let her learn at my hand that I’m in deadly earnest.
The flame catches, and Naime’s silver mask comes alive with intent, with energy–the blade flashes like lightning, throwing back sun, clash and clang, parrying–
And then that mask blazes into the avatar of the god; no longer my cousin but Martis-Mortis herself faces me in the ring, brings her sword down and gathers me into her embrace. No, I will not die in a ditch; no, I will not fear for my posterity. I am safe home, my devotion rewarded.
I am the worthy sacrifice.