The feast was held in the hollow.

It was a great stone circle, ancient and mossy. The air smelled of wet earth and burning fat. We sat on the ground. I sat on a flat rock. My sword lay across my knees. It was cold steel.

My brother, Thomas, sat opposite me. He wore a white tunic. It was stained with blood. Not his. It was red and bright. He smiled at me. The smile did not reach his eyes.

"Eat," he said.

I ate. The meat was tough. It tasted of iron. I chewed slowly. I watched the fire. The flames licked the dark sky. They were hungry things.

This is not the first time I have been here. I know this because the stones are familiar. I have carved my name into the largest one. The letters are deep. They are worn smooth by time.

I am a warrior. I have fought many battles. I have killed men in fields and in streets. I have bled for kings and for gods. I thought I was free. I was wrong.

The circle is a trap. It is a wheel. We are the spokes. We turn. We do not stop.

Thomas spoke again. He did not look at me. He looked at the fire.

"Do you remember the garden?" he asked.

I remembered. I did not answer. My jaw tightened. I felt the muscle jump.

"We were young," Thomas said. "We played in the dirt. We dug for worms. We were happy."

"Happy," I said. The word was hard in my mouth.

"Was it happy?" he asked.

I looked at him. His face was pale. The firelight made his shadows long. They stretched out behind him. They touched my feet.

"I do not know," I said.

Thomas laughed. It was a dry sound. Like dead leaves skittering on stone.

"You must know," he said. "You are the sword. I am the hand. We are one thing."

I looked at my sword. The blade was dull. It had not been polished. I saw my own face in the metal. It was distorted. The eyes were wide. The mouth was open. I saw fear. I had forgotten what fear looked like.

"You are wrong," I said. "I am not your hand."

"Are you not?" Thomas asked. He leaned forward. The firelight caught his teeth. They were white. They were sharp.

"I am the sword," he said. "You cut. I hold. We are the same."

I stood up. My legs were stiff. The ground was cold. I gripped the hilt of my sword. The leather was worn smooth by my palm.

"No," I said.

Thomas stood up too. He was tall. He was strong. He had always been stronger than me. He had the quick hands. I had the steady arm. We were made for each other. We were made for the fight.

The fire popped. A spark flew up into the black sky. It vanished. It was gone.

"You cannot leave," Thomas said. "The circle is closed. The stone wall is high. There is no door."

I looked at the wall. It was high. It was grey. It blended into the night. I could not see the top. I could not see the way out.

I have been here before. I know this. I have always known. But I had buried the knowledge. I had buried it under layers of dust and memory.

I have died here. I know this. I have died many times. My body has broken. My bones have cracked. My blood has soaked into the moss. And then I woke up. I woke up with the sword in my hand. I woke up with Thomas smiling at me.

It is a loop. It is a wheel. It turns and turns.

"Why do we fight?" I asked. My voice was low. It was quiet.

"Because we must," Thomas said. "Because it is our nature. Because we are warriors. It is in our blood. It is in our bones."

"No," I said. "We fight because we are afraid. We fight because we do not know how to be still."

Thomas frowned. He looked confused. He looked angry.

"You are weak," he said. "You are tired. Rest. Then we will fight."

"I am not tired," I said. "I am awake."

The words hung in the air. They were heavy. They were real.

Thomas stepped forward. He raised his hand. He did not have a weapon. He did not need one. His hand was a weapon. His will was a weapon.

"Pick it up," he said.

I did not pick it up. I let it lie on the rock. The steel was cold. The metal was dead.

"You are making this hard," Thomas said. His voice was soft. It was sad.

"I am making it end," I said.

He shook his head. He shook it slowly.

"You cannot end it," he said. "It is not yours to end. It is the order of things. It is the law."

I looked at him. I looked at his eyes. I saw the truth there. I saw the trap. I saw the fear. He was as trapped as I was. He was as afraid as I was. We were two men in a box. We were two hands on the same wheel.

"I love you," I said.

Thomas stopped. He froze. His hand hung in the air. His eyes widened.

"What?" he said.

"I love you," I said again. "I have always loved you. It is why I cannot kill you. It is why I cannot leave. It is why we are here."

Thomas stared at me. The fire crackled. The flames danced. The shadows moved.

"You are lying," he said.

"I am not lying," I said. "I am telling the truth. The truth is that we are bound. Not by duty. Not by honor. By love. By the love that we have for each other. It is a heavy thing. It is a chain. It holds us here."

Thomas lowered his hand. His face was pale. His lips trembled.

"I do not want to be here," he whispered.

"I know," I said. "I do not want to be here either."

We stood in the circle. We stood in the dark. The fire burned. The stones watched.

The wind blew. It was cold. It cut through my clothes. I shivered. I did not pull my cloak tighter. I let the cold touch me. I let it wake me.

"I am going to put the sword down," I said.

Thomas looked at the sword. He looked at me.

"If you do that," he said, "we will lose. We will lose everything. We will become nothing."

"Perhaps," I said. "Perhaps nothing is better than this."

He shook his head. He was afraid. I saw it in his eyes. I saw the fear of the unknown. I saw the fear of the end.

"I cannot let you do that," he said.

"You must," I said.

He stepped closer. His face was near mine. I could smell his breath. It was sour. It was old.

"I will stop you," he said.

"You cannot," I said. "You are me. I am you. We are the same. You cannot stop me. I will stop myself."

I reached down. I picked up the sword. The weight of it was familiar. The weight of it was heavy. It was the weight of my life. It was the weight of my death.

I looked at the blade. I saw my face. I saw Thomas's face. We were looking at each other. We were one.

I closed my eyes. I breathed in. I breathed out. I felt the air in my lungs. I felt the blood in my veins. I felt the beat of my heart. It was slow. It was steady.

I opened my eyes. I looked at Thomas. He was watching me. He was waiting.

I lifted the sword. I held it with both hands. I raised it above my head. The steel caught the firelight. It flashed. It was bright. It was beautiful.

"I am ready," I said.

Thomas closed his eyes. He turned his face away. He did not want to see. He did not want to know.

I brought the sword down.

I did not strike him.

I struck the ground.

The sword hit the stone. It rang out. The sound was sharp. It was clear. It cut through the air. It cut through the silence.

The sword broke.

It snapped in two. The pieces fell to the ground. The metal was cold. The metal was dead.

Thomas opened his eyes. He looked at the broken sword. He looked at me. He looked at the ground.

The fire went out.

The dark came.

It was total. It was absolute. I could not see Thomas. I could not see the stones. I could not see the sky. I could not see anything.

I stood in the dark. I was alone. I was still.

I felt the cold. I felt the ground under my feet. I felt the air in my lungs.

I did not move. I did not breathe. I was still.

The dark was not empty. The dark was full. It was full of memory. It was full of time. It was full of us.

I remembered the garden. I remembered the dirt. I remembered the worms. I remembered the sun.

I remembered Thomas. I remembered his laugh. I remembered his hands. I remembered his eyes.

I let the memory go.

I let the time go.

I let the self go.

I was not a warrior. I was not a brother. I was not a man. I was nothing. I was space. I was silence.

The wheel stopped.

The circle broke.

The stones fell away. The fire was gone. The dark was gone.

I opened my eyes.

I was in a field.

The grass was green. The sky was blue. The sun was warm. It touched my face. It was gentle. It was kind.

I was lying on the grass. I was alone.

I sat up. My body was light. My mind was clear. There was no sword. There was no Thomas. There was no circle.

There was only the field. There was only the sky. There was only the breath in my lungs.

I looked at my hands. They were clean. They were soft. They were empty.

I looked at the horizon. It was far. It was open.

I stood up. I brushed the grass from my clothes. I walked forward.

I did not know where I was going. I did not know who I was. I did not care.

I walked.

The sun set. The stars came out. The moon rose. It was full. It was bright.

I walked into the night.

I was free.

I was lost.

I was home.