Page 6 of A Broken Ember
Chapter 3: Claeg
Clotho brought me to a room I had never been permitted access to before. The Pruning chamber. Despite being the Ruptor, the one who sent draconis here, I had never entered.
Belowground, the only light came from torches. The walls were moist down here, and vermin scuttled along the edges. Traitors were kept here and questioned before they were Pruned. My father . . . he would have been taken here for his Pruning. If he lived, he likely suffered within the De Vita as one of their Saved.
I shuddered. Until now, only the Pruned ended up in De Vita hands. But missing draconis and bloody fields indicating a struggle in the Neutral Strip suggested De Vita had started taking Circulus. As prisoners, slaves or hostages, we weren’t sure. It was my job to find out. No Circulus member had escaped from their clutches in my lifetime, but Clotho had told me the story of our grandfather many times despite Thana never uttering a word about him to me. We didn’t even know his name, just that he had been a strong warrior who disappeared. Sun turns later, he returned, claiming to have been held within our enemy clan. Thana had given birth to his child, Tamela. But it was discovered that his draconis was wounded. Weak. There had been no Ruptor at the time, so Tamela insisted upon completing her father’s Circle herself upon meeting him.
My grandmother stopped outside of the last room in a hallway with cells on either side. Inside, leather buckles were secured to a table. A blazing fireplace had a metal branding stick propped in it. The broken Circle glowed red, making my heart race. I gulped. A weaker man would fight. Clotho led me to the table, securing my wrists and ankles. The metal chilled my skin, making my flesh pebble despite the roaring fire. Time slowed, and Grandmother began speaking, but my heart hammered so loudly it smothered her words. When her voice rose, indicating a question, I cringed, wishing fear hadn’t drowned her voice out. I nodded, hoping that was all she needed. She turned toward the fire, seemingly satisfied with my answer. My gaze traveled to the only other person in the room—my sister. She stood with the branding iron in her hands.
“Go on, Janardan heir,” Thana coaxed Clotho. She swallowed and approached me. Heat radiated off the iron, but I forced myself not to flinch away as Thana held my hand flat. Small vibrations tickled my hand where we touched. She was trembling. That unnerved me more than what needed to be done. Three times—once on each palm and once on my neck. I braced myself against the pain as Clotho lined up the hot iron with my flesh.
When she pressed the symbol of the broken Circle into my palm, the pain was unlike any I had ever known possible. I couldn’t help the curse that left my lips. My skin burned. My vision blurred as Clotho released my palm and strode over to the fire, reheating the iron. My hand throbbed, the heat it radiated so intense it curled my fingers.
The next time Clotho placed the iron against my skin, dizziness overtook me. The room spun as my mind was dipped in fire. Smoke coated my tongue as if I were in draconis form. My surroundings were a haze, blurred by the agony in my palms. Somewhere, someone muttered something. Something dry and leathery was rammed into my mouth. Acrid smoke flushed my nose—the smell of burning flesh. I bit down on whatever had been shoved into my mouth. It did little to relieve the pain.
A tear threatened to spill from my eyes. No, I growled. The Ruptor didn’t cry. I was the first of my kind in many years and I wasn’t weak. I wouldn’t cry. Someone pushed me into a sitting position. I blinked, revealing my grandmother. The Janardan had a pained expression, but that didn’t make sense. I blinked again, and the vision was gone. Her gray eyes were on someone behind me now. She nodded, placing her hands on the table as she waited for something. My body trembled. I couldn’t help it, tremors racked through me, despite my best efforts to suppress them. My stomach twisted itself into knots. I kept myself together by the power of the Ruptor. Then, a blinding pain shredded what little control I retained. A scream erupted from deep within my body, muffled by the object thrust into my mouth. Agony. My heart raced, beating out of my chest. I retched. Pathetic.
A sweet darkness like my mother welcomed me, but I ignored the call. I would not pass out. This pain would not own me. The pressure at my neck let up, and the Janardan smiled at me with pride and something else. I looked at my palms. They were a mess of glowing red tissue, but within the burn the symbol was clear—the broken Circle. Realization hit me as my mind cleared. My Circle was broken. I was my father. My body shook violently.
No, the Ruptor growled. You are not weak.
“You have done your clan a great service today,” Clotho congratulated me. She stood beside me, iron no longer in her hands. The brands burned, the pain still threatening to take consciousness from me. I barely managed a nod. A warm hand grasped my forearm, drawing my attention from my sister. I caught a glimpse of Thana’s eyes. They swam with a mix of conflicting emotions. Before I could read them, Clotho spoke. “I’ll take him to the Strip.” My grandmother tensed the slightest bit but nodded. Thana spun on her heel and left the room as Clotho got to work releasing my restraints. When my feet were free, I swung my legs down and stood, my body swaying as blood rushed away from my head. Clotho gripped my forearm, steadying me.
“I’m fine,” I said, but my voice came out less than confident. Clotho didn’t let go of my forearm. I straightened my spine and blew out a shaky breath. I took a minute to ensure I wouldn’t fall before I nodded to her. “I’m ready.”
The walk through the Circulus stronghold was humiliating. The clan members that I passed looked at my brands in horror. They hadn’t been told of the plan and wouldn't be told unless I succeeded. The thought unsettled me. As far as they knew, I was a disgraced Circulus. But I was their Ruptor—-the one who hunted the weak, never the weak one themself. To see my Circle broken . . . It was unthinkable. Yet I held my head high, refusing to show shame, even with it permanently marked upon my skin. The fear that this was real gnawed at me, but I refused to let it take hold. If I believed it was real, then it would be. I was still Circulus. This was the ultimate act of service. An honor. It didn’t matter that they didn’t know the truth now. When I returned, everyone here would know the sacrifices I’d made for them. Clotho didn’t speak to me as she marched me through the halls. A good thing. I wasn’t sure my voice could handle speaking. Not now, with everyone’s eyes on me, believing I was a traitor.
Cold air brushed against my skin as a pair of guards pushed open the doors, revealing the stark drop of the cliffs outside. It was raining. The droplets sizzled against my brands, making me hiss. Clotho shifted on the plateau. She would escort me to the Neutral Strip, but it would be my task to traverse the prairie tundra alone. I closed my eyes, letting the rain plaster my hair to my chest and face. Just as I went to shift, the smell of sex made me freeze. Sivert.
“Claeg,” he whispered, his voice making my gut sink. I had hoped I wouldn’t encounter him now. He was so close I could feel his breath on my back. His hand brushed away my hair, revealing my brand. He cursed low. “I heard the rumors. I told myself they weren’t true.”
I bristled but didn’t spill the plot, leaving Thana the power to reveal her plan when she desired. “You were wrong,” I growled. Sivert’s hand fell to his side. I didn’t turn around to meet his gaze. I couldn’t bear seeing him look at me like I’d betrayed my kin. I could never truly hurt them.
“You deserve to rot in the hands of De Vita,” he hissed.
I ignored the barb despite the prickly sensation it sent along my nerves. The draconis before me growled low in her throat. I looked at my sister. In this form, she matched me too: a pale white with vibrant purple eyes to match our father’s. Her body was smooth, the scales slick with rain. She flared her wings, the water on them glistening. Her wingspan was so vast it blocked the light, her body large enough to dwarf me fifty times. Clotho jerked her head toward the sky. The sun was hidden, but I could see it was already at its peak. I grunted and envisioned my draconis form, which matched Clotho’s, the only difference being our size. I was older than her and therefore larger, although neither of us had reached full maturity. At twenty-nine and twenty-two, we were still considered fledglings, but our roles within the clan elevated us above others our age. As the future Janardan of the Circulus, much was expected of my sister.
The change erupted from within me, my hands thickening and transforming into talons. My skin turned to hardened scales, and wings burst forth from my back. Sharp incisors protruded from my massive jaw. I blinked my reptilian eyes: the colors around me were sharper, becoming deeper, more vibrant hues. The sound of the rain falling and waves crashing against the cliffs below the castle pierced my ears, growing so much louder and more distinct. The smell of salt, along with a hint of earthy musk, was strengthened by the rain. The shift happened in seconds, but I felt every cell transform. The sensation was similar to slipping into water, sheathing my body with its silkiness.
Clotho huffed and launched into the air, quickly rising above the treetops. I followed suit, relishing the way the rain cleansed my scales and the pain from my brands slipped away in this form. The ground shrank below us, the stones of the Janardan’s Heart becoming distant. The trees looked so insignificant from up here. In the sky, all of the things that seemed so important on the ground fell away. All that mattered was the air beneath my wings and the sun on my scales. My Circle wasn’t broken up here. I wasn’t even a Circulus when flying. I was just a draconis, free to traverse the lands, explore and be myself. In the air I was my truest self. I didn’t have to worry about being weak. I could just live. I roared into the pouring rain, cleansing my flesh. Ecstasy. My wings . . . they were my freedom, my ability to escape the Ruptor’s chains for a while.
We flew for hours, until the sun had disappeared in a thrilling display of blood reds and bruising purples, before Clotho dove for the ground. I let my body fall through the sky, thrusting out my wings at the last moment to level myself with the treetops. When I reached an open area, I gracefully landed beside my sister. The river wasn’t far from the clearing, but it required us to travel through dense forest, so we shifted. Our clothes reappeared around our bodies, emerging with our human form from the ether—hinting at the existence of a power we didn’t understand. Neither of us spoke a word as we walked in the dark, our heightened senses guiding us.
The river raged, seemingly angered by the swelling storm above us. The rain soaked me through to the bone, but I didn’t complain of the chill. I wasn’t weak; something as simple as the cold, a minor discomfort, wouldn’t break me. Besides, my burns were soothed by its coolness. Clotho knelt upon the riverbank, scooping some water to quench her thirst. I drank the liquid greedily too. Tomorrow would be another full day of flight. It would take us days to arrive at the Strip. Then I would travel by foot for another few days. Flying toward De Vita in draconis form would set them on alert—the opposite of what I wanted. They needed to find me defenseless. They needed to believe I was weak and not a threat.
After we drank our fill, we wandered back to the clearing and started a fire. We sat around the flames quietly for a while, both of us engrossed in our own thoughts. Eventually, when the blaze was nothing but broken embers, I spoke. “We should shift. I’ll take the first watch.” It was more comfortable to sleep in that form outdoors and easier to defend ourselves if we were ambushed, although that was unlikely this deep into Circulus territory. But if I had learned one thing from being Ruptor, it was that the strong knew never to underestimate the enemy and never be caught off guard. Clotho swallowed but nodded, but before I could shift she held out a hand for me to stop.
“When you took our father to the Strip, how did you feel?” she blurted out. My brows raised, and I studied her for a moment in the pale moonlight. An uncertain expression loomed over her. I doubted she felt regret. My sister had always been confident in her decisions.
“We didn’t talk much. I was angry,” I replied. It was partially true. I hadn’t spoken much, but Ercan had begged me over and over to release him from this world. The plea still infuriated me with its hypocrisy. “There is no need to be angry with yourself. Nor feel guilt, Clo. This is not the same,” I said softly before shifting.
For days we flew north and nothing of note happened. My broken Circles swelled, my hands and neck so painful I rarely shifted from draconis. Clotho didn’t need to see my weakness. We stopped to hunt and took turns sleeping at night, which I was silently grateful for. The redness of the sun enflamed the Ruptor, making my bones ache with the need to exude power—through sex or pruning, something to release that burning within me. At least in the dark, I could suppress the urges so they were a dull throb, but without release the Ruptor was restless.
Last night, we finally reached the border between the Circulus and the Strip. It was time to part ways. I stretched, my claws digging into the soft ground. Clotho had woken before me and was already out of draconis. She sat at the edge of the river bank, letting her feet dangle into the water. I groaned internally at the thought of shifting—baring my hands to her. I was tempted to refuse to leave my draconis, but that would be cowardice. So, I released my draconis form and sank back into the painful pit of my human body.
The air was warmer up north. Dryer, too. Soon, the river would deviate from my path and transition to the barren land of the desert Sand Eye. Clotho twisted, brushing her hair aside and looking at me. Her eyes glimpsed my wounds before quickly averting them. There was a hint of sadness before she squashed that and plastered on a smile. “You ready?”
I swallowed and managed a slight nod as she pushed herself to her feet. I gulped. Clotho’s violet eyes zeroed in on the action and softened slightly, but that was all the sympathy I would get. I wouldn’t ask for more. To admit that I was afraid would show weakness that I couldn’t manifest into reality.