Page 46 of A Broken Ember

“Step aside, son. Your Selected has made his choice,” Odon growled.

“I won’t let you do this,” I answered, reaching for the pommel of my sword that wasn’t there. Father had taken enough from those that I loved. He thought he held the power, keeping the knowledge of magic healing to himself. And I had let him use that over me for too long. Not anymore. Rohit stepped up, lurking behind me. The loyalty reminded me that I couldn’t lose. If I did, it wouldn’t just be me who would face the consequences. Rohit, Claeg, Ercan, Thyia . . . all of them would suffer.

Reading my mind, Rohit handed me a sword. I stepped toward my father with the challenge in my eyes. He smirked and leaned over to Calian to murmur in his ear. Odon’s second nodded and stepped back.

“You would Challenge me over the Ruptor?” Father’s livid eyes were filled with disgust. I nodded before I lost my nerve. He spat. “I accept your Challenge, heir,” Odon stated, unsheathing his own weapon. The sight took a weight off my shoulders. I had waited too long for this moment, and now here we were. In a matter of moments, one of us would be dead. There would be no surrendering to the other’s power—I saw that now. My life was a culmination of events leading to this. My destiny. The next few moments would decide the fate of many. My clan, my friends, my family, my heart. I couldn’t lose this fight. I assessed my opponent. He studied me, circling me in the clearing that had been made for us. Above us, the draconis flew in an unprecedented frenzy.

For a moment, we waited patiently for the other to make the first move. Father laughed, his eyes full of darkness. Then he lunged at me, aiming for my gut. I easily evaded the strike and returned with my own. I aimed for his heart, but Odon batted me to the side just as easily, his smirk taunting me. I didn’t give him time to recover and plan another move before I struck again. Fury fueled my actions, a voice distantly warning me that my emotions would be used against me. I didn’t care. Even my ability to feel pain had been stripped from me. I was a child the last time I experienced pain, yet its absence ruled my life. I was a slave to it despite its absence. Yet, for all my numbness, the wound in my heart thrived. I ached at the thought of all the Circulus we had Saved and for the suffering of those who were cursed with life, longing for death only to be denied the right of that honor.

Father countered my attacks as my thoughts flowed toward everyone that I had let down: Enid, Ercan, Rohit, Thyia, Claeg. My shortcomings, my failures, ended now. I had to be better, do better. For them. I pushed forward, blow by blow. But for each advance, Odon returned with equal energy. We battled like a storm—merciless as the wind tearing through flesh with the sand it carried on its back.

On and on we fought. The sun chased the moon as it reached its peak. And again it fell, desperate for relief from its hunt. Eventually, my chest heaved, but that mattered little. My eyes snagged on my father’s core, which also heaved for breath. I smirked. Still, we exchanged moves like a couple who had memorized an intricate dance, one we had awaited for too long to perform. Draconis roared above us, their growls and beating wings the music to our deadly dance. Its melody played in tune with my heart.

“You surprise me, my son. I thought you would always cower in my shadow. But now, you have unleashed yourself. Too bad, it is too late.” Speaking distracted him for a moment, giving me the opening I needed to breach his defenses. My blade met flesh, tearing open his dominant arm. He growled, eyes flaring. I didn’t celebrate the win. He nodded to Hariasa, who swiftly took up a weapon that made my heart shatter with rage.

“You can’t do this!” I spat as she rounded me, stalking towards Claeg. My demand was useless, for Father made no move to stop her from executing what could not be undone by any amount of healing magic. I wanted nothing more than to race towards her and rip the blade from her hands, but my Father occupied my every move, forcing my attention to stay on him. “Rohit!” I cried between slashes of my father’s blade, but my friend was already moving. He had a weapon in hand and met her with a fury that rivaled mine. Hope dared to take root in my chest. The draconis would witness the downfall of this wretched leader and his wicked court.

Roars filled my ears, cheers or protests, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Whatever the results were of the Challenge, the clan would respect the results. Cold metal tore through my shoulder, making me gasp despite the lack of pain. I stumbled from the jarring impact. There wasn’t time to assess the wound, only a fraction of a second to regain my composure. I hurtled myself back into the fight, pursuing my father across the mesa’s plateau. By the distant sound of blades striking each other, Rohit was still fighting Hariasa. But what about Calian, Oriana, Aurora? I didn't dare look. They wouldn’t intervene between my father and me, as was tradition, but there were no rules against Saving a draconis. Especially when the order had so obviously been given to Hariasa.

The first indication that my body was failing was the wetness of my tunic against my shoulder. I ignored the warning, continuing to fight with equal fervor. I wasn’t the only one bleeding. Father was favoring his non-dominant arm, the other one stained red from where my blade had torn deeply through his bicep. There were a dozen other nicks, but nothing too serious. Still, his chest heaved like mine, and his footwork slipped every so often. And every time I was right there, swinging my blade.

Seconds dragged on. Sweat coated the hilt of my blade. Or perhaps it was blood from my shoulder. I shifted my grip to my other hand. A mistake. I was weaker with this side, although only slightly. Immediately, I regretted my choice, but there wasn't an opportunity to revert to my weakened arm.

Father growled, charging at me. He was becoming frustrated, too, although his anger came out less impulsively. More . . . calculated, patient—without the desperation and passion that accompanied my attacks. I spun to the side, narrowly avoiding losing my arm. Still, the whistle of the blade was too loud by my ear. The sword grazed the cartilage, tearing open a new wound and slicing off some of the braids whipping around me. A ringing joined the frenzy of wing beats and the racing of my heart. I wasn’t fast enough. My lungs swelled, pushing against my ribcage in an attempt to draw in more air. A wheeze barely escaped my throat—that was the second indication of my body failing me.

Still, I wouldn’t relent. For Claeg. For Rohit and Ercan. Their names were a chant in my head. I ground my teeth, ignoring the signs that I was losing. I met strike after strike, ignoring the flush of triumph when my weapon opened a significant wound to Odon’s stomach. We had a balance of injuries now. His tunic was more black now than green. The wet fabric of my tunic clung to my shoulder. There was no time to rest. I pushed onwards, snarling at the man who’d sired me.

“Stas! Behind you!” Rohit’s warning came just in time, alerting me to Calian’s attack at my back. There was no time for surprise or to wonder why Calian would intervene during this sacred battle. I should have seen him coming. I hadn’t—another sign of weakness and my body’s final warning. I ignored it, bringing my blade to meet Calian’s. Slowly. Blood dripped down my body, a mix of mine and my foe’s.

“Give up. You will not win this battle,” Calian sneered as our blades tangled together in a clash of scraping metal.

The blow that struck me down came moments later—not from Calian, but from behind, from my father. A stretching sensation ripped through my shoulder, and the tip of a bloodied blade flashed in front of me. I fell, my weapon clattering to the ground. I gasped desperately for air, but instead the blade was torn from my chest, fracturing my ability to breathe. My hands clutched the gaping wound to staunch the blood flow.

Get up! I pleaded with my limbs. My body didn’t respond to my urges to keep fighting. Blood poured from dozens of other places that I hadn’t felt being cleaved open. Father held his weapon to my neck, but my vision swam. I had seen this before. I was losing too much blood.

“I knew you couldn’t do it. You have always been too weak,” Father said between breaths.

Meet his eyes! I commanded myself, unwilling to take defeat like this, but as I struggled to push myself up with one arm, a boot slammed me into the stone.

“Oriana, Save the Circulus and you shall become my Chosen.”

Odon’s words sent fresh terror through me, but there was nothing left in me to give. I felt nothing and everything all at once.

They said love conquers all. That was a lie. My love had failed. Death and pain however, did conquer all. But my death would be soundless, without pain. I had lost.

“Please, Father, spare him,” I sobbed. He spat at me again. I was too weak to flinch. His blurry form turned away, but another figure knelt next to me, appearing through the haze. Rohit. The smallest flicker of hope rose in me. Not in defeating my father, but in protecting those that I loved. “Run, Ro. Take them and run,” I slurred. I could just make out my friend’s red hair shaking—no. That terrified me more than my own death. “Please…” I couldn’t even lift my head to look him in the eye.

“We aren’t leaving you,” Rohit answered firmly. His hands danced in front of him, but it was useless; he didn’t know the spells to heal me. “Odon! You will have no heir, no honor, if you let your son die!” he shouted. Something wet fell from him. Was he injured? I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but instead blackness overtook me.

“Oriana, Save your useless brother. I tire of his insolence,” Odon replied while continuing to walk away.

NO. My heart stopped. I could not fail them all.

Sudden silence hit me, but I didn't let the panic consume me. There was still a chance. I felt no pain. It was time to use that to my advantage.

And then the shift exploded through me, releasing my final weapon.

Chapter 49: Claeg

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