Chapter 5 Claeg
The Neutral Strip was a unique transition land: the thick forests of the Circulus, with their abundant resources, became rolling prairies with plentiful game before transitioning into the desert, with its multitude of mesas. I had never been there, but I was told it was characterized by endless sand dunes and golden sun. There was no reason for me to go to the desolate land of De Vita. Circulus had everything we needed, so we kept to our territory. The vast Neutral Strip was rumored to contain creatures right out of bedtime stories, with horns in their human form and no wings in their draconis. Given that the past two days had passed without any interaction from said creatures, my disbelief in them only solidified.
The river veered off my path, merging with the sea while I headed toward the Sand Eye. Soon, De Vita would spot me, if they hadn’t already, and they would intervene. They wouldn’t attack-—at least, I didn’t think they would. Hopefully this would be peaceful, although with De Vita, not much was known. The clans kept to themselves, our ideologies too different to mix.
The sun was relentless in the Strip and it would only worsen as the prairies gave away to the Sand Eye. Sweat poured off of me in an attempt to cool myself. Soon, my body would adapt as it realized that my source of water was no longer plentiful. My stomach grumbled, my mouth dry with thirst. I needed to eat, yet I had no weapon to hunt with other than my draconis form, and I couldn’t afford to shift without unsettling any scouts watching me.
The dry grass brushed my fingertips as I made my way up a hill. The sensation brought my attention to the broken circles. Fuck. I hissed but resisted the urge to curl my fingers. Instead, I examined the red, swollen flesh of my palms. A sticky coat of semi-dried liquid coated the flesh that had bubbled and torn open.
There hadn’t been shade for a few hours, so I hadn’t rested. Even with my superior evolution I wasn’t sure how many more days I could withstand this. The Circulus had not been tested against such challenges. It hadn’t been necessary. The Circulus kept to our lush territory, and De Vita kept to their wasteland. I hated myself for my dependance on water. Craving anything as much as I craved water was surely a weakness, one I was grateful nobody from the Circulus was here to witness. If I survived, the flaw would be remedied by the Ruptor.
Water. Three days had passed. Maybe more. My mouth cracked. I blinked my dry, crusty eyes. I rubbed my face with the back of my hand, though my skin was beyond dry. I had stopped sweating long ago.
Water. My stomach shriveled; my lips were crusted with sand. Deep rivets lined my tongue, like the dunes I traversed. I panted, wishing my breath were moist, but even my air was sapped of liquid.
A shadow passed above. A vulture. It occurred to me to follow it. The creature would know where to go. Maybe. Or perhaps it was another hallucination, like the mirages I’d seen while on my endless walk through the Strip. My feet ached from the constant forward movement, but I kept on. To stop was to die. The thought was comforting. I shook my head. Keep going. Thousands of Circulus draconis were depending on me to get to the De Vita. To weaken them. The thought stirred the Ruptor, rousing me from my semi-alert state.
A screech pierced the air, making my hair stand on end. It was near and all too familiar: a draconis making a dreadful noise, reminding me of death—-a tone familiar to the Ruptor. It was the call of the suffering. My bones begged me to hunt for the source. I yearned for the comfort of being the Ruptor. Yet, to do so would compromise my mission. When I found the victim, the Ruptor would demand the completion of their Circle. A growl emanated from my chest. Fuck.
The agonizing wail assaulted the air again, rising in urgency. The sound of feasting predator birds joined the wail in a terrifying melody. I muttered an oath and did something I would regret later. The shift took over me, and I was flying moments later. From above it was easy to locate the draconis. My heart leaped in my chest as I spotted them. Their scales were midnight navy against the sandy hills, their flesh rotted on hollowed bones, scales sloughing off to reveal shredded muscle. Five vultures pecked at living flesh, a sixth swooping down to join the others. The putrid stench burnt my nostrils. It was horrid. I blinked, trying to clear the sight from my eyes, but it grew clearer as I approached. I could see their intestines moving through the thin line of flesh keeping them contained within the draconis’ abdomen. My gut churned. By the gods of the Circulus . . . How was it that I’d happened to stumble on a creature in such dire need of death? Perhaps this was another mirage—an elaborate one. I beat my wings, urging my body faster as those wretched cries escalated. I breathed in shallow breaths, not daring to inhale more than I had to. This had to be a trap. There was no place to hide my approach. No way to subtly assess the scene. They would have seen me by now anyway. My heart raced with the adrenaline of the hunt. The Ruptor roared at the blatant weakness—one so obvious and potent I couldn’t believe the draconis still lived.
When I was above the weakened beast, I dove, but the beasts didn’t shy away from me, too thrilled at the feast before them. I shifted the moment I hit the ground. Up close, the wounds were not just foul to behold. They were atrocious, worsened by the beaks of the pests indulging in their suffering. My stomach rolled, and I couldn’t stop myself from heaving. What I had presumed were intestines was a worm-like creature. It infested their body, feeding off the rotting flesh which still took in ragged breaths. The wings were shredded. At one point, someone had tried to stitch them back together as if they could heal the dead. The draconis’ chest heaved, each breath an agonizing effort. Hot blood pooled around them. Their reptilian eyes met mine, but where I expected to find hatred, I saw utter relief. They let out a long sigh, as if knowing what and who I was. I approached slowly with my hands visible, ensuring that I appeared as non-threatening as possible, not wanting to spook them. My heart pounded. I saw no deception in their eyes, only suffering. The parasites were devouring the beast, seizing control. They were a puppet in their own Circle, like I was. I frowned at the thought, contemplating it briefly before dismissing it. I lived for my Janardan. It was my choice to follow her commands.
“I’m going to help you,” I said and ran up to the closest vulture, who was gobbling down a scale torn right from the stomach. Despite the scale’s durability, it didn’t pause its feasting. In a flash of movement, I snapped its neck before it could even register me as a threat. The next eyed me warily, but the predator had become the prey. Another snapped neck and other birds scampered away, one of them vomiting before it took flight. They would be back once I left, so I would bury the suffering soul once their Circle was completed.
I tossed the dead animal away from the draconis and returned to their snout.
“Can you shift?” My words rasped from my parched throat. They just blinked at me and let out a warm breath, the sound tugging upon the strings of my soul as it escaped their jowl. I took another step toward them, coming close enough to rest my palm on their snout. That great blue eye that reflected the depths of the sea fell closed. “I see you, draconis. I see your Circle. You’ve done well, De Vita. Rest now,” I murmured, knowing the draconis’ acute hearing would let them hear me. The great beast let out a low moan, and their breathing settled into a slow rhythm. The smell of rotted flesh faintly shifted, but I focused on the draconis before me. Providing that peace, the assurance that one was seen at the end of life, was all that mattered now. That was my purpose as a Ruptor. Sometimes I hunted the weak; other times they found me. Whatever the case, it was my role to provide comfort in those precious moments. For years I had witnessed and orchestrated every death within the Circulus clan. I would wake in the night sensing the presence of death looming over someone. It was a gift and a curse, knowing when someone was weak. Bringing them peace almost made up for the pain it provided every time I looked upon the blood in the sky or earth. Almost.
The draconis gasped, the plentiful wounds on their body pulsing with blood. The stream slowed as their heart rate decreased. It wouldn’t be long now. The song of the Circulus came to mind. I choked out the tune, ignoring the cultural barriers to provide the only comfort I knew.
“Draconis
Don’t be afraid.
Circles only end
When they are complete.
Now rest among your ancestors,
Connected to those you love.”
At the end of the song, I felt the draconis’ spirit relax as their soul left this plane. Finally, they were at peace. I pressed my forehead to their snout, taking a deep breath . . . but instead of the toxic rot from the weak draconis, something else flooded my nostrils. Sunshine and spice. My heart froze in my throat.
I wasn’t alone.