Bronze Burning

CLARION CALL

7

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CLARION CALL

Adara au Caecilli is dead.

The phrase repeats in my mind, and I wonder when men will stop forcing the horror of their designs on me.

The Syndicate would have me believe they've given me a blank canvas, a new life, a position of prestige, the scar of the Peerless, but I cannot look at myself in the mirror. My face is not even my own. Adara au Caecilli is dead. Whose survival am I fighting for?

I have arrived back at the first step, bleeding quietly, my life stolen. My father made me a creature of control in a world where I have none. Every outcome I've hoped for, dreamed of, planned towards has been stolen away from me. Even death. It is a life like slowly drowning, every anxious, terrified step that I take another stroke towards the burning sweet relief of air. But the goal remains just beyond reach, and I don't know if I'll ever break the surface.

My shuttle banks, and across from me, the other occupant slumps in his chair. The Syndicate Silver was meant to transfer the House Virius funds, an arduous process with the Ash Lord's constant monitoring of his ally's finances. And though great care was being taken to secure their prize, the Syndicate won't see a single credit.

I have resolved in my heart of hearts that Jiminy will not outlive me. Otho au Virius was a legend of cruelty and sadism, but the Violet is a different animal altogether. I have only seen the likeness of Jiminy's all-consuming ambition in holos of the Jackal of Mars. I am his toy, his obsession, the puppet he will never let go. And so I must end him.

The tracking device was easy to remove, pried from my clavicle with a sliver from the shuttle's now-broken mirror. Removing the nanoWool myself is impossible, and it is far from the only lethal threat at the Syndicate's disposal. A single drop of blood would expose the truth of my identity. I keep the tracker with me until we cross the darkzone curtain, then burn it with the mirrored glass to eradicate my DNA.

The shuttle completes its turn, granting me a clear view of the House Grimmus fortress. Emerald waves break around grasping jagged spines of atolls and islets, reforming to spill across the pale sand of Gorgon Island. Dark eyes track us from fortified redoubts on its dark volcanic hump, and a flight of ripWings guide me toward a pure ivory spire transfixing the blackened rock.

I have been recalled for a general muster, guarding against threats leveled at the Ash Lord. Orders are clear. I am to remain in residence on the island until the threat has passed. Jiminy called it the proving crucible, a constant scrutiny of his work for days, weeks, months. A single mistake will be my undoing. To keep from drowning in terror, I focus on the dark irony of my predicament. Tactics I used to divide Otho from his sons have now placed me in a den of lions.

The shuttle lands and I leave the Silver in her chair, her head flopped forward on a broken neck. Her sole defense crunches under my boots, broken bits of a toggle to engage the nanoWool. Jiminy had thought it restraint enough, but she never had the chance to press it.

Praetorians of the Cohort Vigilum greet me on the launch pad, grim men in dark purple armor. The Ash Guard will brook no risk to the ArchImperator's person. My heart rattles around my ribcage as I present myself, fully armed and armored. They scan me, radiation stains, hand bones, and datapad. And when they have finished, I am confirmed as Praetor Otho au Virius of the Legio XIII Draconnes. It's a testament to Jiminy's skill that I am not murdered on the spot. "Send my Optio Praetorii to my quarters," I tell the praefectus, smothering my revulsion at Otho's smooth baritone.

I've been told there are Syndicate agents even here, and so I pass quickly through the tall, whitewashed corridors. I cannot help but see every lowColor as an assassin, ready to administer my death with the toggle of a button.