A Broken Ember (Windows to the Soul #1)

Prologue Claeg

Five sun turns ago

I startled with a gasp, nearly dropping my sword as a relentless pull in my gut forced me from my engagement with Sivert.

Weakness, the Ruptor purred. A thrill shot down my spine, and a sensation like being pulled forward by my intestines nagged me. My body buzzed with the need to hunt for weakness—to protect the strength of the clan.

I blinked rapidly, orienting myself, but it was too late: my lapse in attention had cost me. Sivert gained the upper hand, driving me on the defensive. He hadn’t noticed the weakness calling out. Only I, the Ruptor, could sense it, being the only one granted the gift for detecting faults in others—whether that was illness or injury.

Sivert advanced, drawing his blade against mine with a screech of metal against metal. My lungs tugged at the air, desperate for its relief to fill my insides. Sweat unrelated to my workout poured from my brow like the waves crashing against the shore below us. We had been in the throes of battle for half the day now, but it was time to end the friendly cross of blades. I heaved against Sivert, forcing him to stumble upon the rock beneath our dancing feet. He grunted, gaining his footing in an instant, preparing to launch another attack, but I was already sheathing my blade.

My second registered the change, perhaps seeing the way my body nearly vibrated with the intense need to hunt. Or perhaps he saw my blown pupils, wide with hunger. There was weakness among us. Vulnerability. Like any skilled warrior, I would patch it up before it could be exploited. To ignore the opening would be to allow the weak to lay their burden upon the clan. Every moment an ill or wounded draconis drew breath was another chance the enemy could take us down. The weakness had to be Pruned.

“Is a Circle closing, Claeg?” a fledgling asked, her voice unwavering as she approached me with a flask of water. My throat was parched, but the discomfort could wait to be sated. I barely regarded the young woman as I pushed past, following my instincts toward the weakness calling to the Ruptor.

The Circulus castle wasn’t made for comfort or beauty, but efficiency. Everything was perfect, from its defensible position upon an unforgiving cliff towering above the raging sea, to its smooth rock floor which was painstakingly maintained everyday.The cliff jutted out from shore, a narrow land bridge creating a path from the mainland to the castle. The position gave us the vantage point to see in every direction and provided only one path for a land attack, one which was treacherous and those unfamiliar with traversing the path risked falling prey to the rocks below. The Circulus young learned to walk the path the minute they could stand. Many children died upon the weaponized rocks. Before the Ruptor had emerged, the walkway had been a way of expunging the weak within my clan. Now, it was regarded as a rite of passage, an honor to demonstrate such strength to overcome its challenges.

I sprinted over the deadly path with perfect ease, my feet intimate with its grooves and imperfections. The walk through the castle blurred by, the Ruptor guiding my steps. I was a dog following a scent that promised a juicy reward. I didn’t even register where I was until a voice jerked me out of my trance.

“Please, Claeg,” the familiar voice begged—Father, the man whom I regarded as a god. I blinked. That wasn’t right, but as my eyes took in my surroundings, I saw that the Ruptor hadn’t led me astray. The victim I found shattered my heart. My once strong mother was pale, her veins streaked with black, the color striking against the pale, sweat-soaked sheets. Her breath smelled of death and her eyes were heavily lined with dark circles. The sounds coming from her were tragic and horrifyingly weak—terrible, rattling gasps. Father trembled where he hovered above her sickbed, asking us the impossible. Doom lingered heavily in the air.

At some point, Clotho appeared beside me, and I quickly sent her to get our grandmother—the leader of the Circulus. Her narrow shoulders tensed and jaw pulsed. Her palpable anger matched the intensity of the Ruptor. Their betrayal cut deeply for both of us. My sister dutifully obeyed. Her long white hair, which was neatly braided down her back, flew behind her in her haste to fetch our grandmother. I turned back to Ercan, the man who’d sired us.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why would you do this?” I asked my father, unable to hold back my growl. Ercan had a kind heart, but I didn’t think he would do something as treacherous as this. He clearly knew his mate had been sick but hadn’t informed Thana or me. All day, he had stayed in this room with Tamela, claiming they were attempting to “regenerate life.” The truth couldn’t be more obvious now: he had been hiding her illness, hoping nobody would notice the heir to the Circulus clan’s weakness. It was a shameful and pointless endeavor. The Ruptor always knew: it called to me when Circles were to be completed.

“Please, I can’t live without her.” Tears welled in his eyes. I snorted. He would put his own selfish desires over the clan?! I knew he loved his mate, but what he dared ask of us went against everything the Circulus stood for. I looked at my mother. She gave Ercan’s hand a little squeeze.

“It’s okay, my love. My Circle is coming to an end.” She gave him a strained smile. Obviously, she had made her peace with her weakness. Good. One must always put the Circulus' strength above their own desires.

“No, it’s not. They don’t see that you are still strong. This isn’t your end unless they make it so. It’s not fair.” He shook his head fiercely. She leaned forward and wiped a tear from his eye.

“They aren’t ready,” she murmured, rubbing small circles into the back of his hand. He fell to his knees and brought her fingers to his lips. Before I could ask what she meant, the door swung open. Father stiffened. “Mother,” Tamela rasped. “It’s my Circle . . . it’s ending.”

Grandmother hummed but didn’t comment, instead letting Clotho take the lead.

“Out, Ruptor,” Clotho snapped at me. I bristled but dipped my head, leaving the room only to linger outside the door. As a future Janardan, Clotho would have to witness this, whereas I was nothing but an executioner. They were the judges; I was their tool.

“Prepare yourself, daughter, for the completion of your Circle.” Thana spoke with a hint of tenderness for her daughter. Mother had always impressed upon me the importance of Circulus’ strength. My thoughts circled around my father’s treasonous words. As the clan’s Ruptor, it was my privilege to complete Circles, yet he asked me for mercy. I shuddered. That wasn’t my purpose. I kept the clan strong. That was my mercy.

“C-clotho . . . my child, please,” Ercan stuttered, his voice breaking. Pathetic. I shook my head and walked away, unwilling to listen to his pleas anymore.

I groaned, flipping over in bed and placing my pillow over my head to try to drown out the flood of confusing emotions pressing upon me. Hurt. Fear. Anger. And the worst of them all . . . a profound pain. “By the gods.” Pruning had never hurt before. It always led to new growth. There was no reason to avoid it. But Pruning my mother . . . it made my insides feel like the scum that clung to the surface of the swamps deep in the southern portion of the Circulus territory. I couldn’t show that, though. I was a warrior—-more than that, I was a Ruptor. A pillar of strength. There could be no visible cracks, so I pushed myself up and prepared myself a bath with an orange blossom. The water was warm and inviting, calming me. I lay there, relishing the citrusy scent as it enveloped me.

A soft knock made me groan.

It was time.

“Come in.”

Sivert strode in, only briefly glancing at my naked body before dismissing me. As my second, he had seen all of me. He carried supplies to prepare me for my duty today. Inks for coloring my skin, the dyes would be painted on me in the traditional chains. Sivert marched over to the curtains and pulled them wide, allowing the light to stream in. I squinted against the light, taking a deep breath and exhaling all the unwanted feelings clinging to me.

“Thana expects you in the forest when the sun is at its highest. We have until then to prepare you for the completion of Tamela’s Circle.” Sivert’s tone was purely business. I grunted. He offered me a towel as I stepped out of the bath, silky water dripping to the ground. I used it to wrap my pale hair. His deft hands went to work drying me. His touch stirred the Ruptor’s need to assert dominance, preferably between silky sheets, but I ignored the sensation.

I hummed as he finished drying my body and guided me to the chair. He wasted no time, immediately grabbing his brushes and beginning the arduous task of decorating my body. The horse hair tickled against my skin as he wove intricate chains around my chest, legs, back, and arms. When he was done, black stains marred my nearly translucent skin. Dark loops covered every muscle.

Sivert stood back and admired his work. “I’ll see you in the forest, Ruptor.” He bowed, and I nodded, dismissing him.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, I sauntered over to my closet. My eyes fell past my typical outfit of leather armor to the traditional dress for the ceremony. It was a loose-fitting, sheer, white robe that brought attention to the Circles decorating my skin. Metal cuffs clinked together around my wrists. To complete my outfit, I sheathed my preferred blade between my shoulders and a second one at my hip. A smart warrior never went anywhere without their weapons. While I could slay an opponent with the help of a sword, my hands were just as lethal. My father had taught me that a wise warrior forged their body into a weapon itself so that they were never defenseless. Still, I liked the weight of the blade.

When the sun reached its peak, I made my way through the palace. The gray-slab halls were empty, most of the clan having already vacated the castle. An echo of footsteps alerted me to my sister’s presence before she rounded the corner. She wore her own traditional outfit—a dress similar to mine. Dainty chains connected her ear to her eyebrow, lip, and nose, linking the senses. The hilts of my sister’s preferred twin daggers crossed at her shoulders. A braided silver crown encircled her head. Her violet eyes scrutinized my body, seeking any imperfections. There were none. She slowly nodded her approval. We exited the castle together, hearing the sounds of chanting from the forest. Our grandmother, the Janardan of the Circulus, would be amongst them already, as would Tamela and Ercan.

The enthusiastic sun provided a perfect day for the completion of a Circle. Birds chirped in the skies. I longed to join them in my draconis form, but duty bound me to the ground for now. When I flew, I felt the most in control of my own Circle. I could almost pretend I was free to make my own decisions, but eventually my duty as Ruptor followed me even into the sky.

We walked over the land bridge that connected the castle on the island cliff to the mainland, passing the rock stairs laboriously hammered into the cliff. We lithely made our way through the ragged cliffs until we reached the forest’s edge. I dodged overgrown trees, experience having taught me the thorny routes to avoid—-not because they could hurt me, but rather because they tore at my clothing. Just as we arrived, the chanting reached a crescendo. My breath caught in my throat as the clan came into view. They were gathered in a circle, Tamela and Thana at its center. The members closest to us parted, allowing us entrance through the thousands of hushed draconis.

Mother knelt before a deep grave. Thana stood over her daughter, a small tray of inks and fine daggers prepared for me. I took my place beside them and grabbed my blade. It was simply made, with a leather hilt and a near needle-point edge, designed for the completion of the crescent I tattooed upon each babe's neck upon birth. I began painstakingly pressing the ink into Tamela’s flesh. My heart ached as if the blade were tattooing the organ. Over and over, I inserted the inked tip, using it to complete the Circle at her nape.

“Circles are never-ending, always enduring. Everything that once was, is or will be is part of the sacred Circle. Some are smaller and some are swollen, but all are complete. Do not fear this change. Be at peace, Circulus.” I spoke the words of honor for her comfort and to lend my strength in her time of weakness. Tamela held her head high until it was done. Only then did we look at the Circulus around us. Ercan was missing. Where was Tamela’s mate—my father? When her eyes met mine, there wasn’t an inkling of fear. Pride surged in my chest for her despite her weakness. She was still my mother, and she had been a pillar of strength my entire life. She deserved the completion of her Circle, and I would make it quick and as painless as possible.

“Daughter of the Circulus, you are a great warrior,” Thana thundered, and murmurs of agreement echoed from the clan. “Your offspring inherit your strength. May their Circles be swollen with life. Rest now, Tamela, sweet darkness.”

Tamela bowed her head and laid in the grave. Against the dirt, the gray of her skin was stark. The great warrior we knew her to be was still inside her. Resting. Instincts guided me, making demands of me now. I stepped into the grave and knelt over my mother. My insides shook, but my exterior was as hard as stone. “I see you, draconis. I see your Circle. You’ve done well, Circulus. Rest now,” I murmured before placing the blade upon the vessel in her neck that would release her the quickest from this life. I didn’t hesitate. The dagger slid across her throat, and blood poured out, quickly covering my hands. A small, precise cut. The blood warmed my skin with its splatters, creating a unique artwork of my body. It crafted a final story with its streaks, drips and trails. Receiving her blood’s tale was an honor.

Within moments, her suffering would be over. “Until the Circles end,” I said in farewell. I stayed by her side until the lifeblood quit pouring out of her. It wasn’t long before life drained from her faded Circle, and with a final press of my lips to her forehead I left her to embark on her next Circle.

When I stepped out of the grave, Thana began the next part of the ritual by scooping up some of the soil and pouring it over her daughter. One by one, we each buried my mother until no piece of her was visible. There were no tears. Weeping wasn’t the way of the Circulus. We were crafted stone, Pruned to perfection. So, when a wail rose from deep within the crowd—a sound I instantly recognized, I bristled.

“Tamela! TAMELA!” The name splintered in the eardrum, hurting the ears to hear its echoes of grief. “Please, Claeg, don’t take her from me!” The crowd of Circulus reeled back with blatant disgust. From within their depths emerged Ercan. His face was unusually red, paths of tears marking his cheeks.

My heart stopped. It was immediately clear why he had been kept from the ceremony—he was being dishonorably Pruned. Broken Circles were burned into his flesh, on his hands. The skin was inflamed and crimson. I knew without seeing that the tattoo on the back of his neck had been burned off. The Janardan had disowned him. It didn’t happen often in the Circulus clan—most Circles were completed, not broken. It was worse than death, to be cast out. Little gasps echoed throughout the clan. I glanced at Clotho. There wasn’t a flicker of surprise on her face. She’d known. Of course, she had—she was destined to be the future Janardan.

Ercan fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. His nails dug into the soil above his mate. “No, no, no!” he screamed, dragging the dirt aside with his ruined palms.

I seethed. How dare he disrespect the completion of his mate’s Circle with his weakness! We were supposed to offer her our strength at this time. My lip curled. I wanted to spit upon my father, but I couldn’t do so without disrespecting Tamela’s grave. Around me, the clan began whispering, voicing my surprised thoughts. Many looked to Thana expectantly for orders. We didn’t have to wait long, but it came from a source I hadn’t expected.

“Claeg, take him to the Neutral Strip,” Clotho growled. My eyes met my grandmother’s. She nodded in agreement, but I caught a flicker of something I couldn’t discern before it vanished from her face.

“If he attempts to return, kill him,” my grandmother said, any emotion she felt hidden behind a mask of stone and responsibility.

I swallowed and nodded, stepping forward to heave my father up. He struggled against my grip, but his emotional state weakened him, making him easy to overpower. Even level-headed I had been able to overtake my father for years. He lashed out, throwing an elbow backwards, trying to catch me in the face, but I easily evaded him. I caught his arm and roughly jerked him backwards. Ercan responded by ungracefully trying to shove me back. Despite his scrambling, I managed to clasp his arms, using a chain from around my neck to bind his hands.

“Stop! You’re making a fool out of yourself,” I muttered under my breath.

“You don’t fucking understand!” he spat, jerking against me, but I held him firm, staring into his eyes. I bristled at his accusation and bit my tongue to keep from snapping back at him and making everything worse. I sneered and pulled him through the crowd as my prisoner. He dug his heels in, attempting to remain with his dead Entwined, but I yanked forward again and again. Eventually, he stumbled, hands hitting the dirt. With the collapse, a sob shuddered through his body, quickly escalating into a wail. Now I didn’t withhold my spit from flying onto his face.

He winced.

“Please, Claeg, have mercy. Complete my Circle,” he begged, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. I scoffed at him. How dare he ask such a thing!

“Mercy isn’t for those with broken Circles,” I answered and marched on, letting his body drag behind me until he got his feet under him.

His cries followed me all the way to the Neutral Strip. Even when we parted ways, they would always haunt me.