The Broken • Prologue

There was warmth in it, the smooth stone against his cheek. At first Jaron thought he’d been in some horrible dream, but across from him lay Geren, the apprentice smith, bound like him, lips white and cracked, face a yellowed bruise, eyes wide and terrified in the dim torchlight.
    He tried moving for a better view of where he had ended up, his head however had other ideas and forced him back down in agony. After a bout of gasping he tried again, tentatively lifting his battered frame until this time he was able to catch a glimpse of those around him before he was compelled to lie back down. Gemma, the barmaid from The Oak, the equally gaunt and sun-burnt visage of the inn’s owner Clem, Clem’s wife Eva and the scullery boy whose name no one knew; those few faces were all he could make out in the patchy light of the chamber.
    He tried whispering but no sound came out. Clearing his dry throat he tried again.
    “C…C…Clem,” he managed in a coarse voice. “What’s going on? Clem?” The innkeeper just stared at him with blank eyes, blinked a few times and looked away.
    A scream sounded, echoing off the stone walls around him. The townsfolk, prisoners like him, flinched at the noise; a ripple in the darkness given life by the sobbing and whimpering.
    I’m here Rhys, he would have said to him. Come here to save you. He choked back bitter tears as another scream sounded their doom.
    He did not fight when they came for him. The hands that lifted him were surprisingly gentle, his bonds carefully cut. As the robed figures pushed him forward, he saw the chamber for what it really was; a holding pen.
    People cowered as he was led along the narrow path, snaking its way between the scores of bound captives. He could make out none of their faces; each of them turning away as they passed, away from their captors in the grim hope that somehow they would not be next.
    And there it was, another scream to herald his end as they led him into the dark.
    A sharp turn at the corridor’s end opened out into a brightly lit underground chamber. Torches lined the high walls, flaring brightly in rusted metal sconces. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, holding it until they adjusted enough that he could see markings on the rough stone. Scrawled runes he did not recognise riddled the dark porous stone from floor to ceiling and glowed orange in the reflected firelight.
    On the far side, a pulpit was carved into the rock of the cavern, a dozen steps high, the line of torches burning to its zenith where a great fire burned in an iron basket blackened by soot. Robed figures stood in a half circle around the crackling blaze, a low hum filling the chamber as each one turned to face the high stone wall behind the fire. The edges of the wall were rough, the centre a perfect circle of smooth unblemished stone, polished so that the fire reflected in it like a mirror.
    He tripped at the first step and the grip on him tightened to iron. He struggled for a few seconds but the fight had long deserted him and he was dragged the rest of the way.
    Movement off to his left caught Jaron’s eye and he saw two robed figures dragging another prisoner towards the wall. The man kicked at them weakly, trying to wrench his arms free as he was hauled towards the glossy stone wall, finally tossing his head back with a cry of anguish.
    His breath caught in his throat. It can’t be! “Rhys!” His voiced echoed in the chamber.
    Rhys ceased his struggle and turned towards him. “Jaron? Jaron is that you?” His voice was thick with sudden emotion.
    Jaron was almost yanked off his feet as he tried to move forward. “I thought you were dead,” he called out as he was dragged towards a group huddled in the corner. “I saw the boots. The ones I gave you. No!” Wrenching one hand free, Jaron curled a week’s worth of fear, pain and frustration into a fist and struck out at the man holding him. There was a crack and a burst of pain in Jaron’s wrist but it was enough to free his other hand and he was off towards Rhys, staggering as he cradled his dangling limb.
    There were tears in both their eyes as he reached his brother, but an arm whipped around his throat, stopping him short of an embrace.
    “Jaron,” Rhys said tearfully. “You fool. Why did you come? You should never have come!”
    “I came for you, brother,” he choked.
    Rhys shook his head as the backs of Jaron’s knees were hacked out from beneath him. He screamed as he toppled forward onto his broken wrist.
    “You shouldn’t have come,” he heard through his pain. “Now you are damned too. Let me go!” The last was a cry of despair as his brother was dragged away.
    Jaron was pulled back up to his knees by a fistful of his hair.
    “You might like to see this,” a harsh voice said in his ear.
    Rhys was forced towards the polished section of wall and brought to a rough halt in front of it. A rope was looped around each wrist, his arms stretched out from his shoulders as the ropes were pulled taut, the force of it lifting his brother onto the toes of his dirtied and bloodied feet.
    The humming grew louder still, but this time it seemed to be coming from the wall itself. Jaron watched as the glossy black stone began to pulse, its surface growing dull and murky as it started to shift, swirling into a muddy vortex. A red ooze, dark to the point of black, began seeping out onto the floor, pooling at its base.
    Mother have mercy. The Bleeding Heart!
    Rhys struggled and wailed as the wall began to ripple outwards, bulging as though something was moving behind it, wanting to get out. The ropes held him firm, his head twisting frantically from side to side. Jaron could hear his shouting.
    The arm was back around Jaron’s throat as he tried to rise, holding him even as he struggled to get free. It was futile. “Rhys!” He shouted as a black tendril whipped out from the swirling mass in the wall and caught his brother by the head.
    The ropes holding Rhys’s arms went slack as his body began to convulse, his shaking growing more and more rapid until there was a loud crack and a last wailing scream.
    “No!” Jaron spluttered as his brother’s body was released to crumple to the ground. “Rhys.”
    Jaron tried to rise but a hard blow knocked him back down where he rolled in agony, barely feeling his wrist or the kicks as he blubbered and wailed at his loss. “Rhys,” he whimpered again, “I was here to save you.”
    The kicks stopped and a hand reached down and gripped his shoulder.
    “Brother?” A voice called to him.
    Through his tear-filled eyes Jaron thought he saw Rhys crouching before him.
    “Get him up.” The voice sounded oddly like his brother’s.
    A hand wiped away the filth that had caked his face.
    “Open your eyes, Jaron. Open them.”
    “It…it can’t be,” Jaron spluttered. “I just saw you…” The face was Rhys, as was the voice…but the smile was not. “Who are you?” Jaron said, shying away.
    “Your brother,” he replied glibly, giving him a disturbing smile before adding. “Your brother…reborn!” The whites of his eyes suddenly clouded red, filling with blood until Jaron could no longer see the brown irises beneath. Rhys stepped back with a bow and waved Jaron towards the wall, still bubbling and straining like a pool of rendering black fat.
    He was pushed towards it in a daze, staring vacantly at Rhys—the brother he’d failed to save—who now urged him forward with a wave of his hand. Jaron felt the ropes being looped about each wrist and he howled when they pulled them taut.
    “There is a momentary discomfort," he heard the voice that was no longer Rhys say. “And then you will see.”
    Jaron twisted his head towards his brother as the wall began to shift. “Brother please,” he pleaded, “I came here to save you”
    “Ironic isn’t it? That you came here to save me and it is I who will save you…brother!” The last word chilled him.
    “I buried her!” Jaron cried out despairingly. “I buried Tess.”
    Rhys tilted his head before nodding slowly. “She was not strong enough.”
    A flash of red seared across his vision and the last thing Jaron felt was blinding pain to the sound of his brother’s sinister voice.
    “Re-born brother. Re-born!”

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Comments

[Gabrielle]

Excellent beginning, it has left me wanting more! I cannot wait for the next installment, how often will you be posting them? Weekly or monthly? Keep up the fabulous work, looking forward to reading more soon!

[Dani]

Very dark! Love it..... looking forward to part two. :)

[Susan Parry]

All very ominous - is there only the prologue so far - when is more coming!!!!
Susie

[DMH]

Soon, soon. We're only testing right now! I'll ask the author if he minds us putting out the next bit up early...

[bob]

hi steve just read your book , its pretty good and thourerly enjoyable,carry on with the good work. as you can see im learning this damn mechinie with the help of chez, cheers see you soon bob

[Hayley Mchugh]

Hey Bub - this is awesome! I'm trying to print it out but I can't work out how... can't wait to read it again and see what's changed! Nice!
H :)