In a land ruled by violence and greed, survival means staying useful—or invisible.
Ruth survived the ruthless Sicarium army by keeping her head down and obeying orders. Now, at last, she can taste freedom and a life away from warlords and bloodshed.
But when her commander plots a dangerous coup against the overlord, Ruth’s fragile future shatters. The key to toppling the overlord’s tyranny lies in a weapon no one expected: Ruth’s brother—the same brother she believed dead.
Hope surges back into Ruth’s heart, but freedom comes with a price. To reclaim her family and her future, she must risk everything—allying with enemies, outsmarting her commander, and racing against a plot that could plunge the world into deeper chaos.
In a land ruled by violence, Ruth dares to fight for more than survival. She dares to fight for hope.
The Shattered Bond Series begins here—a clean dystopian thriller of loyalty, rebellion, and the unbreakable power of family.
If there was ever a day not to be noticed, today was it.
Ruth hovered over a giant pot of gruel in the makeshift outdoor kitchen. It was barely dawn, and yet, her shirt threatened to stick to her back like a wet rag.
Steam and sweat clung to her face as she stirred the thick, lumpy slop, which roughly matched the color of the hard dirt she stood on. Thirteen years ago, Ruth’s arms would tire from stirring before she was halfway through cooking, but now her muscles and stamina let her handle stirring and heavy lifting with ease.
“Is this right?” Nyaria, the newest worker in the kitchen, and only twelve, asked for the hundredth time while standing over a massive skillet of potatoes. Her brow was knitted together on her dark face, and her eyes were glassy.
Ruth glanced at the white potatoes cooking over the large solar griddle. Ruth held a fork out to Nyaria. “Did you poke it with a fork?” She knew the answer, but needed this girl to learn how to cook potatoes properly.
“No.” Sheepishly, Nyaria took the fork and poked a potato. The fork barely pierced the skin.
Ruth pressed her lips into a thin line and took a deep breath before speaking. “The fork needs to go through it, and they should break open easily, like I taught you. That fork barely went through the skin. Add more water and keep cooking.”
Nyaria was new, which meant there’d be a learning curve and a fear of ruining the food. Yet, she couldn’t understand why Nyaria still didn’t know how to cook a potato.
Nyaria nodded and grabbed the pitcher of water. Before Ruth could stop her, she dumped water into the hot skillet. A cloud of steam billowed from the skillet. Pops of hot oil danced in every direction. Nyaria flinched and yelped in pain. Both her hands shot up, sending water and a spatula full of potatoes high into the sky. Nyaria fell backward, bumping into an older woman, who was carrying a tray of meat, knocking her off balance. Stumbling sideways, the older woman nearly dropped all the meat into the dirt.
Without missing a beat, another woman whooshed over to help, her braids smacking Ruth in the face.
Ruth grabbed the rag out of the water bucket and wrapped Nyaria’s hand, who was now sitting on the ground, drenched from the water she’d tossed. Ruth held in a laugh as she grabbed the burn spray. On the one hand, she was annoyed at the mess, but on the other, it was comical.
A memory flashed through her mind of the time her younger sister, Felicity, made a mess in the kitchen while they made fried chicken. By the end of it, flour and cornflakes covered the kitchen like a sandstorm. Nyaria and Felicity were so much alike.
Ruth swallowed the lump in her throat as she took the towel off, blew on Nyaria’s hand, and spritzed it with the spray. “You need to be more careful. They don’t take mistakes here lightly, and they don’t care if you injure yourself. They make you work. No matter what.”
Nyaria lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ruth, I know I’m no good at this cooking stu—” her voice caught in her throat.
Ruth winced inwardly. She regretted letting Nyaria cook today. She clearly wasn’t ready.
“I’m no good here, but I didn’t have a choice. My family, they were starving.” She looked up, plump tears now streaming down her cheeks.
“I know. We all had to make that hard choice.” Ruth pulled Nyaria into a hug. “It’s only been a couple of weeks. You’ll get there. Thirteen years is plenty of time to perfect your skills.”
Nyaria straightened and wiped her tears with the patchwork apron around her waist. “One can only hope.”
“Take over for Talia. Remember, when you poke a fork through it, it’ll break apart. Then you know they’re done. And you need to make sure when the water gets low, you add more, slowly.”
“Right. Thanks, Ruth.”
Ruth went and checked on the older woman, Joan. “Everything okay?”
“It’ll be just dandy. Some of the meat fell, but I brushed it off an’ twill be as good as new.”
Ruth chuckled. “I don’t know about new. But the soldiers are used to dirt in their food from the wind. I don’t think it’ll bother them if their breakfast meat has a little crunch to it.”
Joan, who was several inches taller and nearly a decade older, smiled and elbowed Ruth playfully in the side. The women laughed.
“Do we have time to make more, or can we stretch what we have?”
Joan looked at the sun and then back at Ruth. “We don’t have time ta cook much else. But if we mix it inta the spuds, we c’n stretch it, but that means no meat fer the servants today, just our daily helpin’ of tasteless gruel.”
Ruth put her hands on her hips. “Hey, I try to make it flavorful.”
“Oh, I know ya do, love. It’s not you. There just ain’t much ya c’n do wit’ it.”
That wasn’t the answer Ruth was hoping for, but it’d have to do. “Okay, well, chop up the meat into smaller pieces to mix into the potatoes once they’re done. Then set up the drink station. They’ll be here any minute.”
They each turned back to their assigned duties. Ruth rushed over to the gruel, suddenly remembering she’d left it unattended for too long. It was sure to be scorched at the bottom.
The woman with the braids placed a hand on Ruth’s shoulder and whispered in her ear, “I stirred it for you. You’re good.”
Ruth grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed. “And that’s why I’m putting you in charge when I leave. You’re the best, Talia.”
“I know,” she said casually as she strolled back to her spot.
Ruth chuckled. A gust of emotion caught her off guard, tears sprang to her eyes. She was going to miss these women so much when she left. Ruth let out a shaky breath and refocused on her job. Now was not the time to cry. She had a job to finish.
* * * *
Once the plates were ready, the women prepared to go out to serve the clan. The sun wasn’t quite over the mountain in the east yet, but soon it would rise, casting its dangerous UV rays onto its victims below, threatening to sear the skin of those who didn’t have protection. Especially Ruth.
Ruth pulled down her long, sun-resistant sleeves, pulled on her stretchy gloves, and donned a wide-brimmed hat. The other women wore hats. That was it. They didn’t have to go to such lengths to protect their skin since their skin didn’t burn and sizzle like cooking oil if left out for longer than ten minutes without protection.
Another memory flashed into her mind. This time it was her mother standing over the hot skillet, oil popping as the chicken sizzled. The smell of rosemary and thyme was pungent. Her mother looked at Ruth and smiled. Her mouth moved, but no words escaped. Ruth’s insides twisted. Soon, I’ll be home soon.
Ruth shook the memory from her mind and grabbed her large trays filled with bowls before stepping out from under the kitchen’s canopy. Beyond, men and a few women were scattered about the open campground, chugging cups of bitter kola nut coffee. The kola nut was a resilient nut that could withstand harsh weather and protect itself from rot and corruption, which was why the Sicarium clans who traveled preferred it.
Ruth wished her skin could do the same. It still baffled Ruth how the Sicarium soldiers could walk about wearing sleeveless skin hide shirts, exposing their arms and face to the sun without blistering. Maybe they had a strong enough sunblock she didn’t know about. Or maybe they’d spent so many years getting burned that their skin scarred and evolved into a resilient husk.
Ruth passed out plates of potato and meat as she weaved her way through the clusters of soldiers sitting on whatever they could: rocks, crates, barrels, or the ground. Tables were a luxury for this roving unit.
No one thanked her. Most didn’t even look at her. That’s how Ruth preferred it. When she could do her job without being spoken to like she was scum, it made her situation a little more worthwhile.
Most mornings, the droning chatter of men was quiet. Many were still trying to wake up, waiting for a jolt of energy from the caffeine in their kola nut coffee. Others were strictly not morning people and wore a constant scowl on their faces, grunting when spoken to. But ever since the new commander arrived five months ago, everyone was on edge. Rumors flew about the campsite like bats, and not just among the soldiers. Even the bond servants had their presumptions as to Commander Keres’s intentions. The previous commander in charge had run the S-12 roving clan for two decades. As far as Ruth knew, he did his job well and had no intention of retiring. There was no need to relieve him of his duties, and yet this new Commander Keres swept in with his own group of men and took over.
There was no drought of rumors, and Ruth was curious to eavesdrop and discover what additional details she could learn about this Commander Keres.
One particular conversation caught Ruth’s attention. She lingered, slowly handing the bowls as she eavesdropped.
“…think he gonsta get ‘em all?” asked a large man with red hair covering his head and nearly his entire face.
“That’s the rumor anyway,” a slightly smaller man spat back through half-rotted teeth.
The large man’s red, wavy hair tossed about as he shook his head. “Keres auin’t so dull.”
“Maybe not, but he is that brash,” a third man spoke. He stood out from the others. He wore dark brown pants and a tan button-up, V-neck shirt with embroidered designs along the short sleeves. Around his neck was a leather string with a kola nut attached. He was new to the clan and well-kept compared to the other men, who let their hair grow out into matted dreadlocks and their bodies stained with charcoal and reeking of body odor and dirt.
“I’se ‘till don’t—” the redheaded man stopped mid-sentence.
Ruth could sense an intense stare lingering on her. Her cheeks burned.
“You seem to be lingering a bit much, dreg,” the rot-toothed man said, spitting food and saliva at her feet as he spoke.
“Not lingering, just serving, sir.” Ruth placed the last bowl in front of the clean-cut man, keeping her eyes glued to the ground.
The rot-toothed man grabbed Ruth’s wrist and pulled, forcing her closer to him. A strong whiff of his stench filled her nostrils. She tried not to insult him by gagging, but it was difficult.
Once more, he opened his mouth to speak. The noxious odor of his breath filled the surrounding air. Ruth held her breath. “Youse a pretty one. Maybe ya should sit on my lap fer a bit if ya wanna eavesdrop on de convo.” He pulled harder, but Ruth firmly yanked her wrist down and out of his grasp.
“No, thank you, sir. I have a job to do.” She took a step back.
“Ain’t your job to serve us?”
Ruth gritted her teeth, her muscles twitching, ready to run away. “I’m here to serve you food, sir. That is all.”
“Naw, that don’t sound right.” The man stood, moving toward Ruth. He was shorter than she expected, but that didn’t matter. He slinked toward her, eyeing her like prey.
Ruth swallowed hard and said, “I’m sorry you think that, but you’re not the one in charge, now are you?” She hoped the tremble in her voice didn’t give away her fear.
The man stopped and looked at the others with a grin. “Feisty, ain’t she.” He turned back to her and was about to grab her around the waist when the clean-cut man stood between them.
“C’mon, man. Let her do her job.”
The rot-toothed man scoffed. “What, you her keeper?”
“No, but she has other people to serve food to. Let her do her job.”
Time stood still as the tension thickened and oozed around them. Ruth couldn’t see their faces, but the anger radiating from them was palpable. Ruth didn’t know whether to walk away or stay put.
Finally, the rot-toothed man peered around the other man and looked at Ruth. “I’ll be seeing you later,” he said and then kissed the air.
Ruth turned and slowly walked away. Her whole body trembled like a leaf on a windy day. It took everything in her to not drop the tray. She served the last couple of bowls with her head in a fog. Back in the kitchen tent, she dropped the tray onto the counter and braced herself. She breathed in deeply and let out a shaky breath. Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them drop. Pull yourself together.
Closing her eyes, she took another long breath, but the man’s face flashed before her.
Footsteps approached, crunching dirt, and a tray clattered onto the counter. Ruth straightened her back and smoothed out her long khaki skirt.
“Woah, what’s wrong?”
Talia stood across from her, eyes wide.
“Just men being men.”
Talia furrowed her brow. “Those sheretz.”
“Talia!”
Talia shrugged. “What? I call it like it is. Don’t you worry, Ruth, I’ve got your back, you know that, right? I wouldn’t let them touch you.”
Ruth nodded. “I know, thank you. I wouldn’t either. I might not be as aggressive as you, but I’d fight.”
“I know you would. You can’t spend thirteen years here and not be tough.”
“Plus, since the new commander’s been around, incidents have gone down. I guess whatever he told them to keep their hands off us is working.” Ruth tried to convince herself.
“Anyway, you ready to get back out there? I can switch you areas.”
“Thank you.”
The rest of the morning went without incident. Anytime Ruth neared the rot-toothed man, she felt his eyes lingering, but she avoided his eye contact.
At one moment, she caught eyes with the clean-cut man and nearly dropped a plate of potatoes. He was staring right at her, but not like the other man. His eyes were kind. Empathetic even. Ruth looked away.
* * * *
After a long morning of cooking, serving the army, and then serving the other bond servants in the camp, Ruth and the others were able to eat breakfast.
“I hate this stuff.” Talia slopped some of the thick, lumpy sludge into her bowl.
“It’s not that bad,” Nyaria said.
“It tis when it’s all you git to eat fer years,” Joan said with her lyrical accent.
The women each poured their own bowls and then sat together in the tent, glad to be in their safe place. There were four of them—the Kitchen Kats—as they liked to call themselves. Ten years ago, Ruth was put in charge of overseeing the entire operation when the previous kitchen lead left. She enjoyed cooking, cleaning, and helping the women. She took great responsibility in making sure they were successful and free of any scrutiny.
With nearly eighty people in the camp and three meals a day, cooking was an all-day job, which made them a close-knit group. Spending as much time together in the tiny, canopied kitchen as they did, it was impossible not to be close.
Ruth held up the bland mush to her mouth and was about to take a bite when Joan interrupted, “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, ladies. We be prayin’ first.”
Ruth lowered her spoon along with the others. Talia did too, but with a loud huff as she rolled her eyes.
Joan closed her eyes and spoke with her head slightly lifted to the sky. “El Shaddai, Elohim, Shammah. We tank you dis day fer the food you provide, the protection you cover us wit. May You be blessed, and in turn, we be blessed. Amen.”
Ruth opened her eyes to find Talia and Nyaria already spooning food into their mouths. Joan’s prayers tugged at Ruth’s longing for home, where her mother and father were also people of faith. They often spoke of a Maker of the universe, and the stories of the Maker enraptured Ruth. But among the Sicarium and other servants, no one talked about the Maker until Joan.
“Why do you insist we pray to the air?” Talia asked.
“I’m not prayin’ to thee air, I be prayin’ to the Maker of the universe who sits in de heavens,” Joan responded softly.
“But you can’t see Him. He doesn’t come down and do things for you.”
“I can’t see the wind either, but I know it exists because I c’n feel it an’ see its werks.”
Talia raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Like what?”
“I pray protection fer us each an’ every day. Multiple times even. An’ has any o’ye succumb to the dangers of the men or thee elements?”
“No, but who’s to say that’s God and not luck?”
“Who’s to say it ain’t?”
This wasn’t the first time Talia and Joan had this conversation. It happened weekly. Round in circles, they’d go arguing about the existence of a higher power. Ruth was with Joan on this one. There was definitely a higher power. She just knew so little about Him.
Before their conversation turned into an argument, Nyaria said, “How about a story?”
Talia crossed her arms and scowled, but held her tongue.
Nyaria shrunk back, her eyes falling to the ground.
After a moment, Ruth placed a hand on Nyaria’s knee and said, “Tell your story.”
Nyaria looked up and took a breath. “Once in a vibrant garden, there grew two magnificent trees: a tall, strong tree with deep roots named Oliver and a smaller, more slender one, whose branches swayed with the gentleness of the breeze, named Willa.
“One day, a fierce storm rolled in. The wind howled, and rain poured down, shaking the very ground. Oliver stood tall, determined not to bend. He believed strength was the key to survival.
“Willa, however, bent and swayed, allowing the wind to guide her movements. ‘Oliver, it’s okay to be flexible,’ she said softly. ‘The storm will pass, and we’ll be standing strong together.’
“But Oliver shook his branches. ‘Flexibility is weakness! If I bend, I will break. And so will you.’
As the storm raged on, Willa continued to sway, finding peace in her ability to adapt. ‘We can survive this in our own ways.’
The storm raged through the night, and in the morning, it was over.
Willa stood, her branches lightly bowed, and most of her flowers and leaves depleted. Oliver, however, had lost several branches, looking more ragged than ever.
‘Oh, Oliver, you were strong, but sometimes strength can be a burden. There’s wisdom in recognizing when to bend.’
Oliver sighed, surveying the damage. ‘Perhaps you are right, Willa. I wanted to protect myself so fiercely that I forgot there is strength in flexibility.’
Willa smiled warmly. ‘And I respect your strength, Oliver. We can thrive in different ways.’
From that day forward, the two trees learned to embrace their differences.”
Nyaria was quiet, letting the story sink in. She loved to tell stories, especially ones that always held a lesson. It was her gentle way of giving her opinion.
“You’re right,” Talia said, her face softening. “Joan, if believing in the Maker of the Universe gives you your strength, then so be it. I can respect that.”
“Thank you.” Joan nodded.
Emotion overwhelmed Ruth again. “I’m going to miss you all so much.”
Joan reached out an arm and side-hugged her. “But you’ll finally git back home to yer family.”
“You mean her other family,” Talia said.
“Right.” Joan forced a smile.
“You are my family. You’ve all meant so much to me over the years, and I’m going to miss it. I don’t know what I’ll do without Nyaria’s storytelling, Joan’s faith, or Talia’s snark. It won’t be the same.”
“Maybe not, but it’ll be a lot better than having to tiptoe around these brutes,” Nyaria said.
“What are you going to do when you get back home?” Talia asked as she wiped her freckled face with her burnt-orange apron.
Ruth rubbed at the leather bracelet with its shooting-star metal charm, a gift from her father before she left home. “I’ll admit I haven’t thought beyond returning to my parents and sister. Where we live, there isn’t much to do. Though after all the travel I’ve done with this clan, I might try to convince my parents to move closer to a town.”
“I know what I’m going to do when I get out,” Nyaria said with a dreamy look in her eyes. “Sleep in a real bed. Oh, and eat bacon.”
“Or fresh fish,” Joan said, practically drooling. “Not the salty fish jerky wer always havin’ t’choke down.”
“I’m going to ride on my motorcycle far away from here and never look back.” Talia leaned her head back, her eyes closed as she imagined the wind against her face and the open road ahead.
“Where would you ride to?” Nyaria asked.
Talia opened her eyes. “Probably to Aereusvi. I need to get away from the Sicarium rule.”
“And you think the Aerei are any better?”
“Won’t know until I get there, will I? But I have to try. Anywhere’s gotta be better than here.” Talia’s eyes flashed with vengeful hatred, and then it disappeared.
All the women paused, dreaming of the things they’d do—and the places they’d go—when they, too, were free. Most of the women still had at least three or more years of their servitude. Thirteen years of indentured servitude for a monthly supply of food to their families was the promise the Sicarium made to them.
“I know wot I’m gonna do when I get meself out,” Joan said. “See my chillun and husbin’. It’s bin ten years now. I’se be gittin’ close.”
“It’s just around the corner.” Ruth squeezed Joan’s arm.
When Joan first arrived, she mentioned her husband was a little under the weather. Ruth hoped he’d recovered. Medicine was even harder to get than food. The Sicarium kept most of it for themselves and their families, who all lived in the mecca between the two rivers: Jivanti and Cash. If you lived beyond the mecca, in the outlands, you had to hope the supply trains delivered necessities on time, rely on herbs, or buy from the black market. All were risky.
Once they finished their gruel, they moved on to doing the dishes and prepping for lunch.
Ruth helped with scraping the excess food into the slop bucket before they put the tin plates and silverware into the small bucket of boiling water. Since being on the road traveling for nearly six months, supplies were dwindling. They’d run out of soap and had to rely on the scorching water to kill off the germs and a pumice stone to scrape them clean.
Talia went to grab the slop buckets, but Ruth stopped her. “I’ll take those to the animal pen. I don’t mind.” Still, to this day, the scraping of the stone on metal made Ruth cringe.
“I would say thank you, but we all know why you’re leaving.” Talia smirked and gave her a wink.
Ruth pulled down her sleeves again and put on her gloves and hat. She grabbed the long pole, hooked the four buckets, two on each end, and hoisted the pole up onto her shoulders. The instant she stepped out of the tent, she felt the scorching sun beating on her. It was going to be extra hot today.