The Shattered Path

Chapter 0 - The Man

Shafts of sunlight broke through the forest canopy, illuminating streams of pollen and dust above the man's face. His breath sent the particles whirling upward and the odor of sap and freshly cut wood stung his nostrils. He lay on his back. His flesh tingled with an icy chill.

Who am I? The simple question floated above the fog in the man's mind, but the answer did not rise as it should have. He stared at the boughs of great oaks, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Birds chirped in the distance and the warmth of the morning seeped into him. Some of his strength returned but the question remained.

The man sat up. He pulled his long hair before his eyes, learning it was brown. He ran a hand across his chin and discovered a thick beard. No clothing covered his pale flesh and his athletic frame was as unfamiliar as the trees. Blood trickled from a wound in his left hip, but he didn't concern himself with it. He knew he had suffered far worse, though he could not remember when or how. He knew he had watched many men bleed worse and survive. He had made men bleed worse.

His feet dangled over the edge of a hole two paces across. Peering inside, worms and burrowing insects struggled and fell from the moist soil lining the sides. It appeared the hole was freshly dug. That was certainly a strange thing.

The man crawled a short distance from the hole and rubbed warmth back into his toes. The earth was cool, yet his flesh was cold, almost icy.

The man stood and a stream of blood slithered down his leg. He spared a hand to cover the wound and wetness warmed his fingers. He resisted looking down, forcing his eyes to study his surroundings. He did not recognize any of it. He had no idea how he came to be there.

A metal wedge attached to a wooden handle laid on the soil next to him. It was familiar. It was a woodcutter's axe. A common tool among men. Had someone struck him with it? The length of the axe head was easily as long as the wound in his hip.

Five paces away, wooden chips and discarded branches surrounded a stump. Three piles of cut wood had been stacked next to a wagon hitched to a sturdy, brown horse. No woodcutter stood among the trees. He saw only mosses and shadows.

The man picked up the axe and walked to the wagon, crunching dried leaves and twigs beneath his bare feet. The horse whinnied, turning its head at his approach, leather harness creaking.

The man was alone.

A bundle of brown cloth rested on the seat of the wagon. The man unwrapped it, revealing a slice of bread and a chunk of smoked meat. The aroma stirred his appetite. He felt as if he hadn't eaten in days, though he had no idea how long it might have truly been. Dropping the axe, he took the bread and meat in each hand, devouring the food with large mouthfuls.

He grabbed a water skin hanging from the side of the wagon by a leather strap, pulled the cork stopper, and drank the water in large, painful gulps. The skin emptied too quickly.

An image flashed across the man's mind. Three men in gray robes had stood over him beneath a black sky. Was it a memory? Or had it been a dream? He lowered the empty water skin from his lips. Was it his name? No, one of the men had been called Kajal. It made him shudder. That name was powerful. He could not recall why. He simply knew the man was dangerous and quite powerful.

Finishing the water, the man tossed the skin into the seat of the wagon. Dark fingerprints stained the side of the container, causing him to study the red stains on his left hand. He had forgotten his wound. It wasn't deep, but blood had trickled along his leg to the knee before slowing. He should make a bandage.

A soft voice whispered from within the forest; beyond the sound of the man's breathing; beyond the song of the birds; beyond the soft rustle of the leaves in the breeze. It was the delicate voice of a woman. He knew it called to him, though he could not comprehend the words. It was a familiar sound, so soothing, but he couldn't guess when he might have heard it before. He cocked his head in an attempt to determine its direction.