Chapter One: Bardán

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~Bardán~

He’s curled in a ball, shivering, under a piercing white moon. He’d forgotten how bright the moon was, how its light could go right through a man, cold in his bones, searching out what was hidden deep. Go away, he breathes, arms up over his head, knees to his chest, trying to be invisible. Leave me alone. But the light seeks him out, finding a way through the high canopy of the beeches, through the rough blanket of bracken and fern he’s scrambled together, through the rags of his clothing, right inside him. Into his mind, tangling his thoughts. Into his heart, probing his wounds. It’s been so long. How long has it been? How long has he been away?

An owl cries, eerie, hollow. In the undergrowth, something screams. Something dies. Stop, he whispers. Don’t. But nobody’s listening. His words fall into the quiet of the night forest and are lost. He’s lost. The cold moon will kill him before he can find his way. The way back to . . . to . . .