The bell tolled at midnight, and the frost bit through Edward’s wool. He stood on the ridge, the wind a cold hand on his neck. Below, the valley lay white and silent. The monastery sat in the center, a dark square of stone.

Edward looked at his hands. They were red. The ice had cracked the skin. He wore the chain. It was heavy. The links were iron. They clinked softly with every step.

He was a prisoner. Or so the monks said.

He had been walking for three days. The road was gone. The snow had eaten the path. He walked by feel. He walked by memory.

His brother, Julian, had sent him here. Julian was the abbot. Julian was the law.

Edward had killed a man. It was an accident. A fall. A rock. The man died. Edward ran.

Julian had caught him. Julian did not shout. Julian spoke softly.

“You will go to the high place,” Julian said. “You will fast. You will pray. You will become pure.”

Edward had nodded. He was tired. He wanted rest.

Now he was here. The high place. The peak.

There was no shelter. No fire. No water.

Edward sat down. The snow was deep. It soaked his legs.

He waited for death.

A shadow moved in the dark.

Edward turned.

A woman stood there. She was old. Her face was a map of lines. She wore a gray cloak.

“Who are you?” Edward asked.

“I am the keeper,” she said. Her voice was dry. Like leaves.

“Keeper of what?”

“Of the silence.”

Edward looked at her. She held a staff. The staff was wood. It was smooth.

“Did you send me here?” he asked.

“No.”

“Did my brother send you?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

She smiled. It was a sad smile.

“To watch.”

Edward stood up. His legs trembled. The chain weighed on his chest.

“I am hungry,” he said.

“I know,” she said.

“I am cold.”

“I know.”

“Will you help me?”

“No.”

Edward felt a spark of anger. He stepped forward. The chain clinked.

“You are cruel,” he said.

“I am honest,” she said.

The wind howled. It sounded like a scream.

Edward looked at the monastery. It was far away. The lights were small.

He turned back to the woman.

“You are not a ghost,” he said.

“No.”

“You are not a demon.”

“No.”

“Then what are you?”

“I am a mistake,” she said.

Edward frowned. He did not understand.

He sat down again. The pain in his legs was sharp. He bit his lip. He did not cry.

Hours passed. The sky turned gray. The sun was a pale disk.

The woman sat beside him. She did not speak. She watched the snow fall.

Edward stared at the ground. The snow was perfect. White. Clean.

He thought of the man he had killed. The man’s face. The blood.

He shuddered.

The woman touched his arm. Her hand was warm.

“Look,” she said.

Edward looked up.

The snow had stopped. The air was still.

A bird flew across the sky. It was small. Black.

It landed on the peak. It sang.

The song was thin. It was clear.

Edward listened. The song went into his ears. It went into his chest.

He felt the chain. It was heavy.

He looked at the woman.

“Why did you not stop me?” he asked.

“Stop you from what?”

“From coming here.”

“I could not,” she said. “You chose this.”

“I was forced.”

“Were you?”

Edward thought. He remembered Julian. He remembered the cell. He remembered the choice.

“I could have run,” he said.

“Could you?”

“Maybe.”

“Then you chose to stay.”

Edward looked at the bird. It hopped on the snow.

“I am tired,” he said.

“I know,” the woman said.

“I want to go home.”

“Home is where you are,” she said.

Edward laughed. It was a dry sound.

“You speak in riddles.”

“I speak in truths.”

The sun rose. The light hit the snow. It blazed.

Edward squinted. The light was too bright.

The bird flew away.

The woman stood up.

“I must go,” she said.

“Where?”

“Away.”

“Will you come back?”

“No.”

Edward looked at her. He felt a pull. A strange pull.

“Wait,” he said.

She stopped.

“Who are you?” he asked again.

She turned. Her eyes were dark.

“I am the cost,” she said.

Then she walked into the snow. She did not look back.

Edward watched her go. The snow swallowed her.

He was alone.

The wind returned. It was colder now.

Edward looked at the chain. He tried to lift it. It was heavy.

He tried to break it. He pulled. He strained.

The links did not move.

He fell to his knees. The snow was soft. It felt like ash.

He thought of Julian. Julian was safe. Julian was warm.

Julian had saved him. Or so he said.

But Julian had not saved him.

Julian had broken him.

Edward looked at the valley. The monastery was a speck.

He stood up. He walked down the mountain.

The snow was deep. It was hard.

He walked.

He walked for a day.

He walked for a night.

He did not stop.

He reached the monastery gate.

The gate was closed.

Edward knocked. The sound was dull.

A monk opened the gate. It was Brother Thomas.

Thomas looked at Edward. He looked at the chain.

“Abbot Julian is in prayer,” Thomas said.

Edward pushed the gate open. He walked into the courtyard.

The courtyard was white. The stone was cold.

Julian was in the chapel.

Edward walked to the chapel. The door was open.

Julian was kneeling. He was praying.

Edward stood in the doorway.

Julian turned. He saw Edward.

His face changed. It was not fear. It was relief.

“Edward,” he said.

Edward walked in. He did not kneel. He stood.

The chain clinked.

Julian stood up. He came forward.

“You are back,” Julian said.

“I am back,” Edward said.

Julian looked at the chain.

“Did it break?” Julian asked.

“No.”

“Did you find peace?”

“No.”

Julian smiled. It was a small smile.

“Then why did you come back?”

Edward looked at his brother.

“To say goodbye.”

Julian’s smile faded.

“Goodbye?”

“Yes.”

“Goodbye to what?”

“To you.”

Edward turned. He walked out of the chapel.

Julian called out.

“Edward!”

Edward did not stop.

He walked to the gate.

Brother Thomas was there.

“Where are you going?” Thomas asked.

“Out,” Edward said.

“The Abbot has not given you permission.”

“I do not need permission.”

Thomas stepped in front of him.

“You are a prisoner. You cannot leave.”

Edward looked at Thomas.

“I am not a prisoner,” Edward said.

“You are in chains.”

“They are not chains.”

“What are they?”

Edward looked at the iron links. He touched them.

They were warm.

“They are my choice,” Edward said.

Thomas frowned. He did not understand.

Edward pushed past him.

He walked out of the gate.

The road was gone. The snow was deep.

He walked into the white.

He walked for hours.

The cold was sharp. It cut him.

He did not feel it.

He felt light.

He felt free.

Or so he thought.

He reached the bottom of the mountain.

He was in the village.

The houses were dark. The windows were black.

He walked to the inn.

The door was open.

A fire burned.

A man sat by the fire. He was old.

The man looked up.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Edward did not answer.

He sat down.

The man looked at him. He looked at the chain.

“You are strange,” the man said.

Edward nodded.

The man poured a cup of water. He put it in front of Edward.

Edward drank. The water was warm.

He felt weak.

He closed his eyes.

He dreamed of snow.

He dreamed of the woman.

She was standing in the snow.

She was smiling.

“I am the cost,” she said.

Edward opened his eyes.

The man was gone.

The fire was out.

The cup was empty.

Edward looked at his hands.

They were blue.

He looked at the chain.

It was gone.

He touched his neck.

The marks were deep.

The marks were black.

Edward looked out the window.

It was snowing.

The snow was white.

The snow was clean.

He stood up.

He walked out the door.

He walked into the snow.

He did not look back.

He walked into the dark.

The snow covered his footprints.

The snow covered his body.

The snow covered the world.

He was alone.

He was free.

He was dead.