"Cut it."

I cut.

The blade bit into the oak. The wood splintered. It smelled of sap and old rain.

"Again."

I cut.

The axe handle was slick with my sweat. My arms shook. I did not stop.

"Look at that," said the man in the grey cloak. He stood behind me. He did not look at the wood. He looked at the sky. "A clean break. You have a gift, Thomas."

I wiped my brow. The leather strap of the apron chafed my neck. "I am a carpenter, sir."

"You are a penitent," he said. "And a carpenter by necessity."

I looked down at the log. It was a crown of timber. Not a head. Just wood. But I saw the shape. I saw the face. I saw the eyes I had carved three years ago in the chapel of St. Jude. I had carved them before the fire. Before the accusations. Before the noose that was never tied.

"Why do we do this?" I asked.

"To make the shape," he said. "To see if the shape holds."

"The shape does not hold," I said. "I am not a king."

"Who said you were?"

The wind picked up. It howled through the pine needles. The camp was silent. We were in the highlands. The air was thin. It burned in my lungs.

There were four of us. Me. The man in grey. A boy named Eli. And a woman with a scar on her cheek, Sarah.

Eli was sharpening a knife. The sound was rhythmic. Shhh. Shhh. Shhh.

Sarah was boiling water. The steam rose in white spirals. It disappeared into the cold air.

"I can do it," Eli said. He did not look up from the blade. "I have been watching you, Thomas. Your swing is heavy. It wastes energy."

"Let him be," Sarah said. Her voice was low. Rough. Like gravel under a boot.

"He means well," the man in grey said. He walked to the fire. He stirred the coals. Sparks flew up. Like dying stars.

"I mean to save my life," Eli said. He stood up. He held the knife to the light. The steel was perfect. "If you fall, I go. If you go, I go. I cannot carry the weight of a dead man."

I looked at Eli. He was young. He had no beard. His hands were soft. He was not a soldier. He was not a killer. He was a scribe’s apprentice. He had joined us because his master had died in the plague. And because he had seen me in the market. He had seen the way I held the axe.

He thought I was a hero.

I was a prisoner.

"I will not fall," I said.

"We are close to the pass," the man in grey said. "The Lord will want to see us before nightfall."

The Lord.

They called him the Lord. He was a nobleman. A man of power. He had taken us from the city. He had taken us from the trial. He had said we were needed. He had said the work was holy.

I did not know what the work was.

I only knew the axe.

We walked for an hour. The path was narrow. The trees closed in. The light turned gold. Then orange. Then red.

Sarah walked beside me. She did not speak. She walked. Her boots were old. The soles were worn thin. I could see the stones through the leather.

"Do you regret it?" she asked.

"What?"

"Leaving the city."

"I have no choice," I said.

"Everyone has a choice," she said. "You chose the axe."

I stopped. I looked at her. Her eyes were dark. Deep. They held nothing. No pity. No fear.

"I chose survival," I said.

"Survival is a lie," she said. "We are not surviving. We are walking to our death."

"Who told you that?"

"The wind," she said. "The birds. The silence."

I looked at the man in grey. He was far ahead. He was small. A speck against the hillside.

We walked on.

The sun set. The stars came out. They were bright. Too bright. They watched us.

We made camp in a hollow. The ground was soft. Moss. Damp. I built the fire. The smoke was thick. It stung my eyes.

Eli sat close to the fire. He was shivering. He wrapped his cloak tighter.

"Thomas," he said.

I was peeling an apple. The skin fell in long ribbons. I ate the fruit. It was sweet. Acidic. It made my mouth water.

"What?"

"Is it true?"

"About what?"

"About the crown."

I stopped eating. I held the core in my hand. I looked at him.

"Who told you about a crown?"

"You talk in your sleep," Eli said. "You whisper. You say the word. Over and over. Crown. Crown. Crown."

I felt a coldness in my stomach. I had not spoken in my sleep. I was sure of it.

Or was I?

I looked at Sarah. She was asleep. Her face was peaceful.

I looked at the man in grey. He was awake. He was watching me. His eyes were hard.

"I dream of shapes," I said. "That is all."

"Shapes do not have names," Eli said.

"Silence, boy," the man in grey said. His voice was soft. But it cut the air.

Eli looked down. He said nothing.

The fire crackled. A log popped. A shower of sparks rose.

I thought about the chapel. I thought about the fire. I thought about the faces in the wood.

I had carved them to remember. To keep them safe. To hide them from the men who wanted to burn the church.

But the men had come anyway. They had found the wood. They had found me.

They had said I was a heretic. A traitor. A maker of idols.

The Lord had intervened. He had sent his men. He had taken me. He had said I would serve.

Serve how?

I did not know.

We walked all night. The path was dark. I led the way. My feet knew the ground. My hands knew the axe.

The axe was on my back. The weight was familiar. It was an extension of my arm.

We reached the pass at dawn. The air was crisp. The mist lay in the valleys. It looked like sea.

We could see the castle. It was far away. It sat on a hill. It was stone. Grey. Cold.

It looked like a tomb.

"It is beautiful," Sarah said.

"It is a cage," I said.

She looked at me. She smiled. It was a sad smile.

"Perhaps," she said. "Or perhaps it is a door."

We walked to the gates. The guards were there. They had spears. They had shields. They wore black.

The man in grey stepped forward. He spoke to the captain. I could not hear the words. But I saw the captain nod.

The gates opened.

We walked in.

The courtyard was empty. The stones were wet. The sky was blue.

A door opened in the main hall.

A man walked out. He was old. He wore a robe of purple. He had a staff of ivory.

He was the Lord.

He looked at me. He smiled.

"Thomas," he said. "You have brought me the wood."

I stopped. I looked at the others. Eli was pale. Sarah’s hand was on her sword.

The man in grey stepped back. He let me step forward.

I was alone.

The Lord walked closer. He smelled of incense. And rot.

"Show me," he said.

I looked at the axe. It was on my back. I could feel the handle.

"I did not bring wood," I said.

"You did," he said. "You brought yourself."

He reached out. He touched my face. His hand was cold.

"You are the crown," he said. "You were always the crown."

I did not understand.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means you are the shape," he said. "It means you are the vessel. It means you are the key."

He turned to his guards. "Take him."

The guards moved. They surrounded me.

I did not move. I did not fight.

I looked at the axe.

I reached back. I grabbed the handle.

The guards flinched.

I pulled the axe.

The wood was smooth. The steel was sharp.

I turned.

I swung.

The first guard fell. His head was gone. The blood sprayed. It hit the stones. It hissed.

The second guard ran.

I swung again.

The third guard fell.

I stood in the center of the courtyard. I was covered in blood. It was red. It was hot.

The Lord did not move. He watched. He did not fear me.

He waited.

I looked at the axe. It was heavy. It was stained.

I looked at the castle. It was tall. It was strong.

I looked at the sky. It was blue.

I realized then.

I was not the crown.

I was the nail.

The nail that holds the cross.

The nail that suffers.

The nail that is forgotten.

I raised the axe.

I swung it at the ground.

I dug.

The earth gave way.

I dug and dug.

The others stood in the doorway. They watched. They did not help. They did not stop me.

They knew.

They had always known.

I dug until my arms shook. I dug until I bled.

I found something.

A stone.

A small stone. It was smooth. It was warm.

I picked it up.

It was not a crown.

It was a pebble.

I held it in my hand.

I looked at the Lord.

"I am not your king," I said.

The Lord smiled.

"No," he said. "You are my penance."

I threw the pebble.

It hit the ground.

It rolled away.

I dropped the axe.

It clattered on the stones.

I walked away.

I walked out of the castle.

I walked into the mist.

I walked into the silence.

I walked until my legs gave out.

I lay down.

The sky was above me.

The stars were coming out.

I closed my eyes.

I did not dream.

I was awake.

I was free.

I was alone.

The wind blew.

It was cold.

It was clean.

I breathed.

I lived.