The rain smells of iron.

You know the scent. It is the scent of blood. You press your face into the mud. The cold bites your skin. You are shivering. The shiver is not from the cold. It is from the fear. You are running. The mud sucks at your boots. Each step is a war. You are a scholar. You know this. You have the book. The book is heavy. It is wrapped in oilcloth. It is safe.

You must reach the valley. The valley is deep. The trees are old. They stand like judges. Their leaves are black. They do not move. The wind moves. The wind is a hand. It pushes you. You push back. Your breath is white. It hangs in the air. It vanishes. You are alone. You are always alone. This is the nature of the quest.

You remember Clara. Her eyes were green. They were the color of the river in spring. She loved you. She loved you with a ferocity that frightened you. You did not love her back. You loved the work. You loved the truth. Truth is cold. Truth is sharp. It cuts. Clara was soft. She was warm. She was life. You chose the book. You chose the silence. Now the silence is loud. It screams in your ears.

A twig snaps.

You stop.

Your heart stops.

You hold your breath. The air is thick. It is wet. You look up. A figure stands in the trees. He is tall. He is thin. His coat is grey. He is not moving. He is waiting. You know him. You know him well. His name is Elias. He was your student. He was your friend. He is your traitor.

He smiles. The smile is small. It is cruel.

"You walk slowly," he says. His voice is soft. It is like silk. It is like a knife.

"I am tired," you say. Your voice is dry. It cracks.

"You are slow," he says. "The Lord wants the book. The Lord is waiting. The Lord is patient. You are not."

The Lord is the Duke. The Duke is rich. The Duke is powerful. He has armies. He has gold. He has nothing else. He wants the book. He wants to burn it. He wants to erase the past. You found the past. You held it in your hands. Now it is heavy. It crushes your spine.

"Why?" you ask.

"Why?" Elias laughs. The laugh is short. It is dry. "Money. Power. Glory. Do not insult me with your moralizing. You are a scholar. You know how the world works. Power is the only truth. You have forgotten."

"You were my friend," you say.

"Friends are temporary," Elias says. "Loyalty is a choice. I made my choice. I chose the winning side. You chose the losing side. That is the tragedy. Not that I betrayed you. That you failed to see it coming."

You look at the ground. The mud is brown. It is dark. It is deep. You think of the river. The river is moving. The river is always moving. It does not stop. It does not look back. You should be like the river. But you are not. You are a stone. You are still.

"Give me the book," Elias says.

He steps forward. The mud squelches under his feet. The sound is wet. It is ugly. You clutch the oilcloth to your chest. It is your armor. It is your heart.

"No," you say.

Elias stops. He looks at you. His eyes are cold. They are dead. He raises his hand. He has a pistol. The metal is black. It is cold. It is real.

"Last chance," he says.

You look at him. You see his face. You see the lines around his mouth. You see the grey in his hair. You see the fear. It is hidden. But it is there. He is afraid. He is afraid of you. He is afraid of the past. He is afraid of the truth. He has tried to kill it. But it will not die.

"I will not give it to you," you say.

Elias fires.

The shot is loud. It is a thunderclap. It shakes the trees. The air vibrates. You do not feel pain. You feel only surprise. The bullet hits your shoulder. It pushes you back. You fall. The mud catches you. It is soft. It is warm. It is like a bed.

You lie there. You look up. The sky is grey. The rain is falling. The drops are hard. They hit your face. They sting. You look at Elias. He is standing over you. He is breathing hard. He is shaking. He is looking at the ground. He is looking for the book.

The book is in your hand.

You are holding it tight. You are bleeding. The blood is red. It is bright. It is beautiful. It flows down your arm. It drips onto the mud. It mixes with the water. It stains the earth.

Elias looks at you. He looks at the book. He looks at your face. He sees that you are smiling. The smile is small. It is sad. It is final.

"You fool," he says. His voice is trembling. "You idiot. You are dying. You are doing this for nothing. The Duke will get it. The Duke will burn it. All of it. Gone. Ash. Dust. Nothing."

You try to speak. The words are hard. They are heavy. You do not have the strength. You look at him. You see his fear. You see his confusion. He does not understand. He thinks it is about the book. He thinks it is about the past. He is wrong.

It is about the choice.

You chose this. You chose the pain. You chose the silence. You chose the end. You did not choose the book. You chose the act of holding it. You chose to be the barrier. You chose to be the stone in the river.

Elias steps forward. He reaches for the book. His hand is outstretched. His fingers are long. They are pale. He wants it. He needs it. He thinks it will save him. He thinks it will make him safe.

You close your fingers around the oilcloth. You squeeze. The pain is sharp. It is electric. It runs through your body. You feel it in your teeth. You feel it in your bones. You are alive. You are fully alive.

Elias grabs the book. He yanks it from your hand. The pain is blinding. It is white. It is bright. You feel your body leave you. You feel your soul rise. It is light. It is free.

Elias holds the book. He looks at it. He looks at you. You are dying. Your eyes are closing. The world is fading. The rain is fading. The trees are fading.

"You have nothing," he whispers. He is crying. Tears mix with the rain on his face. He is a child. He is a broken thing. "You have nothing but this. And I have taken it."

You cannot hear him. You are far away. You are in the valley. The valley is deep. The trees are old. They stand like judges. They are silent. They are still.

You think of Clara. You see her face. Her eyes are green. They are clear. They are full of light. She is looking at you. She is not angry. She is not sad. She is understanding. She knows. She always knew. She knew that you would choose the silence. She knew that you would choose the end.

She smiles. The smile is soft. It is warm. It is life.

The rain stops.

The sky is clear. The stars are out. They are bright. They are cold. They are eternal.

Elias stands in the mud. He holds the book. It is wet. It is ruined. The pages are soaked. The ink is running. The words are blurring. They are dissolving. They are gone.

He looks at the book. He looks at the mud. He looks at your body. Your body is still. It is flat. It is part of the earth.

He drops the book.

It falls into the mud. The mud swallows it. The water soaks it. The pages tear. The words disappear. The past is gone. The truth is gone. The choice is gone.

Elias stands there. He is alone. He is wet. He is cold. He is shaking. He has won. He has the book. Or rather, he has the ruin of the book. He has the power. Or rather, he has the emptiness of power.

He looks at the sky. The stars are watching. They do not care. They do not judge. They simply are.

He turns. He walks away. His boots sink into the mud. Each step is a war. Each step is a loss. He is running. He is running from you. He is running from the truth. He is running from himself.

You are still.

The mud is warm.

The rain is gone.

The silence is loud.

The silence is complete.

You are the stone.

You are the river.

You are the end.

The valley is deep.

The trees are old.

They stand like judges.

They are silent.

They are still.

You are gone.

The mud is dark.

The mud is deep.

The mud is yours.

The rain smells of iron.

You know the scent.

It is the scent of blood.

You are running.

You are slow.

You are alone.

You are free.