He felt his disgust rising with the memories, and his hatred. Not of anything else, for he had sworn to love all things as a monk, but of himself. Of the man he had been. To wipe away that hatred, he stood and started to move his body through the stretches and movements some monks used to try to meditate in motion, forcing his body to twist and turn and even wheel upside down.

He felt the moment when something switched in his movements. A stretch became a lunge at an opponent, a twist turned into a kick that would have knocked a man flat. He turned as if he had a blade in his hand, moving through the movements of the twelve plays of the sword in two hands. By the time that he was done, Brother Odd was sweating, and he hated himself even more.

This cant continue, he told himself. I cant be that man.

He set out in search of the abbot, finding him where he always was in the silent hour: kneeling on a ramp that came out from the monasterys walls, looking out over the island in his meditations. Brother Odd approached, and with the silent hour still continuing, could only stand there while the abbot continued to kneel. He stood and waited, knowing that he should be meditating himself, but now all he could see in his minds eye was death.

It didnt matter that the cause had been noble, that hed been a knight who had fought on the kings behalf. Brother Odd knew better than anyone that he hadnt cared about that at the time, only about the violence, about the chance to prove he was the greatest, about the thrill of it.

Finally, sonorously, the great bell in the monasterys tower tolled, bringing an end to the hour of silence. Brother Odd made to approach the abbot, but the old man raised a hand to make him pause. It was a good minute later before Abbot Verle rose, turning to face Brother Odd, his face curiously unwrinkled in spite of his advancing age. They said that the old man had possessed the skill to heal wounds as a younger monk, and to see visions of the gods.

You have come to me because you are troubled, Brother, the abbot said.

Yes, Father Abbot. I have had… the thoughts and dreams still trouble me in meditation and prayer.

It was such a simple way to put such a wealth of horror; horror that he had inflicted on the world. How many were dead now because of him? What might they have done with their lives?

The same thoughts? the abbot asked. Thoughts of the man you were?