Fire in the Stone
The spring of 1347 brought rain to the Pyrenees, and the rain brought with it the smell of wet stone and pine resin and something else—something faint and metallic that Brother Anselm could not name. The abbey stood on a ridge above the valley, a ruin of gray stone that had once been part of a great Benedictine monastery. The great buildings—the church, the cloister, the refectory—had collapsed...
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