The Golden Song
The air in the chapel smelled of damp stone and old iron. “Did you see it, Brother?” Thomas asked. His voice was low, a rasp of gravel. I did not look up. I kept my eyes on the floor. The stone was cold. It seeped through my boots. “I saw what I saw,” I said. “It was the light,” he whispered. “Not a man. Not a shadow. The light itself.” I looked at him then. His face was pale. Sweat beaded on...
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