The Golden Oath
The bell tower of Saint Jude’s did not ring at noon, it screamed, a jagged sound that tore through the heavy, honey-thick air of the market square where the dust settled in golden, suspended clouds around our ankles, and I stood there, gripping the rough, splintered hickory staff of my office, feeling the wood grain bite into the calluses of my palm, while the eyes of the Elders watched me from...
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