The Pale Altar
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring to summon the faithful, but to warn them away, for it was a sound that had torn itself loose from the metal clapper and begun to scream like a wounded animal caught in the thicket of the midnight fog. Old Silas, the town’s sole surviving scholar of the old tongue, stood at the edge of the village square with his hand pressed firmly against his...
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