The Distant Temple
The first thing Brother Thomas noted was the weight of the vial, a precise four ounces of consecrated water that felt heavier than stone in his sweating palm. He counted the hours since the last coughing fit, measuring time not by the bell but by the rhythmic, wet hacking that tore through his chest, a sound that echoed in the damp, stone-walled infirmary of the Abbey of St. Jude with the...
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