The Golden Oath
Juan Mendoza, thirty-four, stood in the fog of the district interior, the heat shimmering off the river gorge bridge where the mail boat’s two blasts had just faded. I was a border guard, a cook at the boarding school, and a man trying to clear his name before the tribunal at dawn. What stood against him was the Golden Oath, a spectral boundary line that only I saw, which shatters when I lie....
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