You ever find yourself climbing into an open grave during a bombing raid..and wish you'd just stayed in bed?
Dominican John Tetzel was preaching throughout much of Germany on behalf of a papal fundraising campaign to complete the construction of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. In exchange for a contribution, Tetzel boasted, he would provide donors with an indulgence that would apply even beyond the grave and free souls from purgatory. “As soon as the coin in the coffer rings,” went his jingle, “the soul from purgatory springs.”
Reklam
Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be called our mother, but our grave; where nothing
But who knows nothing is once seen to smile;
Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rent the air
Are made, not marked ; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy .
The Keys
She heard the warning just as a dark shape shot past, so large it
blotted out the sun above the forest canopy.
Wyvern.
Bows groaned, and the ruks were racing by, chasing after that wyvern.
If an Ironteeth scout spotted them—
Aelin readied her magic. The wyvern banked toward them, barely
visible through the latticework of branches.
But light flared then. Blasted back the rukhin—harmlessly.
Not light. But ice, flickering and flashing before it turned to flame.
Rowan recognized it, too. Roared the order to hold their fire.
It was not Abraxos who landed at the crossroads. And there was no
sign of Manon Blackbeak.
Light flashed again. And then Dorian Havilliard stood there, his
jacket and cape stained and worn.
Aelin galloped down the road toward him, Rowan and Elide beside
her, the others at their backs.
Dorian lifted a hand, his face grave as death, even as his eyes widened
at the sight of her.
But Aelin sensed it then.
What Dorian carried.
The Wyrdkeys.
All three of them.
As always, I found myself smiling after him. As always, the room felt a little darker after he left.
It was as if all the light and love it had gathered in the past was shining out on me.
Reklam
Reklam