…and they babbled. All sorts of strange sounds wafted from them. Chants? Incantations? Or madness? The legend of the tower dimly arose in my mind.
‘Bloody hell,’ Sasha said. ‘Didn’t expect to hear that.’
‘Woah!’ Chang said. ‘My grandmother should’ve been here.’
Olumese stared at the babblers sweating slightly. And then I heard it. How could this be? These were a bunch of drunks. But as I listened the deeper innocent memories stirred. My mother’s prayers of peace in her rounded Southern Indian tongue.
The legend of the tower was reversed. Anarchy restored.
Sacred Blue 