Page values for "Final Journal of Jonas"

My Son,
Tomorrow I become The Effigy, tomorrow I become Skaen's embodiment on Eora, tomorrow my master chokes on his own whip.

For months, we met by secret conclave to plot our landlord's demise, all the while working the fields as if our hearts were content. Skaen teaches us to plot with the mind while keeping one's face impassive, inscrutable - fair fights are for those with armies. The Quiet Slave is our whetstone, our focus - in his worship, our cause finds focus, clarity, and possibility! Tomorrow, my master chokes on his own whip.

By the time you read this, I will be dead. I pray Skaen does not abandon me for speaking of my plotting, but a son deserves to know how his father died. For I have volunteered to be the Effigy - Skaen will inhabit my body, using this old farmer's simple flesh as a puppet of godly rage. I have been shaved and anointed - tomorrow morning, I will be your father in name only, as my manhood will be removed, my nose and ears removed, and my useless mortal eyes will be replaced with flint stones through which Skaen might see the world.

My son, I am sorry for the lies I have told you these past few seasons, but Skaen demands secrecy - even your mother knows nothing of my furtive service to The Quiet Slave. Curse my name if you must, but never weep for me, for I die for the betterment of our community, to smite our lord's corruption from the face of Eora! Tomorrow my master chokes on his own whip, for tomorrow, I become the Effigy!