The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth - Страница 23
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Yep, definitely Malachi.
“Think, Ava.” Her voice was rasping and hoarse. She needed water. There’d been some in the backpack she took to the island…
“The island.” She met her own surprised gaze in the mirror. “We were on the island.”
The island. The mountain. The monastery.
The gun.
She groaned. Leave it to Carl to send her a .45. He knew she was more accurate with a 9mm. Still, when one was sending contraband handguns to one’s stepdaughter in Turkey, Ava supposed one couldn’t be too picky. And leave it to Malachi to be more concerned than frightened when he saw it.
She walked back out to the bedroom, head still a little fuzzy.
What was she doing in Malachi’s room? How had he gotten her there? The whole time between the hike and waking was a blur. They’d been hiking to the monastery. Ava had confronted Malachi with the gun.
And then…
The memory rang clear as the morning light.
Where have you heard this, Ava?
She almost ran into the door.
Malachi had spoken it! Her unknown language. Only a brief mutter at first, but her mind had latched on to it. Then more. He had spoken the words that haunted her. Not a whispered cadence. His voice had been real, and Ava had…
Well, she’d completely freaked out.
Where have you heard this, Ava?
He’d spoken it. Not in a whispered jumble. Not in a stutter or a whisper as she’d often tried. He’d spoken it like a native.
Malachi knew what her language was.
You’re not crazy. You’re a miracle.
A miracle of what? She closed her eyes and flushed at the memory of his kiss. More than a kiss. It had been more. Right and whole and real and true. Like the realization she’d had at the bar, it struck her soul-deep. Malachi was made to kiss her, and she was made to kiss him. He’d kissed her on the edge of that mountain like it was his purpose in life, and a small hopeful voice whispered to Ava that perhaps it was true.
She looked at the door, knowing that somewhere on the other side, she’d find him. She’d find Malachi, and he’d be able to answer her questions. Questions that had plagued her for twenty-eight years. And Ava had to admit the idea of finding answers was almost as frightening as the unknown. She sat down on the edge of the bed with trembling knees.
“Get a grip, Ava.” She clenched her eyes shut and commanded her heart to stop racing. “Focus.”
Irina, he’d whispered.
“Who is Irina?”
The sunlight flowed through the window, illuminating a book open at the end of the bed. There was a chest there with more books, but one was open, and Ava moved closer, drawn to the gold-trimmed page that glowed in the slanting light.
It was a manuscript. A very well-preserved one. The illuminations marked it as medieval, but the writing wasn’t like any she’d seen before. Ava had studied enough foreign languages and religions to know it was probably Middle Eastern. Something about it reminded her of Hebrew, but it wasn’t. It was older. Simpler. Not hieroglyphics. A simple alphabet that could be carved as easily as written, she was guessing. It had shades of both Hebrew and Arabic but was neither. Phoenician? And what was it doing combined with what looked like Medieval European illustrations?
The art next to the script was exquisite. It was a picture of a couple embracing. The man’s upper body was covered in strange, silver tattoos, and his face was a picture of ecstasy. The woman held him, her body also covered in the same marks, but the artist had used gold to draw hers. They twined together, two halves of one whole. Everything about them spoke of completion.
She closed the book and looked at the binding. It was old, but well oiled. The book, whatever language it had been written in, was exquisitely preserved. There were marks in the corners of the vellum and a few pages had been torn at the corner. This was not a museum piece. It had been treasured but used. Finally, she opened it at the beginning.
The first thing she saw was an intricate page of illuminated letters in the unknown language. Text only. Then, there were pictures of men with glowing faces and white robes. Beautiful women embraced them. Ava continued to turn the pages, not understanding the writing, but looking for the story the pictures told. Children were born. The figures showed both joy and sorrow. Then the men with glowing faces left, the women’s arms held out to them in supplication. There were more pictures of children. Pictures of young men building what looked like temples. Houses? More men copying books and building fires. Writing on walls. A room full of scrolls. A library?
There were pictures of women. Breathtakingly beautiful and detailed, the pictures of the women were wrought with infinite delicacy and vivid color. Women holding children. Women putting hands on the sick. Overseeing a building project. Tending and drying flowers. A woman standing in front of an assembly, who looked like she was singing. The faces of the audience, each rendered in detail, exhibited awe.
Ava paged through the book, questions flying through her mind until she got to the last page again. The page with the couple embracing. Tears had come to her eyes. Who were these people? And why had this been out for her to find?
From beyond the closed door, she heard voices. For a moment, it didn’t register. She was so used to hearing it, Ava hardly noticed. But then, she did. She put the book down carefully and walked to the door.
There it was again. It was real. Low male voices spoke in the language she’d heard from her youth. Not whispers. Not murmurs. They were actually speaking it. Out loud.
“I’m not crazy,” she whispered with a smile. “I’m really not.”
Ava cracked the door open and peeked out. Malachi’s bedroom was at the end of a dark hallway, and she could see stairs leading down. The room below glowed with morning light, and that was where the voices came from.
“Don’t chicken out now, Ava.” She patted her cheeks and left the room, walking slowly toward the stairs. The voices began to rise, and she paused.
They were arguing.
She heard Malachi and another man arguing. Another, calmer voice occasionally chimed in, but mostly she heard Malachi.
Beautiful. Rise and fall. The cadence of his voice in the unknown language drew her closer. She reached the stairs and started down. No one halted the argument as she walked. When she reached the bottom, she realized she was in a large open living area with couches and tables. There was even a flat-screen television surrounded by chairs in one corner, but the voices were coming from a room off the main one, a room with a door half open.
Ava walked toward it. The arguing was getting even more intense, but she told herself to be brave. She had to know what was going on. Where the hell was she? Who did they work for? She was assuming she wasn’t a hostage or prisoner, because she could see the front door from where she stood. No one guarded it. No alarms were going off. There was only intense arguing coming from unknown voices. She took a deep breath and walked in.
As soon as she stepped through the doorway, everything stopped. The arguing. Any and all movement. It was as if they had frozen.
She waited for someone to break the silence before she finally lifted a hand. “Hey.”
There were five men. Five very large men. She recognized Leo in the corner as he lifted a hand and smiled. Ava smiled back, relieved that someone was acting friendly. There was another man next to him who looked like he could be his brother, but his mouth only gaped in shock. Ava’s eyes swept the frozen room. Sitting at a desk, a tall, lanky man with black hair and very pale skin watched her with cautious green eyes. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t glare, either. And across the room, which appeared to be a library, Malachi stood with another man, braced for a fight.
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