The Silver Scroll (The Academy Series Book 1) by Spence J. L

Author:Spence, J. L. [Spence, J. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Silver Sabre
Published: 2015-01-11T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ben woke up with Marina in his arms. She'd taken a shower about the time he'd wrapped up his work for the night, and joined him in the bed sometime after he'd fallen asleep. In the night he'd wound up spooning her, her head on his right arm and his left draped over her, up between her breasts, his fingers interlaced with hers. He liked the feeling, the thin cotton tee the only thing between his skin and her smooth, firm breasts. His chest pressed against her back — or was it her back against his chest? It had the thrill of the new, and yet the sensation was familiar. Comforting. He liked the smell of her, the rich scent of sleep and fading perfume from the bath soaps and salts.

He liked it too much.

He gently pulled his fingers through hers, slowly moved his body way from her warmth, pelvis first, then slid from the bed into a crouch on the floor. When she did not stir, he rose to his feet with various cracks and pops in his knee and ankles, and crept into the bathroom for a quick shower.

He hadn't slept well, despite the pleasant awakening. His dreams had been filled with Aramaic root words, prefixes, suffixes and archaic forms jumbling together, someone firing a weapon in the distant background. The ache of the shock from the collision also seeped through into his slumber.

In his dreams he couldn't make sense of the sentences, couldn't quite get the meaning from the text, always a little bit further to go, not quite where he needed to be.

He always felt that way when he was away from the actual texts. He didn't 'speak' Aramaic, after all, nor did he understand it spoken aloud. Not fluently anyway. His was a knowledge of the written word, the symbol on the page. He could read it and write it very well. But it still didn't feel the same as a spoken tongue. Not really. He didn't own it in his bones in the same way, and that always made him nervous.

The phantom report of firearms in the distance didn't help with concentration or confidence either. Now that he was awake, he needed to convince himself that it had all been in the dream, that they were safe now. Secure. At least for the moment.

He filled his hand with shampoo and smothered his hair with it, lathering the pleasant scent over his face, chest, groin and legs, washing away the previous day's fatigue and preparing his brain for another day of rigorous workout.

He knew another reason why his dreams had been especially troubled. It was the ghost of the Copper Scroll.

He'd spent many years learning his craft, studying languages and ancient culture, religion and cultic praxis — all so he could tap into the mind of ancient scribes and scholars, time travel in a sense, as his twenty-first century mind soaked in the thoughts of the first-century writer, direct from his hand. Nonetheless, he'd specialized in one of the most enigmatic and controversial of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

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