Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [38]
“A mongrel and a human in this sacred room,” the other cleric muttered. “It is a sad state of affairs.”
Tom choked back a retort and let B’Elanna handle it. At least she carried the same blood as they. She did not rise to the bait, merely stood her ground and gave them stare for stare. After a moment the priests shook their heads and led “the mongrel and the human” to a table.
“Logt notified us of the nature of your request. We have pulled the pertinent tomes and scrolls,” one of them said. “Lakuur will show you how to touch them.”
Well, at least we now know which one’s which, Tom thought. Lakuur handed them each a pair of gloves. It was at that point that Tom realized something he ought to have figured out earlier. They were not going to be able to look at translations of these texts; they were going to have to handle the actual books themselves. His stomach flip-flopped.
“Put these on,” Lakuur ordered. “You will be permitted to peruse one item at a time.” He shook his index finger at them, emphasizing the number. “When you are done, ring the chime and I will return the tome to its proper place. If you wish to take notes, you may, but you must be careful. If the ink spills and damages one of the precious books, you will be ordered to leave Boreth and never return.”
Tom now noticed the small, pointed piece of bone on the table sitting next to an old-fashioned inkwell. Oh, great. This was just getting better and better.
Gingerly, he and B’Elanna put on their gloves and sat down with the first of the scrolls. Tom held his breath as B’Elanna slowly, carefully unrolled it. Fortunately, although it looked as though it might, it did not crumble to pieces. Tom took the sharpened piece of bone that was to serve as a pen and the ink and sat down beside her. A second later, he stood and moved several seats away from B’Elanna and the scroll. The more distance between the ink and the ancient, irreplaceable scroll, the better. Lakuur watched them for a moment, then grunted and left.
The minute he was gone, B’Elanna looked at Tom.
“ ‘Oh, honey, let’s see what else is out there about the Kuvah’Magh.’ Great idea,” she said sarcastically.
“Well, I didn’t know,” he protested. “I thought we’d be looking at translated padds, for heaven’s sake. I had no idea we’d have to wade through this.” He gestured at the pile of books and scrolls.
“You get to take the notes,” she said, “since you can’t read Klingon.” She perused the first scroll and her face fell. “Tom…I’m not sure even I can read this. It’s Klingon, but it’s a very archaic version.”
“It would probably be like my trying to read Middle English,” said Tom, his mind going back to when he was a teenager having to recite Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote….
He marveled at the scrap of knowledge that floated up. Memory was a funny thing.
“Harder than that,” mused Torres. She continued looking at the scroll. Then, softly, she smiled.
“This is it, Tom.”
“This is what?”
She gestured at the parchment. “This is the scroll that Kohlar and the others made copies of. It was written shortly after Kahless made the Promise. The monk who experienced the vision and who wrote the prophecy was supposed to be one of the first sent to Boreth, but he apparently angered some of the wrong people. The scroll of the Kuvah’Magh was written while he was in exile. I’m surprised it even survived.”
Tom picked up the bone writing implement, trying not to mentally identify its original owner. He dipped the sharp tip in the bowl of thick black ink and tried to write on the parchment that had been provided. He succeeded in creating a very large blot.
“This may take a while,” he said to his wife.
“It’s beautiful,” said Sekaya, and meant the words.
She, Astall, Fortier, and some of the other colonists stood on a gently swelling ridge, looking over the colonists’ former home. It