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ostik switched on his bedside lamp and pulled
the papyrus out of the plastic bag. In the warm light it
gave off
an amber glow. The anonymous hand that had penned these
Phoenician
characters had been dead for almost two thousand years.
They were
inscribed with an artistic elegance, and seemed to march
emphatically along. What was their message? One of the
words was
Jesus, the professor had said. Which one? Did you read
Aramaic
left to right like English or right to left like Hebrew?
Nostik
had no idea. It was as if someone had sent him a message
across
the ages and he could not read it. Read the
Prologue
Excerpt from Fragment
Publication pending
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