The Flock

A man killed by a knife with a cross-shaped hilt.
A Bible with passages stained by a mans blood. A journey into the depths of this land, from Istanbul to Anatolia, into the ancient temples of ancient faiths. A journey into Christianitys roots in Anatolia and a paean to the vanishing cultures of a land that was once home to ancient tribes... The Assyrians, the Nusayris, the Greeks, Turks, Kurds and other peoples that turned this land into a country. A spellbinding novel that explores the rich tapestry of cultures that make up this country.
A nasal-burning odor woke him. He knew this smell. The smell of a church that had remained shut for years. Of oil lamps, crumbling stone, corroded marble, rotting wood, tattered pages and moldering corpses. He should have been horrified but he just gazed around. He glimpsed a gently stirring black figure. A formless, vague shape... A jet-black silhouette... He smiled at it.
Mor Gabriel, he murmured. The figure drew closer, and as it approached, it assumed human form. A person in black. A person who came up to him and whispered in his ear Do you know me
Mor Gabriel, he murmured again. As the name Mor Gabriel spilled from his mouth, he heard music Liturgical music coming from deep, deep within. A mumble of recurring passion in a language he didnt know, the rhyme of a person in raptures. Just then he noticed the cross. A cross of silver. As he tried to discern whether the man carried it in his hand or on his chest, a flash of light split the emptiness in two. He felt a stab of pain. The light flashed again, the pain disappeared and relief spread throughout his entire body.