Hidden Fragments Chapter 1

A new adventure begins… and you’re invited.

Dear friends,

I’m beginning a brand-new and rather daring project: a book I’ll be writing in real time, and every one of you will be able to read it for free.

My plan is to publish one new chapter each week so we can follow the journey together as it unfolds. What if we lived in a world where owning a Bible could cost you your life? That’s the premise of my new book, Hidden Fragments.

The story takes place in a country where the Bible has been outlawed and no one owns a complete copy. Our hero, Calen, is entrusted with a dangerous mission: to find the scattered scrolls of Scripture and piece them back together into a complete Bible. But the road ahead is treacherous, and danger waits at every turn.

I don’t yet know exactly how the tale will end, though I’m hoping for a joyful conclusion, but part of the adventure is discovering that together.

And don’t worry, the Story of the Week will still be sent as usual.

So … here we go with Chapter 1. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: A promise made

The wind ripped at Calen’s tunic as he steered his horse over the hill on his way to Angus’s place.

He could hardly believe he was doing this. The voice of the messenger still rang in his ears: “Angus is dying and has asked for you.”

For me? Why?

He didn’t even really know Angus. Calen was tired, the weather was bad and this message could not have come at a more inopportune time.

The messenger had burst into Calen’s modest hut; the sound of the door jarred him from his seat. “Who are you?” he had yelled in consternation.

“Never mind me,” the stranger answered. “It’s about Angus and it’s urgent.”

“Who?”

“Old man Angus that some call a prophet. Angus Stonevale.”

“Why would I care?” Calen, annoyed by the interruption, snapped his response. “I have no business with Angus.”

The other shrugged. “Angus told me to call you. That’s all I’m doing now.”

Weird.

Calen dropped back into his seat, which made the worn leather groan beneath his weight.

Why was this his problem? He shook his head in disbelief. Old men died every day, and Calen wasn’t particularly fond of Angus. The Council of Twelve considered that man a heretic, and associating with him was unwise. Angus didn’t follow the Book of Order that contained all the commandments of the country. If you wanted to live your life in relative peace, people like Angus needed to be avoided.

And yet, Calen secretly admired the old man. He had once heard him speak at the market square about what he called, “the one true God.” Calen had stood in quiet awe at the fearless conviction in the man’s voice, crackling in the air like a coming storm. Angus had spoken about another kingdom than this present one. A kingdom of righteousness, where love and mercy held the scepter and where nothing foul, unclean or truly wicked could enter.

It sounded wonderful, yet everyone knew it couldn’t be true. There was no such place. It was stupid. Evil was all around and whether you liked it or not, evil was here to stay. One look at the reality of this world was enough to clear your head of any fancy dreams.

And yet, despite himself, the old man’s peculiar words had stirred something profound within his heart; a dormant desire, like a forgotten melody now played loudly in his soul, a yearning to live the fairy tale himself.

But that day had ended in defeat for the old man. While he was speaking of a God of love and the power of prayer, the rhythmic thud of many boots on the cobblestones announced the arrival of several soldiers from the Council of Twelve, their swords glinting ominously.

Harsh, crude men they were, with sharp pointed noses and dark expressions on their stony faces. Without warning, their captain, a heavy fellow with a dark helmet pushed over his head had delivered a heavy blow to Angus’ gentle face. Blood flowed from his nose and dripped onto the ground. The old man fell down while the captain shouted for all the people to disperse.

Even now, he couldn’t fully explain what had made him step forward that day. Seeing the old man being beaten, anger had welled up and he placed himself between the brutish soldier and Angus.

A dangerous thing to do, but he could not accept such senseless violence. “Stop it,” he yelled. “How dare you beat an old, defenseless man like this?”

The captain’s surprise lasted just long enough for him to stop his beatings but then he looked at Calen with a questioning gaze, which turned to surprised recognition. “Calen?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Calen shuddered as he looked into the captain’s eyes. Indeed, he knew who that was. “Drenick,” he whispered in awe. “Is it really you?”

There, dressed in full gear, stood his former friend Drenick. He was older now. Harsher too, but there was no mistaking him. They had played together in the field as young lads and shared the occasional meal at each other’s tables. But, as often happens, life pulled them in different directions. When Calen turned nine, his father sent him to apprentice with the Silent Scribes, the kingdom’s principal seat of learning for those called to the written word. Their friendship faded and Calen never saw Drenick again. He only heard that he had joined the army, along with plentiful rumors of his cruelty.

Drenick seemed uncertain about what to do, but realizing all eyes were upon him, he quickly resorted to his hard stance and sneered, “This matter does not concern you. Move back and do not stand in my way. I am on official business for the Council of Twelve.”

“Fine,” Calen mumbled, feeling his strength ebbing away. “It’s just that there’s no need for such violence. You were never like that.”

“The past is gone. Only today counts,” Drenick hissed. “But because of our past, I will have mercy and not arrest you. Stay out of our way and make yourself scarce.” He spat on the ground, gave Calen a sharp push in his chest that made him tumble backwards and turned back to Angus. Yet, the beating had stopped. Drenick gave his cronies a gruff command and they jerked Angus upright and hauled him off, probably to prison.

Angus had been grateful. With a warm, thankful smile that spoke volumes he passed Calen, leaving a feeling of unearthly peace in his wake. It had shocked Calen, as the smile had been so full of warmth that it penetrated the core of his being. The moment was brief, yet Calen would always remember it.

And now that same man was dying … and had asked to see him?

The weight of the memory still lingered as Calen looked back at the messenger, who obviously was in a hurry to leave. The man shrugged off any responsibility, muttering that he’d only been asked to deliver the message, nothing more.

Then he turned to leave, still insisting it was up to Calen whether or not to go. But from the moment Calen heard that the old man was dying he already knew deep down, he had no choice.

Minutes later, he saddled his horse, stepped out into the rain and wind, and began the long ride while following the directions the visitor had given him.

By the time he spotted the solitary cabin hidden deep within the forest, the long ride had drenched and chilled him. This had better be good.

A soft, golden light streamed from one window, illuminating the raindrops, but the front door stood ajar.

Strange. Didn’t the old man realize the danger of leaving his door open?

Calen nudged it. It gave a gentle creak and he stuck his head inside. His heart skipped a beat. What a mess. Someone had trashed the place. Chairs lay overturned, garments littered the floor and a bookcase had crashed to the floor, its contents scattered like fallen leaves.

He cleared his throat and called out, “Angus! Old man, are you in here?”

At first, he heard nothing except the gentle rain pattering against the window. “Angus,” he cried out again. “I am Calen. You asked for me …”

From the adjoining room came a soft moan. “In here, Calen,” came the weak reply.

Stepping over the mess, Calen hurried to the bedroom. There, on the cold hard floor lay the old man, his body sprawled across a rumpled sheet, a crimson streak marring his forehead.

“Angus,” Calen cried and hurried to the man. “W-What happened?”

The old man looked up and despite the obvious pain he was in, another smile, just like the one he had given to Calen on the day he had first seen him, played around his lips. “T-thank you for coming. God told me to call on you.”

“God?” Calen blinked and jerked back. “What do you mean?”

“I am talking about the one true God,” the old man replied weakly. “He who created the heavens and the earth and who died on a cross to save us from our sins. He told me to call you. I don’t choose. He does.”

“What are you talking about?” Calen sneered. “I don’t know God.”

“I know you don’t,” Angus sighed with great difficulty, “but that doesn’t matter. God knows you, and that is enough. There is something you need to do.”

“Me?”

Angus nodded. “I have little time left on this earth. I am about to enter the land with the eternal shores, where light and love rule and no foul thing can defile or harm. But you are still strong and young. You need to collect the entire book and put it together for our land to follow the true light again.”

“What book?” Calen asked, a little annoyed. Maybe his coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“The Scrolls of the Ages,” Angus said, his eyes gleaming. “The only book that contains the true light, unlike the Book of Order.”

Calen frowned. “The Book of Order is the only book we have. It’s the right one.”

“Not so,” Angus whispered. “It doesn’t contain the true light. It only elevates the darkness.”

Calen tilted his head. If the Council of Twelve; those pompous, self-righteous fools were to hear these words they’d be furious, but to be honest, he despised them with the same intensity he felt for a snake slithering under his bed at night. He bit his lower lip and asked, “What then is that true light?”

“You’ll find out,” Angus whispered. “God will help you. He told me He’ll be with you and show you the truth, but you must hurry. Drenick and his wicked men are around and it’s not safe here.”

“Drenick was here? Why?”

Angus was at the end of his strength. He had received another beating and his life was fading away fast. “The Council of Twelve sent him,” he stammered. “Their intent is to erase every precious word, every sacred phrase, from the Scroll of the Ages; they want to see it vanish into dust and nothingness. I possess an important part of it and they are looking for it so they can destroy it.

“You have a part of it?” Calen asked in awe.

Angus’s eyes lit up. “I do. They think it’s written down, but it is not. It’s in my heart. I memorized it. Take a pen. I’ll tell you and you write it down. Then hide it, so nobody will find it until you have collected all the parts.”

“And then?”

“Then you publish it.”

Publish it? Calen hesitated. That was dangerous. Did he really want to be part of this?

As he looked at the pale but radiant face of the dying old man, Calen thought of his former friend Drenick. He remembered his hard eyes while he was beating Angus. The captain was a symbol of the darkness and fear that held the entire land in its grip. Surely, whatever it was that this dear, dying man believed in, it was a lot better than the unbending, merciless spirit of the Council of Twelve and their Book of Order.

Yes, he would do it. For once, he would use his talents as a scribe for something truly good. How could he refuse?

“Speak, old man,” Calen said, uncapping the ink bottle and steadying his trembling hand. “And I will write.”

And so, Angus began. Slowly and haltingly, with great difficulty muttering the words.

“In the beginning was the Word … and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men.”

For half an hour, Angus spoke in gentle whispers. Calen wrote until his fingers cramped and ink stained his skin. Three pages later, Angus’s eyes fluttered closed.

“It is finished,” he whispered. He wheezed, and his head dropped on his chest.

“Angus,” Calen whispered. “Can you hear me?” An icy dread grabbed him. Had Angus died on him? Calen bent over and placed a hand on his chest.

…Stillness. Peace. He was gone and was now sailing to the eternal shores … If such a thing even existed.

Holding the fragile pages to his chest Calen stood still, listening to the rain ticking against the window like a clock counting down.

Then came the voices.

“Another horse?” someone called from outside. “There’s someone else here!”

Calen moved to the window. Through the foggy rain he could see Drenick, mounted and stern on his horse and flanked by several of his soldiers.

A part of him wanted to flee. But he stepped back from the window, drew a steady breath and let his gaze rest on Angus one last time. Drenick and his cronies were too late. Angus no longer had that part of the Scroll of the Ages. He had passed it on to him. Now it was up to him to keep it safe. He slid the precious documents in his boot, hidden out of sight ad promised himself he’d do his best to protect these papers and honour the prophet’s request.

He turned toward the back door, not to escape but to follow whatever path had just opened before him.

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