Hidden Fragments Chapter 12

The journey continues

What happened before?
Crossing the crowded streets of Bramblebrook, Calen, Marisa, and young Tobin found refuge in a humble bakery called Life-giving Bread. There they met the kind bakers, Samwell and Mabel Wheatley, who, after initial suspicion, recognized them as followers of the God of the Scrolls. When Marisa revealed their mission to gather the missing fragments of Scripture, Mabel shared a vivid dream confirming Calen’s divine calling. Trust began to bloom, until the shop bell tinkled again and the heavy boots of soldiers echoed through the bakery, threatening to shatter the fragile peace.

Chapter 12

Underneath Are the Everlasting Arms

“Soldiers?” the baker’s wife whispered, eyes wide. She turned to Calen. “They must be looking for you. How would they know you’re here?”

Calen’s stomach tightened. The soldier who had bought the Bishop’s Belly-Buster Pie … It all made sense now.

Samwell’s face glowed with unusual calm. No fear, only quiet confidence. “We trust in God,” he said, voice steady. “Mabel, see what’s happening in the shop.” Then he pointed to a hatch in the floor. “Quick. You can hide here. I’ll cover it with some flour sacks.”

Calen swallowed hard. “Will … will we be safe in there?”

Marisa grabbed his arm and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll trust God. He will watch over us.”

They slipped through the hatch, one by one, careful not to make a sound. They landed in a cramped storage space. It was pitch dark there, the air heavy with the scent of yeast and flour. Samwell shut the hatch above them and heaped sacks of flour over it.

Now they had to stay still.

“I … I’m scared,” Tobin whispered, his voice trembling. “What if they find us?”

“They won’t,” Marisa murmured back, pulling him close. “God will keep us. Just whisper a prayer.”

Calen tried to pray too, but he couldn’t. His thoughts scattered, and he listened instead; heart thudding, ears straining. At first, he only heard Samwell’s footsteps creaking above them, but then the door to the workshop burst open. Heavy boots slammed against the floor, voices shouting.

“Where are they?”

Calen froze. He knew that voice … it was Droskar.

“Where is who?” Samwell’s calm voice cut through the noise. “Nobody is here.”

“You’re lying!” Another voice shrieked, high and cruel. Calen’s blood ran cold. He recognized that voice as well. In his mind he saw again how he was pushed down the steps into the cellar of Marisa’s house … and how he escaped that voice with the help of the goats. Slink had arrived. He would never forget that voice; angry, wicked, and without a trace of mercy. A nightmare made real.

“My soldiers saw them here,”Droskar said. “A young man, a woman and a child.”

“I’m sorry, sirs,” Samwell replied evenly. “I wish I could help you, but I’ve been in the back the whole time. I didn’t see anyone.”

Calen pressed a hand to his chest; afraid his pounding heart might give them away. How could Samwell stay so calm?

“You’ve hidden them,” Slink hissed, his sharp voice quivering with frustration.

“Hidden them?” Samwell’s tone carried genuine surprise. “Where would I hide two adults and a child in this little place? Look for yourselves.”

Silence. Then the scrape of boots, the shuffle of sacks, a bucket clattering across the floor. The soldiers muttered, searched and found nothing.

At last, a meek voice spoke. It was Mabel.

“You’re right,” she said barely audible. “They were here, but they’ve gone.”

“Gone? To where?” Droskar barked. His voice was echoing through the baker’s workshop.

“I don’t know, good sir,” Mabel answered. “They wanted bread and flour. I know the boy, but I have never seen the other two.”

At that instant, Tobin began to sob. Softly, but it made noise nevertheless. Calen understood. For a boy Tobin’s age, who most likely spent his days playing with marbles or chasing squirrels in the forest, this was a terrifying experience.

“It’s alright, Tobin,” Marisa gentle voice whispered nearby. Calen felt how she put both of her arms around the boy in a motherly embrace and whispered a soft prayer in the boy’s ear. It strengthened Calen as much as it did the boy. What a wonderful woman Marisa was.

If only he could … If only he …

A door slammed shut and heavy boots stomped off in the distance. At last Calen heard the little bell above the door of the bakery tinkle and for a moment all was steeped in silence.

Gone.

Slink and Droskar with their wicked soldiers were gone. He heaved a sigh of relief. But for how long?

“What now?” Calen whispered.

“We wait,” Marisa murmured. “Samwell will come when it’s safe.”

The silence pressed on them, heavy as the sacks above the hatch. Flour dust drifted in the air, making every breath taste dry and sweet. Then came a shuffle; slow and cautious.

Light spilled through the cracks as the sacks were lifted and the baker opened the hatch.

“You can come out now,” Samwell’s voice said, warm and low. “The soldiers are gone.”

The flour dust sparkled over the opening, dancing in a ray of light that pierced through the tiny window in Samwell’s workshop.

Calen raised a hand to wave the floury mist aside before climbing out, but Marisa stopped him.

“Look,” she whispered in awe.

Calen looked. The dust danced in the air, not at random, but in a strange, steady rhythm. As they watched, the swirling particles gathered and shaped themselves into letters and a single word hung before them. For a heartbeat it shone, clear and bright, before fading into nothing.

Ruach.

When the sight was gone, Calen turned to Marisa and whispered, “Ruchan? Ruhath? Burasch? What was that?”

“Ruach,” Marisa breathed, with voice unsteady, eyes still fixed on the air where the word had been.

Just then Samwell appeared with a large cloth and swept the last traces of flour away. “Don’t worry,” he said with cheerful practicality. “It’s only flour. One of the sacks burst when the soldiers were here.” But as Samwell swept the last of the flour aside, a faint current of air stirred the workshop, gentle and unseen, as if it were a nudge from heaven.

“How wonderful is God,” she whispered. “The word Ruach.”

Calen frowned. “I saw it,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t mean anything. What a strange coincidence.”

Marisa shook her head and took his hand, her voice warm but trembling. “Not a coincidence, Calen. You don’t understand. You’re a scribe. Have you never studied the ancient tongues?”

“I have,” Calen admitted. “But I’ve never heard of words like Burasch or Ruchan. None of it makes sense.”

“It’s Hebrew,” she said softly. “It’s the language of part of the Scrolls. And Ruach …, she paused, as if tasting the word, “… means breath, wind … Spirit. It’s a living word, Calen. Deep as the air that we breathe.”

“But … what does it mean for us?” Calen asked, beginning to sense that once again he had been a witness of something grand.

“The Scroll we hope to find in Ömstead speaks of it,” Marisa said softly. “If I remember well, in the original it says something like Ruach Elohim hovering over the chaos It means the breath of God hovered over the chaos, right before creation.” She paused, her voice catching.

“As it was in the beginning. Dust and breath. We are not forgotten.”

Her eyes met his, steady and warm. His heart pounded. Had he ever felt such awe, such … wonder? Never before had he met a woman like Marisa. Something stirred deep inside him.

“Once again, Calen,” she said slowly, each word deliberate, “God Himself is telling us not to be afraid. There is nothing to fear, even though we are surrounded by a thousand soldiers. He will keep us, all the way.”

“Are you two finished?” Samwell said with a chuckle and his fatherly voice brought them back to reality. “What will we do now?”

“The Scrolls,” Calen said, urgency in his voice. “Show them to me. I can begin copying what I can; at least for as much as time allows.”

“No,” Samwell said firmly. “You don’t have time. You’ll take them with you. Just promise you will bring a copy back.”

Calen opened his mouth to object, but Samwell raised a hand. “Don’t. I’ll hide the scrolls for you in freshly baked bread. Once you’re safe, you can take them out, copy them … and eat the bread.”

Without waiting for a reply, Samwell turned and left. A minute later, he returned, carrying several rolls of parchment.

Calen’s pulse quickened. How many scrolls did that gentle baker have? Not one, not two, no, Calen counted three large scrolls, and even a tiny one tucked among them. A gold mine of the Word of God.

Samwell said nothing, but went straight to work. Calen and Marisa watched, captivated by the baker’s skillful hands. He carefully wrapped each scroll in a soft cloth, then encased it in freshly made dough, sprinkling nuts and herbs over the top. In minutes, several large loaves were ready for the oven. Just ordinary bread hiding extraordinary treasures.

“W-Will the Scrolls survive the heat of the oven?” Calen asked, narrowing his eyes at the large slabs of dough on the tray.

Samwell grinned. “Have faith, my boy. I would not risk the precious words of God. These scrolls can endure any fire . They are more stable than gold or silver.”

With a confident smile, he slid the tray into the oven, checked that all was as it should be, and let out a satisfied sigh. “All is well,” he said, shrugging. “Now we wait. In the meantime, you should eat something.” He winked at Tobin. “How about a meat pie, son, fresh from the griddle?”

Tobin’s face lit up. “By the whiskers of Saint Giles … That would be lovely, Mister Samwell.”

And it was. Despite the danger surrounding them, they gathered around the oven, savoring the bakery’s finest fare, served by Mrs. Mabel with a quiet smile.

Marisa wiped crumbs from her mouth and murmured, “He prepares a table before me, in the presence of my enemies. My cup runs over.”

A deep sense of contentment rose in Calen’s heart. The air around them seemed to breathe with life and joy. What was that word again? Burasch? No — Ruach. God was truly with them. They were safe. They would not be forgotten.

***

When the bread was ready, and Samwell, with an elegant sweep, had pulled it from the oven, the delightful aroma of freshly baked loaves filled the room. Tobin let out a cry of joy, and if Calen hadn’t stopped him, he might have broken off a piece of the golden crust and popped it into his mouth.

There they lay, four warm, wholesome loaves, still steaming, with the hidden Word of God enclosed within.

“We must go,” said Calen. “It’s nearly dark and once the sun sets, the gate will be closed. But how will we get past the guard?”

“The Camel’s Nose …?” Mabel said hesitantly. “That small gate is never watched as closely as the main one.”

“What is that?” asked Marisa.

“A narrow passageway in the wall,” Samwell explained. “It got its name from the old parable, the one about the camel who, on a cold night, wanted to warm itself in its master’s tent. The master allowed the camel to slip its nose inside, but that was the end of it. Before long, the whole beast was in the tent.”

He chuckled. “That story truly happened here, long ago in the days before the Council of Twelve came to power. An enemy once used that same opening to enter Bramblebrook unseen, because the magistrates didn’t bother to close it.”

Calen looked up. “And that opening still exists?”

“It does,” Samwell said. “It’s practically a tourist attraction.” He eyed Calen with mild surprise. “It’s history, my boy. What did they teach you among the Silent Scribes? You should know these things, being a scholar.”

Calen said nothing and looked at Marisa for support, but she didn’t seem overjoyed by the idea.

“If Slink and Droskar are searching for us,” she said, “won’t they have soldiers watching that spot too?”

“We’ll have to take the risk,” Samwell said. “Sometimes the smallest openings, overlooked by most, can be the key to freedom. Even a forgotten corner of the city can keep you safe.”

Calen thought for a moment. “All right. We’ll try the Camel’s Nose. Once the sun sets, the main gate will be closed, so we don’t really have a choice.”

“And the horses?” Tobin asked eagerly. His fear had completely vanished, and he now seemed to find the whole affair a grand adventure. “Will they fit through the Camel’s Nose?”

Samwell shook his head. “No, that won’t work. But I can take them beyond the gate tomorrow. Where are they kept?”

“Just around the corner,” Marisa said with a sigh. She was clearly unhappy about leaving the horses behind. The idea of the Camel’s Nose didn’t please her either.

But there was no other way.

“Good gravy! When do we go?” whispered Tobin. “My mother will worry if I don’t come home soon.”

“I’m sorry,” Samwell replied gently. “We’ll have to wait a little longer. The later the hour, the better our chances of slipping out safely.”

They sat in the dim light of the bakery for some time until Samwell suddenly broke the silence.

“It’s time,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”

They stepped cautiously outside. The night was overcast and the air cool. Now and then the moon slipped through the clouds, but its light was faint, and not a single star shone in the firmament. To make matters worse, a fine drizzle had begun to fall.

Yet the streets were utterly still.

How strange, Calen thought. It wasn’t even that late, and there were always shady figures who crept out at this hour to indulge their godless desires. Usually, there were soldiers on patrol as well, to keep such men in check. But now, there was nothing. It was as if the entire city had been wrapped in a veil of silent calm.

Samwell led the way, followed by Calen, who carried the precious loaves wrapped in cloth. Marisa came last, her arm protectively around Tobin.

They passed the horses. Whisperwind neighed softly at the sight of Marisa, and Hosanna pawed the cobblestones with eager hooves.

“Sorry,” Marisa whispered. “You two will have to spend the night in Bramblebrook.”

Whisperwind let out a low grunt. Calen was about to hush them, but no sound came from his lips.

Had he seen correctly? Was someone standing beside the horses?

His eyes did not deceive him. There, near the horses, stood a lightly dressed figure with shoulder-length blond hair and a stern expression. There seemed to be a faint radiance about him, though that was absurd, of course. Still, it was clear this was not a man one would wish to quarrel with.

Had they been discovered? Calen tried to warn Samwell, but it was too late. The figure in the shadows had already seen them. Yet, instead of sounding the alarm and summoning soldiers from the dark corners of Bramblebrook, a solemn expression crossed his face.

Without a word he turned, loosened the horses’ reins and motioned for them to follow.

“W–What is this?” Calen whispered, turning to Marisa. “A thief stealing our horses?” Even as he said it, he knew how foolish it sounded. This was something different.

Marisa whispered back, “Not a thief, Calen … He wants us to follow him.”

The man walked on steadily, the horses moving obediently beside him.

Where was this strange figure leading them?

Suddenly Calen realized they were approaching the Crooked Lantern, the very place where, earlier, he had barely avoided colliding with the man who’d been thrown out of the tavern. But now there was no one to be seen.

The Crooked Lantern itself was silent, as though everyone inside had fallen into a deep sleep. How strange. This place was usually alive with noise. At all odd hours there should be clamor, laughter and drunken songs. But it was completely still. Even the night here smelled clean and fresh.

“We’re heading toward the gate,” Calen whispered to Marisa. “But … doesn’t that stranger know it’s closed?”

Marisa motioned for him to keep silent, and they pressed on.

A few minutes later, they stood before the city gate.

Calen blinked and stared in disbelief. The gate stood slightly open. On either side, two guards lay sprawled on the cobblestones, fast asleep. At that moment, the moon broke through the clouds and bathed the path before them in light.

“What is happening here?” Calen said, louder than he intended.

“We’re leaving the city,” Marisa answered softly. “God has opened the gate.”

Calen turned to look for their guide. His heart nearly stopped. The man was gone. There was no one there.

Marisa motioned for Calen to lift Tobin onto Whisperwind. They bid Samwell farewell, and after Calen secured the loaves safely in one of the saddlebags, they slipped quietly through the gate.

The moon vanished once more behind the clouds, but Calen’s heart shone brighter than ever. What a wondrous God he had come to know.

____