Hidden Fragments Chapter 14

The Journey Continues

Previously…
Calen, Marisa, and young Tobin escaped Bramblebrook under cover of night. Calen still reeled from how quickly his once-monotonous life as a scribe had transformed into a perilous mission for God. Burdened by doubt yet stirred by a new sense of purpose, he followed Marisa into the dark forest in search of Tobin’s home after their lantern sputtered out. While fear threatened to overwhelm him, Calen alone began to see mysterious glowing footprints leading them forward, signs he believed were from God. Though Marisa could not see the light herself, she chose to trust Calen as they followed the footprints deeper among the trees, until the final glow vanished and a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness before them.

Chapter 14

A Quiet Haven

“Footsteps? Here… in the dark?”

Calen spun, pressing a finger to his lips. “There’s someone here,” he whispered. “But I can’t see a thing.”

Marisa froze. Tobin’s eyes went wide.

Now that the glowing footprints had faded, the forest lay almost pitch-black. Every so often, the moon broke through the clouds, spilling pale light over twisted roots and mossy ground. Close by he spotted the silhouette of a half-dead oak, its branches raised like a watchman’s warning.

For a moment, nobody moved. They stood as frozen. The air was damp and heavy with the scent of pine and the recent rain.

“What are we—” Tobin began, but Calen cut him off with a tense, urgent “Ssh,” pressing a hand to his shoulder.

There was movement on the ground now, perhaps twenty yards away. More unsettling still was the sound of snuffling. It was the distinct, labored, heavy breath of some creature pushing through the undergrowth.

Wolves?

They had nothing to defend themselves with. Calen crouched and groped through the moss for something useful. Cold dew soaked through his knees. The earth smelled of roots and rot; things that hid beneath, but he found nothing. No stick, or a sharp stone perhaps … Nothing. Only damp soil and loose leaves.

Tobin sank down as well, pulling his knees to his chest. His breath came quick and shallow, a child’s effort to be brave, but fear was clearly knocking on the door of his little heart.

“It’s all right,” Marisa whispered softly. Calen heard how she crouched down beside the boy, offering comfort. “Just stay down.”

For a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath.

Then, close by, something slid through the brush. Calen tensed, ready to shield Marisa and Tobin with his bare hands if necessary, but instead of a slavering, bloodthirsty wolf, a flash of white rushed out of the black tangle of branches. A snout appeared, followed by a large body of fur and a wagging tail.

Tobin leapt to his feet and shouted in delight, “Pax! My dog … It’s Pax!”

Joy broke through the dark like sunlight after a storm. The boy ran toward the great, solid dog and threw his arms around its neck in an affectionate hug.

A night owl, hunting for mice nearby gave an indignant screech at the outburst and flapped away from a branch overhead.

At the same moment, a lantern light appeared and in its glow was the relieved face of a middle-aged woman; Tobin’s mother no doubt.

“Tobin!” the woman cried. “I’ve been searching for you for hours. Where have you been?”

***

The cottage smelled of ink and old parchment, a quiet scent that seemed to wrap around Calen as he worked. He sat by the window, dipping his quill into a deep glass inkwell. Another verse from the scroll Tobin’s mother had entrusted to him flowed onto the parchment, forming letters that seemed to come alive under his hand. A soft smile touched his lips as he leaned closer, savoring the rhythm of writing. Outside, Tobin’s laughter mixed with the clucking and cackling of the hens and chickens. If Calen stretched his neck, he could just see the boy playing with Pax, a large, clumsy mountain dog, sweet as candy but fiercely loyal.

Calen’s mother, she had introduced herself as Isola, was hanging up her laundry while humming a hymn, a song Calen now counted as one of his favorites.

Abide with me:
fast falls the even tide;
The darkness deepens:
Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail,
and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless,
O abide with me! *

He smiled. Could life possibly be fuller than this? Everything seemed in harmony. The sun shone, the wind was gentle and the birds sang their cheery praises. All was well. It had been a long time since the world felt this quiet. Only a few weeks, but it felt long. So much had happened in such a short time.

The night Pax found them, Isola had immediately opened her doors for them and insisted they stay as long as needed. Once Marisa explained their mission, with Tobin eagerly adding his wildly exaggerated version of events, Isola only smiled and told them they were welcome.

At first, Calen had objected to the offer. He didn’t want to endanger Tobin and Isola, nor take advantage of her kindness. But Marisa had cast him a dark scowl and later that night, as he lay on a makeshift bed in the shed beside Pax, he was quietly grateful. It was true: they needed rest and a place where he could copy the Scrolls in peace.

When he arrived at the breakfast table the next morning, another surprise awaited him. Five large scrolls were spread out on the table before him, and Calen’s eyes widened.

“Are these … what I think they are?” he asked Marisa, who cast him a grand smile.

She nodded eagerly. “Scrolls!” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “All of them new, except this one.” She pointed to a smaller scroll set apart. “This one we already have. But the others… there’s even one I’ve hardly read before!”

“It seems you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Isola said, stepping in from the kitchen with a steaming tray of bacon and eggs.

He’d been working for two full weeks now, and the task was nearly complete. Setting his quill aside, he let out a low, satisfied grunt. A ray of sunlight broke through the window, spilling across the page and illuminating the words he had just copied, as if the light itself rejoiced in his labor.

He reread his last line:

The people living in darkness have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.

It was a beautiful passage from a book called the Scroll of Matthew. As he gazed at the words a deep sense of mystery, awe and joy welled up within him. What wondrous words these were, each one like a doorway into an unseen world of beauty and truth. You only had to let them sink into your heart and the door would open, letting the light rush in. Then the words would speak. Not aloud, but in quiet whispers of the spirit. They would reveal thoughts and corners of your life you had never before seen or understood.

The One who wrote these Scrolls truly knew you.

It was all so different from the clever, elevated words of the worldly philosophers he’d been forced to transcribe during his time with the Silent Scribes, including the Book of Order, which he had copied so often that he could still recall entire passages by heart.

“Let it be henceforth recorded and inscribed in perpetuity that any belief, devotion or personal inclination not expressly enumerated in the preceding seventy-three chapters with their subchapters, shall be considered null, void, unworthy of acknowledgment, and subject to the scrutiny of the Council of Twelve, without exception, appeal, or recourse.”

What foolishness, and so tiresome. The Book of Order left him reeling beneath a cloud of confusion, making his head ache and his mind spin. So different from the Scrolls that carried a sense of freshness and cleansed a man of all the nonsense he had pored over before.

God’s words seemed alive and were filled with a substance that pulsed and breathed. Not the words of mere men, but the words of the living God. He had once wandered in the land of the shadow of death but now he had stepped into the land of the living.

But now there were more scrolls to be found. Every scroll they found, had been thoroughly copied. Marisa had memorized most of them. It amazed him how she could absorb something once and recall it perfectly, as if each word were etched permanently in her mind.

Marisa.

Just her name alone unlocked something he hadn’t known existed, and suddenly she filled every corner of his thoughts. That curl on her forehead always seemed like an invitation to happiness and lately when she stepped into the room the urge in him, to jump up and do something was almost overwhelming. What exactly he was supposed to do was never very clear, causing him to say something he regretted almost instantly. He always sounded so foolish.

They were a team alright. When he’d struggled with a passage in the Scroll for days, she’d sat beside him without complaint, asking questions until he found his way through. She had a gift for that. She made his confusion feel like something worth exploring rather than a failure.

But Calen wanted more than her just being a part of the team.

A few days ago, he’d asked her to walk with him through the fields. Kind of like a date. He had it all worked out: a picnic with a basket full of treats from Isola’s kitchen, a short walk to the nearby brook, a cloth stretched over the grass. The two of them sitting together, laughing, eating, enjoying life. A bit of paradise on earth. And then, at the very end, the cherry on top… a kiss perhaps? Just a peck, maybe. But the idea of his lips touching hers was becoming more than just a wish.

He’d suggested it, stumbling over his words and making a fool of himself. She’d listened patiently, raised her brows and then shook her head. “We can’t, Calen. We’re on a mission. Slink is still out there, and your old buddy Drenick too.” She glanced toward the forest. “They’re not sitting idle. There could be soldiers in these woods right now.”

It all made perfect sense, of course it did. But that didn’t stop the weight settling in his chest.

“I—I don’t mean to endanger the mission,” he answered, his ears burning. “That’s the last thing I would want. It was a foolish idea.”

“Not foolish,” Marisa said gently. “But perhaps not wise. Not at this stage.” She paused, thoughtful. “Remember what you just copied in the Scroll of Matthew?”

“What?”

“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”

He remembered the passage and he agreed. But did following Christ mean he could never have this? Never sit beside Marisa on a summer afternoon, never know if she might feel the same?

She smiled. “One day soon, we can have our picnic, Calen. When our mission is done, we can have as many as we want.” She hesitated. “I would love that. To go with you.”

She wanted this too?

She’d said it. She did, just not now. But that didn’t make it any easier to stop dreaming about her.

The door burst open and Tobin ran in, Pax at his heels. The dog bounded straight to Calen, tail wagging furiously and shoved his wet nose against Calen’s side, demanding a treat.

“There will be others coming tonight!” Tobin blurted out, eyes shining with excitement. “Mom told me to tell you right away.”

“Others?”

“Yes,” Tobin cheered, a little impatient. “Our friends who also have Scrolls. Remember I told you about that, the day we met?”

Calen nodded. He remembered Tobin had mentioned something about meetings the day they met.

“Well,” Tobin said with an air of importance as if he were the organizer of every good thing in town, “Mother just heard we will have a meeting tonight. You’ll be meeting several of our friends,” and he added, “the baker will be coming too.”

“‘Samwell and Mabel?” Calen said. That was great news. The scrolls the baker had stashed in the loaves had been copied and Calen had worried about how to return them without having to back to Bramblebrook. “What time are they coming?”

Tobin shrugged. “Don’t know. When it’s really, really dark. I’m usually in bed, though sometimes Mom lets me stay up. She said I can be there tonight too.”

Calen pushed Pax away and picked up the last parchment he’d been working on. He checked it one last time, blew on it to make sure it was dry, and smiled. A clandestine gathering with other believers sounded wonderful. Marisa had warned him meetings like this weren’t without danger, but he felt confident all would be well.

After all, God was with them.

What could go wrong?

____

• Abide with me: Hymn by Henry Francis Lyte (1793–1847)