Hidden Fragments Chapter 17

Previously:
Marisa awoke shaken from vivid, haunting dreams after a tense but inspiring meeting with Calen and others. Though the gathering had been uplifting, her unease grew when Calen eagerly welcomed Sylvaine Vrax into their mission, brushing aside her concerns about trust. Over breakfast, Sylvaine’s presence deepened Marisa’s doubts, while Calen’s enthusiasm and inexperience clashed with her cautious wisdom. Through prayer, discussion, and gentle reminders of responsibility, they reluctantly agreed to include Sylvaine, preparing to continue their perilous journey toward the Bridge of Echoes.

Chapter 17

Unworthy Servant

As expected, they followed the Grey River for the first hour of the ride. The air was rich with the scents of the surrounding fields, lavender and jasmine mingling with the crisp, resinous smell of the fir trees. Calen drew it in deeply, as if the fragrances could lend him strength. The sun and the gentle wind seemed in league together, determined to make the beginning of this journey pleasant.

Yet something quietly unsettled him. Marisa had barely spoken.

Sylvaine laughed at all of Calen’s jokes. At least someone appreciated his humor. But when Calen looked back, Marisa kept her distance, her gaze fixed ahead. Usually, she rode beside him and filled the road with her bubbly talk.

Maybe he had spent too much time with Sylvaine. He slowed his pace and let Marisa catch up, but she avoided his eyes and offered no words.

Was she hurt because he had reminded her, she was only here to help and that God wanted him to make the final decisions? Now that he replayed the moment in his mind, he realized he had sounded harsher than he’d meant to, even if all he had done was repeat her own words back to her.

“Are you alright, Marisa?” he asked. “You seem awfully quiet.”

She looked up, but her eyes had lost their usual bright sparkle. They were grave and serious now. “I am praying, Calen,” she said in a near whisper, “and I would suggest you do the same. The enemy walks about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.”

Calen wanted to lighten the mood by saying that he did not see any enemies at all. All he had noticed were farmers working in the fields who greeted them with warm, almost wondrous smiles. Once, an ox-cart had rattled past in the opposite direction, the driver nodding cheerfully as he went by.

No, there were no enemies in sight. For a moment, it even felt as if they were on a simple pleasure trip, and nothing could have been better.

Why was she so gloomy? His pack was full of precious scrolls, the sun was shining and Sylvaine had turned out to be a delightful companion who genuinely seemed to enjoy all his goofy stories. The fear he had felt weeks earlier, when danger had surrounded them on every side, was nowhere to be found now.

But Marisa did not seem to agree. She ignored his remark about the lack of enemies and kept her eyes fixed on the ground. She was clearly not sharing his optimism.

Calen pressed his lips together. Her downcast eyes pricked at him, and a twinge of guilt stirred within him. Perhaps he had truly offended her earlier on, too eager to assert control. He had only meant to show his confidence and his understanding of his calling, never to be dismissive of Marisa. Getting to know her was not easy. He nodded to himself, silently promising to be more careful.

“You’re right, Marisa,” he said. “I will do as you say and pray. But I’ve got good news too.” He waited, a little hopeful, to see if his news would catch her attention or at least make her look up from the ground. When she didn’t, he went on and said, “Sylvaine said the Grey River soon bends and there’s a resting spot with a store. We can take a break, buy more victuals, and prepare for the rougher part of the journey. The Grey Mountains start there, and the Bridge of Echoes is maybe another two hours beyond.”

“Sure,” she said. That was all.

He plowed through his thoughts, hoping to find something meaningful to say, but nothing came. To be frank, Marisa’s attitude was a little irritating. Perhaps she was just jealous of the fun he had with Sylvaine. He could understand that, yet her silent treatment made her seem a little childish, not all that spiritual. Had she not told him herself that there were no perfect people on earth and that she was among the worst of sinners? Her behavior seemed to prove it. But even as he tried to convince himself of that logic, deep down he knew it wasn’t the reason. His conscience told him otherwise.

Marisa was not just jealous or offended. She was concerned; deeply concerned about the mission. His attitude had done little to inspire her with faith or hope for a good outcome.

As he thought about it rationally, his lousy attitude became painfully clear. It was true: his prayer that morning had been skimpy, and he had not responded well to Marisa’s warnings. She was right. He had been too wrapped up in his own plans, especially anything involving Sylvaine. He had taken the easy way out, assuming Sylvaine was God’s provision, without bothering to confirm it. He had been unwilling to seek real guidance from the God of the Scrolls; a deadly mistake. Looking back, it had been foolish. He had been the childish one, not Marisa.

Images of the shimmering lake and all the wonders that had transpired since then brought a sting of shame. His respect for Marisa as his guiding voice had slipped. He was seeing her with merely human eyes, instead of with the eyes of wisdom and the Holy Spirit.

He cleared his throat. “Marisa…,” he said in a solemn voice.

She looked up.

“I… I’m sorry. I’ve acted as a fool. You were right, and I wasn’t really willing to stop and listen. I have so much to learn, Marisa… Will you forgive me?”

As he spoke the words, tears stung his eyes. Then, to his relief, Marisa’s golden smile returned, lighting up her face as if nothing had been wrong.

“We all have much to learn, Calen,” she said softly. “But I’m glad you realize it yourself.”

Then her expression grew serious, and she guided Whisperwind closer to him.

“Listen,” she said. “There’s something I need to tell you, and it’s very important.”

“What is it?”

“Just in case things go wrong,” she began, “go back to Tobin, you hear?”

Calen blinked. “To Tobin? But he’s just a kid… and what could go wrong? Everything is just—”

A raw cry unexpectedly cut through the air. Calen and Marisa looked up in alarm. Sylvaine Vrax’s eyes widened in fear as a strange, shimmering light flickered far in the distance. It pulsed from the Grey Mountains, strange and alive, as if calling out to them. Calen stared at it too and though he had never seen anything like it he felt no fear, unlike Sylvaine. The man’s eyes were wide, his face twisted with terror and he covered his eyes as if the light might burn him. But Calen simply marveled at its beauty. Looking at it, he saw that the shimmering glow wasn’t emanating from one point of light. Rather, millions of tiny floating lights, like golden fireflies swirled across the cliffs, forming shapes for only a brief moment before spreading again in a dazzling dance that covered the entire view. Beautiful… just beautiful.

“It’s the curse,” Sylvaine cried. “The curse of the Grey Mountains.”

Calen glanced at Marisa. She, too, gazed upon the marvel with pure fascination, not a hint of fear in her eyes.

The curse? It looks incredible…

An obscure passage Calen had once read during his time with the Silent Scribes, resurfaced in his mind. He hadn’t thought of it in years, only recalling it vaguely when Sylvaine first mentioned the place. He had explained that a curse hung over it, but that was precisely what would keep the scrolls safe, since nobody dared to go there. It was the perfect place to safeguard the portion of the scrolls they already had.

He didn’t believe in things like curses hanging over places. Still, he realized he knew very little about it.

But Sylvaine surely believed it. He had lost all trace of his usual cheerful demeanor. He trembled visibly, refused to look up and muttered something about death being near. Meanwhile, Calen and Marisa stood in awe, captivated by the spectacle until, very slowly, the light began to fade and the glowing particles drifted away. At last, every trace of it was gone.

“It’s gone, Sylvaine,” Calen said at last, hoping to shake off the man’s fears.

“Gone?” Sylvaine muttered under his breath.

“Totally. You can look up now,” Calen said, forcing as cheerful a tone as he could muster. Slowly, ever so cautiously, Sylvaine lifted his gaze. When he saw that the light was gone, he curled his lips and growled, “We must hurry. We’ve got no time to lose. It may come back.”

“Wait,” Calen said. “What’s with the curse? I want to know, before we go on.”

Sylvaine gave him an impatient look. All the friendliness and concern he had shown for Calen, Marisa and the mission had seeped out. “It’s evil. Very evil,” he said finally.

“Why is it evil?”

Sylvaine glanced nervously at the distant mountains. “No one knows its true origin… but it is the work of… ‘Mountain Spirits.’”

“Mountain Spirits?” Calen frowned, tilting his head. He had never heard of such things, not even at the Silent Scribes. “It’s just a legend,” he said finally. “There’s no such thing as Mountain Spirits.”

Sylvaine’s face tightened. “Are you stupid, or something? We’ve just seen them, haven’t we?”

Calen raised his hands slightly, trying to ease the tension. “Hey, no need to snap. I’m only asking.”

Sylvaine’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. The distant mountains loomed silently, but the memory of the shimmering light still seemed to haunt him. At last, he swallowed hard; realizing the glow was truly gone and he said, “Anyone who steps into that horrible light… will vanish. Just like that; swallowed whole by its brilliance. Only those who are pure of heart can pass through without terror.”

Still shivering, Sylvaine pulled out his earthen canteen, uncorked it and took a large swallow. Most of it he spat out. “Of course, nobody is truly pure in heart,” he continued. “Nobody is perfect. So, we’re all in danger, even you, Calen.” Sylvaine gave him a sharp, almost contemptuous look.

Calen took in Sylvaine’s words. At least that much was true. The Scrolls had taught the same: nobody was truly pure in heart, nobody was perfect. And yet, the light ahead seemed so inviting, so beautiful. Perhaps it was not a curse at all, but some wondrous phenomenon created by the God of the Scrolls Himself.

“And now I want to move.” Sylvaine’s harsh words cut through his musings. “We need to get to the resting spot.”

A new doubt flashed through Calen’s mind. He raised his hand to stop Sylvaine. “I thought you had been here before. You said you crossed the Bridge of Echoes and even spoke to the hermit, didn’t you? Then you must have seen these lights before.”

“I… I did. Of course I did,” Sylvaine muttered. “I … eh … just moved in between those lights. Now, let’s move.”

A dark dread settled in Calen’s heart. What if Marisa’s suspicions about Sylvaine Vrax were right? What if the man was not who he claimed to be? Worse yet, had he in his unwillingness to heed Marisa’s warnings, led them into danger? Was Sylvaine really as brave as he had pretended to be while in the house of Isola? And why had he been so terrified of the shimmering light that Calen and Marisa had found not only beautiful, but invigorating?

He wanted to speak to Marisa about it, but Sylvaine stayed unnervingly close, likely still shaken by fear, leaving no chance for a private conversation.

Calen glanced at Marisa. He saw her lips moving ever so gentle, although no sound came out. No doubt, she was praying. Dear Marisa… Why had he not been more willing to listen to her?

Suddenly, Sylvaine heaved a sigh of relief and he exclaimed in a jubilant tone, “There … the resting spot.”

Calen followed Sylvaine’s outstretched finger and spotted a small house in the distance. His heart soared at the thought of buying some food and sitting down in what was probably a pub, enjoying whatever the house might offer. He glanced at Marisa. “Look, Marisa… there we can take a break.”

Marisa gave only a small nod, her expression still serious, as if she were already calculating the dangers that might lie ahead.

And perhaps she was right again. As they drew closer, dread filled Calen’s chest. The house was nothing like a pub or a place to buy food. It looked more like a broken-down farmhouse, its roof partially torn away by the wind, the walls surrounded by overgrown weeds. A barn stood to the side, but it was hardly a place where Whisperwind and Hosanna could rest.

“That’s not a resting place,” Calen said in surprise. “That place is abandoned. There’s nobody there.”

“Of course there’s nobody living there,” Sylvaine fired back. “What would you expect with the Mountain Spirits nearby?”

“But you said we could buy things there before we entered the mountains.”

“Well, I said a lot of things,” he replied. Then, unexpectedly, he produced a ramshorn and blew on it loudly. The sudden sound shattered the silence, and both Calen and Marisa stared at him in alarm.

Immediately, soldiers appeared from everywhere, crossbows at the ready. Calen glanced behind him. If they moved fast they might still escape, but the crossbows made that a deadly gamble. Marisa read his thoughts. She placed a hand on his arm and shook her head. “Don’t, Calen. Not now. You’ll be killed.”

“But the scrolls, Marisa… we need to save the sacred scrolls.”

“I know,” she whispered. “God will help us. But we need to wait for the perfect moment to escape.” It seemed like she wanted to say more, but at that moment a figure emerged from the ruins of the broken-down house.

Calen would have recognized him anywhere.

His evil grin was as wide as the gate of hell, and he cackled with laughter as the soldiers closed in on them. “Good work, Sylvaine,” he said in a high-pitched voice.

Sylvaine Vrax smiled, climbed off his horse and made a small bow before the man. “It’s my pleasure to serve the Council of Twelve, Mister Slink,” he said. “I told you my deception would work, but if it’s alright with you, I would like to leave as soon as possible. The Mountain Spirits, you know. I am not particularly fond of this place.”

“Neither am I,” Slink replied solemnly. “Now that we have what we want, we will all leave immediately.”

Everything within Calen wanted to scream, to run, to fight. But there was nothing he could do as he was forced off Hosanna and slammed into the dust. Grimy hands clutched his legs, and someone tore the bag of sacred scrolls from his back.

A rough voice shouted in triumph, “The scrolls, Mister Slink. We’ve got them all.”

The last thing Calen saw was Marisa being dragged away, her golden hair catching the sunlight.

All was lost. Everything. And it was his own pride, stupidity and childishness that had brought them here.

“Oh God,” he cried. “I am so sorry. I am a worthless servant and do not deserve even the smallest measure of Your mercy.”

Overhead, a carrier pigeon cut through the sky, wings gleaming. The bird cooed, carrying tidings to the Council of Twelve no doubt. Soon, Slinks’ victory would be celebrated and he and Marisa would be powerless to stop it.

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