Hidden Fragments Chapter 18

Trial by Fire

Previously in Hidden Fragments
Calen set out for the Grey Mountains with the sacred scrolls, accompanied by Marisa and their guide, Sylvaine Vrax. Though the road seemed peaceful, Marisa sensed danger and urged caution and prayer. Calen, confident and distracted, ignored her warnings and placed his trust in Sylvaine, only to grow uneasy when a strange, shimmering light appeared over the mountains, beautiful to some and terrifying to others.

The truth was revealed too late. The promised resting place became a trap, Sylvaine exposed as a servant of the Council of Twelve. Soldiers seized the scrolls, Marisa was dragged away, and Calen was left broken and powerless, facing the consequences of his pride as his mission collapsed around him.

Trial by Fire

Slink chuckled to himself as he snatched the bag his henchmen had torn off Calen’s back. He tossed it beside his own pack, not even bothering to look at it. “Worthless rubbish,” he muttered. “They are all lies dressed up as holy ink.”

His orders had been clear enough: the scrolls were to be destroyed before they left the ruins. They contained dangerous heresy. Poison to the minds of the faithful.

Slink’s grin widened. Oh, he would enjoy burning them.

And that idiot scribe, Calen, would watch every moment. He would make him kneel by the fire and see each scroll tossed into the flames. He would do it slowly, deliberately, until nothing remained but ash and regret.

After the last scrap burned, Slink would have one of his men execute the heretic. That was the fate of all who defied the Council of Twelve and refused the holy laws of the Book of Order.

It served the scribe right. The arrogant fool had humiliated him more than once. He had not forgotten. And now, at last, Calen would pay for his insolence.

But they had to move fast. His men were jittery, whispering about the curse of the Grey Mountains. He felt the same cold knot in his gut, but he would not show it.

Burning the scrolls and dealing with the scribe would not take long. It could not. Every man under his command wanted to be gone from this place.

“Sir?”

A voice called from behind.

Slink turned and faced Sylvaine Vrax. The deceiver had worn the mask of a faithful follower so well, that Slink wondered if he had actually enjoyed it. He did not trust him. The man was a snake; one needed to be on guard around snakes. “What is it, Vrax?”

Sylvaine swallowed. “The fire is ready, sir. If we could get this over with soon.”

“Sure,” Slink hissed. “Make that scribe kneel by the fire. I will get the scrolls. And Vrax?”

“Sir?”

“Fetch Krev. I need to speak with him.”

Sylvaine Vrax nodded. “Yes, sir.” He dipped his head, tensed and then turned away.

While he waited for Krev, Slink walked to the bag of scrolls. He crouched beside it and began to untie the cords that kept the bag closed. He could already smell the smoke of the fire his men had made; a glorious scent of victory that indicated, all wickedness against the Council of Twelve would be met with the same fate.

Just as he was about to pull out the largest scroll, Krev approached. “Sir?” he said. “You wanted to see me?”

Slink looked up, shoved the scroll back into the bag and nodded. “Take three men and prepare to leave for Bramblebrook immediately.”

Krev, a husky, bald man with a belly the size of a watermelon, looked surprised. Then a slow, eager smile spread across his face. “I’ll be glad to, sir. May I ask why?”

“You are to guide the woman prisoner and deliver her to Captain Droskar in Bramblebrook. She is of no importance to us. She’s a silly, uneducated farmer girl, but Droskar seems to fancy her.”

“Yes, sir. Will do, sir!” Krev’s entire body trembled like jelly.

“Just make sure she won’t escape.”

“Of course, sir. Anything else?”

Slink shook his head and waved him off. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Finally, he would burn the scrolls and watch the demise of the annoying scribe who had defied the government.

Slink lifted the bag of Calen’s scrolls and strode towards the fire.

Calen knelt on the ground, facing the flames just as Slink had ordered. His hands were tied before him, soldiers standing close.

The scribe stared into the fire with hollow eyes, shoulders slumped, lips pressed tight. Every movement seemed drained of strength, every breath shallow. Slink’s grin widened at the sight. The fool would watch every scroll burn and do nothing but endure it.

“Well, scribe,” Slink hissed, planting his boot into Calen’s back. The man tumbled forward, narrowly avoiding the flames. “This is the end for you.” He chuckled and added, “Tell me … was it worth it?”

“What do you mean?” Calen asked defiantly, eyes fixed on the fire.

“It’s obvious,” Slink cackled. “You were a respected scribe with a peaceful life. But you threw it all away for a fling with a farmer’s girl and a senseless hunt for scrolls written by madmen and liars.”

Calen turned his head, eyes flashing with anger. Good. That would only make the moment sweeter, seeing the man’s face drop before everything he cared for was destroyed.

“You are wrong, Slink,” Calen hissed, voice steady. “Nobody can stand against the God of the Scrolls. The wicked shall be cast into hell, and all the nations that forget God.”

Slink froze, a flicker of unease cutting through his glee. The scribe was supposed to beg, to grovel, to weep for mercy. Yet here he was, still daring to defy the Council of Twelve with a bold, steady gaze.

No matter. He had more ways to break this fool’s spirit.

Slink snickered, planted his boots squarely before Calen, and dropped the bag of scrolls into the mud beside him.

“These scrolls,” he said, unable to suppress a triumphant smile, “will burn bright and glorious in a minute. Every last word will vanish from this world, forever.”

He waited. Surely now the scribe would crack, beg, bargain, weep.

But Calen only stared into the flames, silent.

Slink’s lip curled. What a stubborn idiot.

Fine. Time for abother taunt. The one guaranteed to shatter the scribe.

“And… about your girlfriend,” Slink went on, watching Calen closely. “My soldiers are escorting her back to Bramblebrook this very moment. See?” He pointed to a group of horses riding off in the distance.

“Why?” Calen asked.

“It’s easy,” Slink smirked. “Captain Droskar asked for her. Soon, she’ll be in the arms of another man, yielding to his every wish, that is if she wants to keep her pathetic little life.”

To Slink’s satisfaction, a jolt went through Calen’s body. Ah. There it was.

But the reaction that followed was not what he expected.

Calen lifted his head and glared at him, fire burning beneath the grime and defeat.

“You don’t know Marisa, Slink,” he said, his voice steady as stone. “I’d sooner fear for Droskar. He has no idea what he’s dealing with.”

“Now watch this,” Slink roared, frustration snapping through him.

He yanked the largest scroll from Calen’s bag and unrolled it with a flourish. He would read a portion aloud, just to mock the words and humiliate the scribe.

“Listen, everyone!” he bellowed, voice sharp with glee. “Hear the lies of the enemy! I will read a portion of those so-called words of light we just retrieved from the enemy.”

The soldiers and henchmen froze, eyes on him. Slink cleared his throat and began reading in his customary high-pitched sing-song voice, relishing every word.

“All subjects of the Council of Twelve shall, when traversing the northern corridors of governance, bow thrice before any stone bearing the insignia, and speak not the sacred numerals except in the presence of two witnesses, lest the Codex of Supplementary Mandates be invoked…”

His face went ashen, while Calen’s showed surprise and a flicker of joy.

Slink cursed, loud and harsh. The soldiers shifted nervously. He snatched another scroll, unrolled it and let his eyes dart across the parchment in his shaking hands. Not three seconds later he cursed again and, with a sharp yelp, hurled it into the fire. The flames hungrily consumed it, leaving nothing behind.

He kicked Calen and bellowed, “Where’s the real thing, you grasshopper?”

“What do you mean?” Calen asked, keeping his composure.

“These are the wrong scrolls!” Slink roared. “These are the ones containing the laws of the Book of Order!” His voice cracked. He waved his arms, unsure of how to continue. “The wrong ones… No, wait… I mean, I need the right scrolls…”

He stopped and cleared his throat, trying to sound commanding for the soldiers’ sake and then yelled, “I need the right scrolls, I mean … the wrong ones. The ones full of lies. Where are they?”

Slink’s face twisted with frustration. His hands trembled as he pointed at the fire. “The scrolls! Where are they, I ask you?”

He kicked Calen again, barely able to control himself, and shouted, “Where are the right scrolls, I said?”

Before Calen could answer, he tossed the entire bag into the roaring flames and stamped his boots in anger on the mud. The fire crackled as the scrolls curled and blackened. Slink’s eyes darted from the flames to the scribe. Did he see a glimmer of laughter on that scribe’s face? It couldn’t be … It shouldn’t be. He had nothing. Nothing but ashes and the idiot’s face, grinning at him like a fool.

***

As Calen knelt before the fire, hands bound tightly before him, he stared in bewilderment at Slink, who was hopping and flailing in pure, angry frustration. Marisa had once shared a passage from the scrolls about false prophets, dancing and crying out to a false god called Baal just before fire fell from heaven. Watching Slink now, he could almost see the truth of it. The villain’s pale, confused face, thrashing about in some kind of jungle dance, was worth its weight in gold. That is, if the situation were not so deadly serious.

They were caught. And if Slink’s words were true, Marisa was already being hauled off to that horrible Droskar. But… what had happened to the scrolls? Had he been carrying false copies all this time? Where were the parchments he had so painstakingly copied, word for word, passage by passage?

Then he remembered something Marisa had said.

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

Those had been her exact words. She had never explained what she meant. What could Tobin do in a situation like this? He was just a kid. But Marisa had not said those words lightly.

And now, things had gone terribly wrong.

Marisa was already on her way to Droskar. The scrolls were lost. And he… what would Slink do with him?

He remembered the villain’s words just before discovering the scrolls were not the ones he sought:

This will be the end for you.

Yes. That had been Slink’s exact threat. They were going to execute him as a traitor to the Council of Twelve, just as they had done to Angus. This was where his journey would end.

A failure. A miserable failure who, in his pride, had allowed the enemy to outwit him. He would pay for it, and worse, so would Marisa.

He closed his eyes, bracing for whatever fate Slink had planned. Would it be the sword? At least that would be quick.

But then, a soldier let out a blood-curdling cry. Calen opened his eyes and stared in disbelief. Far in the distance, the shimmering light of the so-called Mountain Spirits, the curse of the Grey Mountains, glimmered again.

This time, it was moving toward them, a cloud of pulsating light rolling forward like storm clouds gathering on a hot summer day. Only these clouds were not dark. Not to Calen, at least. They shimmered with a strange, otherworldly radiance, both beautiful and terrifying.

Beautiful to him, but terrifying to Slink and the villains.

Their spirits began to unravel. Ancient fear of the Mountain Spirits rose in every heart, and when it mingled with the disgrace of a failed mission, panic tore through their ranks like wildfire. Slink screeched orders in that strange high-pitched voice of his, demanding they stand their ground, demanding obedience, demanding anything at all, but no one listened. The camp dissolved into chaos.

Several soldiers hurled their weapons aside and sprinted for their horses. They had no intention of dying for Slink or for a set of scrolls that were not even real. Among the first to flee was Sylvaine Vrax, who vaulted onto his horse and vanished into the distance without a backward glance.

Calen watched Slink curse, flail and howl, but the man had lost all control.

And that was the moment Calen knew, he had to run too.

He could not wait and see what Slink planned for him next. Confusion was his one advantage and he would not waste it. With his hands still bound while his ribs were aching from Slink’s brutal kicks, he forced himself to his feet. Pain shot through his body, but he pushed it aside and ran. Hosanna was still out there, hidden somewhere beyond the rocks. Reaching her would be nearly impossible with tied hands, but staying meant death.

“God,” he gasped as he stumbled forward, “help me. Please.”

As he fled from Slink and the fire, he clung to the one truth he had left: God would help him. Whatever else, he did not understand, but he knew this much, God would not desert His children, not now and not ever.

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