Hidden Fragments Chapter 19

The Journey Continues

Previously on Hidden Fragments
Calen, hunted by the Council of Twelve, was captured in the ruins of the Grey Mountains along with the scrolls he risked everything to protect. His captor, Slink, intended to burn the writings and execute Calen as a warning to all who defied the Book of Order.

As the flames were prepared, Slink revealed that Marisa had been taken toward Bramblebrook and would be delivered into the hands of Captain Droskar. When Slink attempted to mock the forbidden scrolls, he discovered too late that he had been deceived. The scrolls were not heretical at all, but copies of the Council’s own laws. But where were the real scrolls?

Before Slink could regain control, the feared light of the Mountain Spirits appeared and threw the camp into chaos. Soldiers fled, ranks collapsed, and in the confusion Calen ran for his life. Bound, wounded, and desperate, he clung to the one truth he still believed. God would not abandon him.

Chapter 19

Clinging to God

Calen ran as fast as he could toward the rocks, praying desperately that Hosanna would still be there.

Everyone behind him was panicking, scattering like startled birds as the strange glowing flickers streamed in their direction.

Good. That gave him a chance.

Calen, unlike Slink and his unholy soldiers, was not afraid of the light. Even so, clear thought evaded him. Panic pressed in almost as strongly as it did on the terrified soldiers, though for very different reasons.

Guilt followed him with every breath he took.

The loss of the scrolls.
Marisa’s warnings he’d refused to heed.
Their mission ruined because of his own stubbornness.

The weight of it all hovered over him like a dark wave, ready to pull him under. After all, it was his own sick pride that had brought them down. The radiant light of those so-called Mountain Spirits looked wonderful and precious, yet it felt as if it might devour him too. After everything he had done, he deserved no less.

And yet, he couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. There would be plenty of time to mourn later. Right now, he needed to get out of here and see what could still be salvaged from this terrible situation.

Something deep within kept pushing him forward.

There were the rocks. To his relief, Hosanna was still there behind the rocks. No soldiers were there. They had all fled in fear.

The magnificent steed lifted his head as Calen approached and let out a soft neigh, almost as if pleased to see him.

“So glad to see you too,” Calen whispered. Only then did he realize it would be impossible to mount, with his hands tied. He had to free them, and he had to do it quickly, before Slink or anyone else decided to check on what he was doing.

He scanned the ground for anything sharp.

Half-hidden beneath a thorn bush lay a sword. Abandoned by a soldier, fleeing in terror at the approach of the Mountain Spirits.

Calen dashed forward. He slid the sword free with his fingers and carefully rubbed the rope over the edge of the blade, testing it against the fibers. Every second counted. One wrong move, and he could either cut himself or draw attention.

Seconds later, his hands were free. He rubbed his raw wrists, groaning in relief, before turning to Hosanna.

Just as he swung himself onto the horse, Slink appeared from behind the rocks. His face was paler than it had ever been, but seeing Calen about to escape ignited a surge of rage.

“Soldiers! Here! Our prisoner escapes!” he bellowed.

No one came. Most of his soldiers had already fled. Slink could only watch as Calen guided Hosanna away from the spot and galloped off into the distance.

Slink stomped his feet in frustration, teeth clenched, eyes wild with fury before finally turning away, powerless and defeated.

***

Three horsemen closed in around Marisa and Krev was leading them all.

At least they had allowed her to ride her own horse. That was something. Seeing Whisperwind; her faithful, familiar friend in this strange world that seemed to be coming apart, felt like a small, unexpected blessing. The three soldiers who escorted her, were not.

Rough men they were, with eyes that darted, like thieves in the night, clearly accustomed to the sort of crude places Marisa preferred to avoid; taverns where foul speech passed for music and where men stuffed their bellies with too much Ogre Ale while gambling away their wages.

They’d kept her hands untied so she could ride Whisperwind, but they had been anything but kind as they dragged her onto the horse without the slightest care; clumsy, careless, and brutally rough.

Marisa still tried to catch a glimpse of Calen as they forced her onward, but she could not see him. And so, her journey back began. They slowly and silently stepped through a dry patch of land Marisa remembered from before. They had crossed it only a few hours earlier with Calen and Sylvaine Vrax.

She steadied her breathing. God was near; she clung to that. She had to.

“Where are we going?” she asked one of her captors, as they crossed a narrow brook.

The man would not even look at her. He trudged on in silence. Only the soft babbling of the water and the splashing of horse hooves answered her, it carried a strange comfort, a whisper of faith.

Still, keeping her composure was not easy; fear had not loosened its grip. Doubt and dread pounded at her heart’s door, demanding entrance, but she drove them back by surrendering all to the God of the Scrolls. True rest was found in Him alone. If she would but take refuge beneath the shadow of His wings, all would be well. Somehow.

As she fixed her heart and mind on God’s presence, His light pressed against her fears until, at last, they fled, leaving an uncommon peace in their wake. The calm radiating from her was so strong that even the horses seemed to sense it. The sensation startled her as her hatred for her captors slipped away. Strange. She should have been furious at their harsh manners, yet she was not.

And what of Sylvaine Vrax, that no-good traitor who had stabbed them in the back? No one would have blamed her if hatred for him and Slink had risen like fire within her.

And then there was Calen…

Oh, Calen, if only you had listened.

But there was no anger in her heart toward him. She understood him. He was still young, proud and inexperienced and yet with his heart in the right place. God would have to teach him, as He did with all of His children. For now, she could only pray God would work out all things for good in the end.

As she kept her mind stayed on the God of the Scrolls, she was wrapped in the light, hidden in the fortress of God’s presence and here nothing could steal away the peace she knew.

After a time, she noticed her captors glancing nervously in her direction. Their eyes flicked toward her and then away again. They whispered to one another, shifted uneasily in their saddles and edged their horses farther away from her, as far as they dared without giving her the notion that escape was possible.

Something was troubling them. She could not imagine what it might be.

At last, she asked, “What’s wrong? You are acting like I carry a contagious disease.”

But instead of answering her, they only moved their horses even farther away.

When they passed a woman and her young son, who was carrying a large water jug, the reason became clear.

Just as they drew near, Marisa saw the boy’s mouth fall open in amazement. He cried out to the soldiers, “That woman is glowing. Why is there light coming off her?”

“She is a witch,” a soldier replied, giving Marisa another wary glance as if she might at any moment cast a curse and turn them all into tadpoles. “She is in league with the Mountain Spirits. In Bramblebrook things will be sorted out with her.”

Ah, Bramblebrook. So that was the plan. They meant to deliver her to Captain Droskar. But light coming from her? That was curious indeed, for she felt nothing at all, except the wonderful peace of God.

But the young boy did not look afraid. He set down his water jug and asked her in a curious voice, “Are you really a witch, lady? I have never seen a real witch.”

Marisa could not help but smile. “No, sonny,” she answered, much to the annoyance of her captors. “You will have to wait a while longer. I am no witch. I simply love the God of the Scrolls.”

“We do too,” the boy exclaimed, lifting his little arms in joy. His mother did not like that. Seeing the angry and confused look on the faces of the soldiers, she pulled him back quickly and told him to be quiet.

But Marisa’s heart soared as a passage from the Scrolls came to mind. “God, be merciful unto us, and bless us, and cause Your face to shine upon us.”

***

Calen galloped through the forest, branches clawing at his face as he fled with no plan. All he could think about was escaping Slink and his brutal henchmen. The scratches stung, but the pain was nothing compared to what Slink had in mind for him. Far ahead, the mountains glimmered through the trees, and he noticed that the mysterious lights which had so frightened Slink’s men were now fading.

At last he pulled Hosanna to a halt. His heart pounded as he listened for any sound that might reveal Slink’s pursuit.

There was nothing. Only the rustle of leaves, the chatter of distant birds and the faint murmur of running water. A stream, most likely. Hosanna needed a drink, and so did he. For the moment it seemed safe, although he knew Slink was a skilled tracker. Letting his guard down was not an option.

More composed now, he guided Hosanna toward the sound of the water. The forest opened into a sunlit glade where a clear stream wound past and spilled into a small waterfall.

Peaceful. Wonderfully peaceful … but the sight only carved a deeper ache inside him. Here he was alone instead of with Marisa. Now that he could relax if even only for a moment, the weight of what had happened pressed on him even heavier. His faithful companion, the woman with the heavenly smile who had gently led him in the ways of God, was gone. Taken away by the enemy.

And the bitter truth was that he had no one to blame but himself.

If only he had heeded her urgent warnings about Sylvaine Vrax.

If only he had sought God’s will instead of forcing through his own plans by listening to his own understanding.

But he had not.

Angus had said he was special. Claimed he was the one who needed to collect the Scrolls. But he was not special at all. He was utterly and disgustingly foolish. Had the mission gone to his head and had he fallen into the sin of pride? It certainly seemed so. Even Tobin, just a child, had been worried about “Uncle” Sylvaine, but he, Calen, in his pompous arrogance and misguided sense of importance, had refused to listen. The humility he needed for success had been completely absent.

Now everything was lost.

And what would they do to Marisa?

The thought of Marisa now being in the hands of the enemy almost choked him. His heart pounded in his chest and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“God,” he roared in desperation, a raw cry of misery tearing from his throat, “what have I done?”

He did not expect an answer. He only needed to release the anguish inside him, if only so he could breathe again. He clenched his fists, fell to his knees on the riverbank and clawed at the grass while his tears flowed without restraint.

“Help me, dear God,” he sobbed. “Have mercy on me. I have been so wrong.”

The words came out broken and tangled, and even Hosanna seemed startled to see his young master in such distress.

But Calen could not care less what his horse thought of him. He did not care what anybody thought. He was a failure. God’s mission had ended in failure and it was all because of him.

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” he wept, clinging to the name he had come to love as if he were drowning in a raging flood and holding on to a scrap of driftwood in the roaring current.

He did not know how long he sat there like this, but at last a faint peace began to settle over him. The accusing voices of defeat and failure seemed to lose their strength, and everything around him grew strangely quiet.

In that sudden silence, rising from deep within, words began to form.

Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. *

Fear not? Was God still talking to him?

Calen remained on his knees, letting the stillness wash over him. He had heard the words distinctly. Not aloud, and yet they had been clear, pressed upon his heart with such certainty and conviction that he knew intuitively that they were true.

He strained to remember if he had copied them from any of the scrolls, but he did not think he had. These had to be the words of God. Not from a scroll he knew, but perhaps from one he had not yet found.

He pondered what he had heard, and repeated the words over and over.

“I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

“But Lord,” he cried out, “what am I to do? Marisa has been taken, and the scrolls are …” He faltered as he spoke the words. He had wanted to say, the scrolls are lost, but they were not. Slink had started to read from the scrolls, only to find out he was holding the Book of Order. The scrolls were not lost at all … but where were they?

Then he remembered something Marisa had told him.

“Listen, Calen …” she had said, “If something goes wrong, go back to Tobin.” She had meant to say more, but Sylvaine Vrax had cut her off in fear when he first saw the lights of those so-called Mountain Spirits.

But what had Marisa meant? At the time, he had been certain nothing would go wrong, but clearly, Marisa had not been so sure. She had done something with the scrolls without telling him. It was good she had. He couldn’t be trusted. But what had she done?

She had mentioned Tobin… If something goes wrong, go back to Tobin.

The thought of the boy made his heart cringe. Tobin and his mother believed in him, and so did all the others. They had given him their scrolls, trusting he would be wise and not fail. He needed to go back to Tobin. It was crystal clear.

He looked up just as a cloud passed in front of the sun, casting the land in deep shadow. It was the image of his own heart, shadowed by his own failures. Yet just like the sun would return when the cloud passed, so God’s love still shone. God had promised He would be with him and while he doubted whether he could ever be truly happy again, he knew what God and Marisa wanted him to do.

He needed to be ready, willing and fully yielded. The weight of failure pressed on him like a stone in his chest, yet somehow, his mission called him back to Isola’s house, where Tobin held a secret nobody else knew.

He rose from the ground and ran a hand down Hosanna’s neck, speaking gently to the beast while pushing back tears. “Are you ready, dear friend? We have another journey ahead of us.” Hosanna neighed in answer, pleased that his master was ready again.

Calen mounted, careful not to be spotted by anyone who shouldn’t see him, and began the long trek back toward Bramblebrook. His heart was still clouded, heavy with guilt and shame. Every step reminded him of his mistakes, his failures, the lives at stake.

And yet … something had shifted. He had heard from God. He had truly prayed, the way Marisa had urged him to, and God had promised He would be with him. That promise glimmered like sunlight through the storm clouds of his heart.

Still, the truth was undeniable. A failure he was. That much could not be denied. But even in his failure, a thread of hope remained. He would act. He would try. And perhaps, just perhaps, he could still make a difference.

* Isaiah 41:10

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