Hidden Fragments Chapter 2

Dear friends,

Here is Chapter 2 of Hidden Fragments. I am so grateful for some of the kind and enthusiastic responses I have received. It warms my heart hearing from you and I hope the story will continue to be a blessing to you.

Previously in Hidden Fragments:

Calen reluctantly rode to the cabin of Angus Stonevale, the dying prophet who once stirred his heart with talk of a true God and a kingdom of light. In his final moments, Angus entrusted Calen with a portion of the forbidden Scroll of the Ages; words of life the Council of Twelve is desperate to erase. As Calen inked the sacred text Angus breathed out his last breath while outside, Drenick and his soldiers closed in.

Behind Iron and Truth

The moment Calen stepped outside, the soldiers’ eyes fixed on him; hungry, like wolves scenting blood.

“There he is! Grab him,” one of them barked, the rage palpable in his voice. “Don’t let him escape!”

Calen froze, his heart pounding. The freshly copied words from the forbidden book burned hot in his boot like a brand. Trouble had found him, whether or not he’d asked for it. Now there was no way back. Not after he had made a promise to the dying Angus, while he carried highly illegal stuff in his boot.

Calen raised his hands slowly, palms open, hoping they’d see he carried no threat.

“Take it easy, all right?” he called out. “There’s a dead man inside the house. Show a little respect.”

Two soldiers grabbed him and dragged him to Drenick, where they shoved him hard, sending him sprawling into the mud in front of the captain.

“What a surprise,” Drenick said, voice low, but sharp as a blade. “Calen Thorne, at the scene of another crime. Should I be impressed, or just suspicious?”

Calen forced a half-smile as he stood, shaking mud from his sleeves. “Believe me, I’d rather be anywhere else.”

Drenick took a slow step closer. “Then why are you here?”

“I got a knock on the door. Some fellow said Angus was dying and needed help.”

“Why would Angus need your help?”

Calen shrugged. “I’m a scribe. The old man wanted something written before he died, or so I was told. Thought it was official business. Who knows, maybe he would even share something useful I could pass on to the Council.”

Drenick’s eyes narrowed. “How very civic-minded of you. So, you just rode up?”

“I almost didn’t,” Calen said quickly. “But hey, I could use the cash. However, he was already dead when I got here.”

“Let me suggest you are one of his disciples,” Drenick said in an icy tone. “You defended him before.”

Calen feigned a chuckle. “His disciple? Of course not. The old man is always talking about God. I don’t believe in God. I follow the Book of Order.”

“So … he didn’t give you anything? A paper perhaps or a letter … Anything?”

“I told you he was already dead when I got here. Dead folks aren’t exactly chatty,” Calen muttered.

“Watch your tongue, Calen,” Drenick growled.

“Sorry,” Calen said. “No offense. Just stating the facts.” He lifted his hands and wiped more wet mud from his forehead.

“Your fingers …” Drenick said while he squinted his eyes. “Why are they stained with ink?”

“My fingers?” Calen muttered and shrugged his shoulders. “They are always stained. I am a scribe, remember. I may not be the best of scribes, but that’s why they are full of ink.”

“Search him!” Drenick ordered. Without delay a pair of soldiers took hold of him while a third began searching his garments.

Calen steeled his face, not wanting to show his anxiety. “Go ahead,” he said boldly. “You’ll find nothing.”

But my boots … Oh, if only they forget to check my boots.

If the old man were still alive, he would say this was a good time to pray. He remembered the old man’s face would light up a few times when he mentioned prayer. It seemed to energize him. But he himself had never prayed. He didn’t even believe in God.

Fingers tugged at his boots. His breath hitched. One pull, and the secret would spill into the mud.

A crash split the silence. The sound of wood splintering and shouts. Then a cry came from Angus’cabin: “Sir! We’ve found something!”

Seconds later, a soldier came running out, carrying a small pouch that he handed over to his captain. Calen’s body search was over.

“What do we have here?” Drenick said with obvious glee as he looked in the pouch. But his face quickly froze when all he found were parts of the Book of Order. Nothing incriminating. Every faithful, law-abiding citizen should have these and more.

“What were you looking for, anyway?” Calen asked. “What could a weak old man like Angus have that would be a threat to the Council?”

Drenick cast him an angry glare. “None of your business, Calen.”

Calen’s rage burned hot. “Odd, isn’t it?” he muttered. “Angus couldn’t even lift a dagger, but somehow one killed him. Just like the others who crossed you, and ended up in the grave. Coincidence must be your closest friend.”

As the words left his mouth, he knew he should not have said anything. It wouldn’t be the first time his mouth had gotten him in trouble, but there were things he hated above all other things, like hypocrisy and foul injustice.

“Tie him up,” Drenick sneered. “Maybe the darkness of a cell will teach this fool the meaning of respecting authority.”

***

The clang of iron sealed his fate.

Calen pressed his back against the cold cell wall, his heart pounding like a war drum. Was this the price for keeping a promise and helping an old man?

When his eyes had adjusted somewhat to his new situation, he looked around. Just darkness, mixed with the oppressive musty smell of depression. The only light shone through a small barred window near the ceiling. With the sun’s descent, an all-encompassing darkness would soon consume his cell.

And … what now?

Locked away in prison at the mercy of Drenick. Things could not look darker. Yet, as these doubts besieged him and tried to corrupt his thoughts with their disheartening, shadowy venom, a voice from within declared that these thoughts were false and needed to be resisted. The old man’s face had been so radiant and the peace that had enlightened his entire demeanor had warmed Calen’s own heart. Oh, what would he give to experience such peace for himself. Would such inner rest be available to him too?

According to the old man it had something to do with God and what he called God’s only Son, the Prince of Peace. But he, Calen, didn’t even believe in God. The word God scraped old wounds, like his father’s stern prayers, a memory from his childhood he’d long ago buried under facts and formulas. Science had now proven there was no need for God. They trusted the Book of Order. It explained everything … Well, most everything, but what it didn’t reveal would eventually be made clear. If not today, then at least in a thousand years.

Old man Angus didn’t believe the Book of Order. He treasured that strange, outlawed book, its worn pages hidden in his boot. The quiet lingered only a heartbeat before a voice shattered it.

“Hello?”

There was someone else in this cell. He strained his eyes and saw a shadowy form rising.

“W-Who are you?” Calen mumbled, not sure if meeting someone in his present predicament was good news or bad news.

“Have no fear,” a youthful voice sounded. “Though we walk through the valley of the shadows of death, we will fear no evil, for His staff and His rod will comfort us.”

“I am not afraid,” Calen replied, a little annoyed by the peculiar answer he got. “I asked who you are.”

“My name is Asher,” came the reply and a young man emerged, partly illuminated by the lone ray of light in the damp, musty cell.

“What is a man like you doing in prison?” Calen asked.

A gentle smile played around the man’s lips as he shrugged his shoulders. “I am here because I believe in the one true God, the creator of heaven and earth. Why are you here?”

If Asher had hit him with a stick, the impact could not have been greater. Not older than 20 at most, this man talked about the same God that the old man Angus had believed in. What a strange coincidence!

“I-I …,” he stammered, not sure how much he could say, “I am here because I insulted Captain Drenick.”

“Ah … Captain Drenick.” Asher’s voice held no malice, only quiet pity. “A soul in chains, though he thinks himself free.”

Chains? Calen’s stomach tightened. What was this stranger talking about? Freedom was a strange word from a man who was in jail. And what was this obsession with God? Was everyone around him losing their minds?

“But don’t worry,” Angus continued. “God told me you won’t be here very long.”

“God?” Calen fired back. “Why is everyone talking about God all of a sudden?”

Asher shrugged his shoulders and said, “All I know is that the night is far spent; the day is at hand. Therefore, let us cast off the works of darkness and let us put on the armor of light.”

Calen squinted his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“You will in due time,” Asher replied simply. Then he changed the subject and said, “Can I touch you?”

“Touch me? Why?”

Asher tilted his head toward the light; his eyes fixed on nothing. Calen froze. It seemed the man wasn’t looking at him but seemed to stare into space … He was blind.

Asher’s next words confirmed what Calen was thinking. “You, Calen, have eyes but see not. I am blind, but I see.”

“You … You mean … you cannot see me?”

Asher let out a chuckle. “That’s usually the case with blind people. But if I touch you, I may have a better understanding of you.”

“All right,” Calen whispered, and stretched out his hands. “You may touch me.”

Asher let his fingers slide over Calen’s hands and arms. After a moment of silence, he whispered at last, “Yes, you are the one. I can feel it.”

“What are you talking about?” Calen said and pulled his hands away abruptly.

“God told me yesterday in a vision that I would meet the man who has been called to collect the various parts of The Scrolls of the Ages. You are that man.”

Calen shivered. Angus had muttered similar words.

“We have little time,” Asher went on. “Let me tell you what God told me. He wants you to go to Ömstead.”

“To Ömstead. Why me?” Calen gasped; his voice cracking, while panic rose. “I’m no hero. Like you, I’m a prisoner.”

Asher’s smile lingered, but his demeanor carried a quiet urgency. “Don’t be troubled,” he said gently. “God will have His way. All we must do is follow.”

He left the words hanging for a heartbeat, then added, almost as an afterthought, “When you reach Ömstead, ask for Magdalena and her son. They have an important scroll. It’s really the first part of The Scrolls of the Ages.”

“The first part?” Calen asked in awe about everything he was hearing.

Asher gave a solemn nod. “Its name is Genesis, and it holds the very history of our world. Every word within it matters, for all that exists rests on what is written there.”

Calen’s stomach tightened. A shadow of dread crept over him as he pictured the perils that surely awaited. “Why me?” he blurted out, his voice sharper than intended. “Why can’t you fetch it yourself?”

“Because God wants you to do it,” Asher replied with a gentle smile and gave Calen an understanding nod. “I know you do not yet see, even though you have eyes. You need to go.”

“But … But …,” Calen still argued. “I don’t know God. I never met Him.”

“Just remember,” Asher replied simply. Go to Ömstead and do as I say.”

“What happens to you?” Calen asked.

For a moment, it almost seemed as if a warm, golden glow full of an indescribable peace emanated from Asher. “Don’t worry about me,” the blind man stated simply. “I am in excellent hands. But you must be careful. Soon they’ll release you, but they will follow you and ultimately may even want to kill you. You must be harmless as a dove but wise as a serpent.”

“Kill me?” Asher’s words hit Calen like a dark arrow and the peace he had felt was shattered. “Who … why would they do such a thing? I am just a simple scribe who knows nothing.”

Just then, the cell door opened and Drenick appeared, accompanied by two husky soldiers. He threw both men a suspicious look and then turned to his soldiers and motioned for them to grab Asher. “Take him away.”

“Calen jumped forward. “Wait …! Where are you taking him? He’s blind.”

“I know he’s blind,” Drenick growled. “What is that to you? I would worry more about yourself instead of these heretics. You are in enough trouble already.”

Without another word, they pulled Asher out and slammed the metal cell door shut.

Calen sank back onto the cold stones, his heart heavy and confused. Maybe it would be a good time to try God and pray, although it didn’t seem to have done much for Asher and old Angus alike.

But that peace, the overwhelming peace he had felt when talking to Asher … that had been real. He pressed a hand to his boot, feeling the edges of the hidden papers. Asher’s words echoed like a drumbeat: Genesis. Ömstead. A mission from a God he didn’t believe in…

Calen closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come. There were only questions that clawed at his soul.

____