Hidden Fragments Chapter 20

The journey continues

Previously on Hidden Fragments

When the Mountain Spirits appeared, Slink’s forces broke in terror. Calen escaped on Hosanna, but not without the crushing weight of failure and guilt over the ruined mission.

Marisa was taken captive and marched toward Bramblebrook. Though accused of witchcraft, she radiated an unexplainable light and peace, trusting the God of the Scrolls even as danger closed in.

Alone and broken, Calen finally cried out to God, and was answered. Remembering Marisa’s warning, he turned back toward Bramblebrook and Tobin, driven by hope, repentance, and a mission not yet finished.

Chapter 20

The Boy Who Knew Nothing

It was late when Calen finally reached the dark forests that lay just before Bramblebrook. Far in the distance, the village’s lights flickered like faint stars. It appeared warm and welcoming, but Calen remembered all too well the deception and the danger that lurked there within its city walls. And Marisa … would she be there now, inside its gray walls in a prison cell? It was unlikely she would be in the Crooked Lantern drinking Ogre Ale with Captain Droskar.

The image of tender Marisa appeared once more in his mind’s eye. That image had been accompanying him on his journey back, but it had not given him any joy or comfort. He shook his head in disgust and tried to suppress the pain that cut through him like a knife.

No, Marisa would not be in Bramblebrook. More likely, she was now in the country’s main prison, at the mercies of the cruel Drenick.

He gave Bramblebrook a last glance and then entered the forest on his way to Isola’s house. This time, he needed no guiding lights to find the place. He had traversed these woods before with Marisa at his side, and the paths were now etched into his memory. Even so, the trees loomed overhead, casting shadows that seemed to whisper of dangers waiting in the dark.

But, to his relief, after a few minutes he saw a tiny flame shimmering through the shadows beneath the trees. It was the torch outside Isola’s house, the one she always kept burning at night. He felt the urge to drive his horse forward, but forced himself to hold back. Isola’s place was no longer safe. Sylvaine had been there. The enemy knew the house, and they knew the names of everyone who had gathered there that night.

A fresh wave of guilt rose in his chest. Precious Isola and Tobin were in danger now too. So were Samwell and the others. He slowed the horse to a halt and listened for any unnatural sound, any shift of movement in the dark. He could not afford carelessness. Not after everything that had happened.

O Sylvaine, if I ever get my hands on you…

Bitter anger rose as he thought back on Sylvaine’s smooth talk. The man always knew exactly what to say. His words were like honey, yet war was in his heart. How was anyone supposed to forgive a man like that?

Nobody liked a traitor and the thought of walking up to Sylvaine with a pleasant smile and saying, “It’s fine… I forgive you,” was absurd. He couldn’t even forgive himself—how could he possibly forgive Sylvaine Vrax?

Nearby, a night owl let out a low hoot. Twigs snapped not far from him.

Calen froze. Were soldiers lying in wait again? But why? No one knew he was returning to Isola’s house. The enemy had no reason to expect him.

Bathed in moonlight, a stag stepped into view. It paused, studying him with wide, glistening eyes, then turned and slipped silently back into the forest.

Calen exhaled a long, shaky breath. No soldiers. No Slink. Just a deer.

He pushed his fears down and scolded himself for being such a scaredy-cat. Come on, Calen. If you want to still make something of this mission, you’ll have to show a bit more courage.

He dismounted and led Hosanna toward Isola’s house.

Now, what? It was late. Isola and Tobin would be in bed. Still, he had to wake them. He could not stay out here all night.

He knocked. First gently, barely audible, then louder when no one answered. After a tense minute, he heard movement inside.

A second later, a voice called out, “Who’s there?”

Calen hesitated. He would cause quite a stir, but he had no choice. “It’s me, Calen,” he mumbled.

“Calen?”

The door creaked open, and Isola’s sleepy head appeared. She held a candle high, squinting through the dim light. When she saw it was indeed Calen standing outside, she let out a little yelp and nearly dropped the candle.

“Calen…” she cried, now fully awake. “What in the world are you doing here?”

Then she looked over his shoulder and stared into the dark. “Where are Marisa and Sylvaine?”

Calen felt his cheeks getting warm, but it was too dark for Isola to see his shame. “They … eh … are not here,” he answered in a grave voice. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Isola said and immediately made way for Calen.

The familiar scent of wooden furniture wafted into his nostrils, filling him with a sense of safety. Tears pricked his eyes as he stepped inside.

Isola guided him to the kitchen and motioned for him to sit.

“Need something to eat?” she asked, studying him. “You look like you could use a bite.”

For the first time, Calen noticed how hungry he was. He nodded. In all the chaos, he hadn’t thought about food but now, sitting here, he felt the hole in his stomach.

“Poor boy,” Isola said and she pulled out a chunk of her homemade bread which she placed before Calen, together with a plate of Sablewolf Jerky. “I’ve got a leftover Hearthbone pie too. It’s cold,” she added, “But the onions and spicy red moss should fill you up. Want it?”

Calen nodded, wanting to tell her how grateful he was, but no words came. He could only let the tears well up. Hers was the first kind face he had seen in weeks.

At last, choking back a sob, he whispered, “All is lost, Isola… Marisa has been captured. And Sylvaine, horrible Sylvaine Vrax, he betrayed us.””

Isola gasped. Calen watched as it took her a moment to process the news. At last, she blew out a long puff of air and sank into a chair beside him.

“Marisa captured… Sylvaine a traitor…” she whispered. “And the Scrolls… are they lost too?”

Calen shook his head. Through his tears, he managed to whisper, “No… they are not in the hands of the enemy.”

“Did you hide them? Where are they?”

Calen looked up, hands lifted in helpless surrender. “I don’t know,” he cried, struggling for words. At last, in a barely audible voice, he whispered, “Marisa… she did something to them. Before she was captured, she told me that if anything went wrong, I needed to go to Tobin…”

Isola stared at him. “To Tobin? Why?” Her voice rose in disbelief. “He’s just a boy… what could he possibly know?”

“I don’t know,” Calen admitted, rubbing a hand beneath his nose. “But that’s what she told me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I came straight back.”

Isola shook her head slowly, dismay flickering across her face before she caught herself. “We may have lost a battle, Calen, but God is not going to lose the war. We need to hold on to our faith, and now more than ever.”

Her words were bold and steady, but Calen saw the truth anyway. Her shoulders sagged just slightly, betraying the grief the news had struck deep inside her.

“I-I am so sorry,” Calen still mumbled. “It’s all my fault.”

Anger flashed over Isola’s face. “Nonsense, Calen. It’s the devil’s fault. It’s the fault of the Council of Twelve and the fault of that miserable shrimp Sylvaine Vrax.” She tightened her fists. “Don’t know where he came from. I need to talk to Vorn. Why did he even bring him to the meeting?”

Calen saw the anger burning in her face. He couldn’t stop the thought that crept in behind it: if she knew Marisa had warned him about Vrax, would her anger turn on him too? He wouldn’t blame her. He deserved it.

“Now you eat, and then you sleep,” Isola said. “We will speak to Tobin tomorrow. There is nothing more we can do tonight.”

Calen tore off a piece of bread and shoved it into his mouth with a strip of Sablewolf jerky. In spite of the weight pressing on his chest, the food tasted like the best meal he’d ever had.

***

“Tobin, wake up, sleepy head. There’s someone who would like to talk to you.”

His mother’s voice drifted toward him, urgent and insistent. It pulled Tobin away from the warm slumber of adventure and back toward the cold shores of reality. He was seconds away from defeating a two-headed dragon bent on devouring the Scrolls of the true God, relying on nothing but the blazing conviction in his heart and the righteous fury of his pointed finger. But victory slipped from his grasp; Mother’s voice was so clear he had no choice but to wake.

“What is it, Mother?” he mumbled, still half in his dream, blinking against the sunlight peering through the window. “Let me sleep. I was having such a nice dream.”

“Go on, Pax,” he heard his mother say.

Immediately his heavy, furry friend bounded onto the bed and began licking Tobin’s bewildered face. Tobin yelped, flailing for a moment as he tried to shield himself, then collapsed back against his pillow with a groan, blushing at how easily his loyal beast had overpowered him.

“Calen is here,” Isola said. “He wants to talk to you, urgently.”

“Calen?” Hearing the name of his friend who was not just dreaming about fighting two-headed dragons, but was actually right there in the midst of it all, caused him to jerk upright. He pushed Pax off. “W-What is Calen doing here? Is Marisa back too?”

“Get dressed,” mother stated simply. “You can ask him yourself. He is waiting for you down at the breakfast table.”

Tobin jumped out of bed and, without bothering to get dressed, sprinted towards the door. His mother caught him before he made it out. “I said, you need to get dressed first. Nobody wants to see you in your pajamas.”

“Mother, please,” Tobin whined, but he already knew Isola would not let him pass unless he obeyed. With a defeated sigh, he hurried to the cabinet where the large washbowl waited. He splashed water over his face without a thought for the puddles he created, then slid into his pants and jerked on his shirt. All the buttons were put on wrong, but he didn’t notice.

“Ready,” he announced, impatient and slightly breathless.

Isola let out a tired sigh and stepped aside to let him through.

He stormed into the kitchen where Calen sat quietly. His friend stirred his bowl of oatmeal with a solemn, sober expression on his face and looked up when Tobin entered.

“By the Whiskers of Saint Giles,” Tobin cried out when he saw Calen. “You came back already … Where’s Marisa …?” He paused, narrowed his eyes and added, “And … eh … Uncle Sylvaine?”

Calen pushed the bowl of oatmeal away and let out a deep sigh. “Sit down, Tobin. A lot has happened.”

“Did you make it to the Bridge of Echoes? And the hermit? Did you talk to him?” Tobin’s voice jumped a note, full of excitement, until he saw Calen’s face darken. “Is… everything alright?”

Calen shook his head. “No, Tobin. Not even close. We didn’t reach the hermit. Sylvaine Vrax… betrayed us.”

“What?” Tobin’s eyes widened. The thought that a traitor had been inside his home made his breath catch. Anger rose in him like heat. “I knew he was strange. I never trusted him.”

To his surprise, he saw Calen’s lips tremble, and an even deeper sadness settled over him. The man who had preached so boldly from the Scroll of John only nights earlier no longer resembled a mighty prophet.

Tobin cleared his throat. “What did… Uncle Sylvaine do?”

Calen lowered his gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Tobin. Marisa is caught, but I escaped.” He drew a shaky breath. “But stop calling him ‘uncle.’ He never belonged to your family… and he certainly does not belong to God’s.”

“By the whiskers of Saint Giles,” Tobin cried while stamping his feet. Pax skittered away from him. “He’s a wolf! A traitor!” His voice cracked. “I hope God casts him into the outer darkness where it is cold and creepy with nobody there to comfort him and—”

“Tobin.” His mother’s voice was firm but gentle. “Hush now. Vengeance belongs to the Lord, not to us.”

Tobin’s chest heaved. He knew he should stop but the anger kept rising in his throat, wanting to spill out into the world. He glanced at Calen. His friend quickly looked away, but not before Tobin caught the hard set of his jaw, the way his hands were curled into fists.

Calen hated him too. At least, that was something.

Tobin swallowed hard, tasting salt. “Did they take all the scrolls?”

But Calen didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to Tobin with an odd intensity in his gaze. “Marisa told me something. Just before we were caught.”

Tobin blinked. “What?”

“She said when things went wrong, I should come to you.” Calen paused, studying him. “Why would she say that?”

Something stirred in Tobin’s chest. A flutter of importance he wasn’t used to feeling. He didn’t quite understand what it was. Then, Tobin’s eyes widened. “The scrolls!” He grabbed Calen’s arm. “They must be under my bed!”

“What?” His mother stepped closer. “Tobin, what are you saying?”

“Marisa came to me, just before she and that man left…” The words tumbled out faster now. “She said she didn’t trust him either. She asked if she could hide something in my room, and I told her about the space under my bed, how nobody ever looks there, and she—” He sucked in a breath. “She must have hidden them!”

Calen’s mouth fell open. “She hid them?”

“I think so. She said to tell you if—” But Tobin didn’t finish.

Calen was already running. His chair clattered backward, and Tobin heard his footsteps pounding down the hallway.

Tobin looked up at his mother, his heart hammering. Then they were both moving, following Calen to the small bedroom.

They found him on his knees beside Tobin’s bed, reaching into the shadows beneath it. When he straightened, his arms were full of the scrolls, and his face was blazing with hope.

“She saved them,” Calen whispered. “Marisa saved them all.”

____