Hidden Fragments Chapter 28

Narrow Escapes

Before on Hidden Fragments…

As a violent storm raged outside the mountain cave, Calen faced a far greater battle within. A radiant being named Seraphiel offered him a “higher” Scroll, promising deeper knowledge, greater authority, and partnership with God Himself. The offer sounded almost true… almost holy. But when pressed, the mask slipped. In the name of Jesus, Calen resisted, and the being revealed its true neture before vanishing into silence.

Meanwhile, miles away, Marisa awoke in peace, only to have it shattered by the news of an approaching soldier. With the Council of Twelve tightening its grip on believers, danger once again stood at the door.

Chapter 28

Narrow Escapes

A soldier from Captain Droskar. What news would he bring?

Before pushing the door handle down, she waited and asked in a demanding voice, “Who’s there?” It was not that she felt so courageous. She only needed to sound undaunted.

At first, there was no answer.

“Identify yourself,” Marisa cried again. “Who are you?”

A hoarse voice whispered, “A friend. Open up!”

A friend?

Since when was a soldier from Droskar’s regiment a friend? But what alternative did they have? Two women and a small boy were no match for a trained soldier. There was no choice. Agonizingly slow the door creaked open, and she stared into the face of one of Droskar’s men.

His face bore the marks of a soldier’s life. A small scar cut across his unshaven cheek and his piercing eyes studied her like a warrior assessing his chances in a fight. By all standards he looked like a formidable, muscled opponent. Not a man to be trifled with.

Yet, surprisingly, his dark brown eyes held no animosity. The hard indifference so common among soldiers; men who cared little for their orders so long as they were paid, was absent. Instead, there was concern. He almost looked… kind.

Marisa felt her shoulders ease and opened the door all the way.

“What can we do for you… friend?” she asked, the word tasting strange on her tongue.

“I came to warn you,” the soldier said. “It’s Master Slink. He’s furious.”

Marisa blinked. Hearing Slink’s name sent a ripple of unease through her. “Why?” she asked. “What happened?”

The soldier licked his lips and glanced tensely over his shoulder, as if danger lurked behind him. “He and Captain Droskar are coming this way to arrest you.”

“Arrest us? Why?” Isola stepped into the doorway. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

The soldier gave her a polite glance and shook his head. “I’m afraid you have. You profess faith in the God of the Scrolls. Master Slink failed to arrest one of your friends… and now he’s furious; he wants to retaliate by arresting all known believers and throwing them into the deepest dungeon.”

A moment of silence fell as Marisa and Isola absorbed the news. “Wait,” Marisa said, her voice tight. “You said Slink failed to arrest one of our friends. Where did it happen, and do you know his name?”

The soldier nodded, a flicker of light in his eyes. “It happened at the Bridge of Echoes. His name is Calen.”

“Calen!” Marisa and Isola blurted out in unison. “Is he alright? What happened?”

Marisa grabbed his arm and tried to pull him inside, but he resisted. “No time”, he urged. “They’re on their way, and if I’m seen with you, it will cost me my life. You must flee, before it’s too late.”

Marisa understood and released his arm. “Why risk your life to warn us?”

“This Calen saved my life. I owe him everything. My name is Ronan. I’ll explain later, but there’s no time now. We must go.”

Marisa squinted, “What do you mean, ‘We?’”

“I can help you escape. I know the safest routes; paths Droskar and Slink’s soldiers seldom patrol. I will no longer serve Slink.”

“Are you sure?” Marisa asked, her eyes fixed on Ronan.

Ronan let out a sigh. “I’ve served the Council of Twelve long enough. I’m done. Now hurry.”

Both Marisa and Isola stood motionless. Isola’s mouth opened and closed without a word, and Marisa felt her hand squeeze hers.

“Careful,” Isola whispered.

Marisa understood. What if Ronan was a traitor too, like Sylvaine Vrax? On a mission to lure them into a trap? Yet Ronan was nothing like Vrax. He was a hardened soldier who had seen the cruelty of the Council of Twelve and was done serving the evil one. Besides, Calen had saved him at the Bridge of Echoes.

Marisa studied his face a moment longer, then gave a small nod. “I believe you,” she said. “How much time do we really have?”

Ronan shook his head. “I don’t know. Not long. When I left the barracks, they’d just gotten the order to prepare. They should be here soon.”

He hadn’t finished speaking when a loud bull’s horn screeched in the distance. Only soldiers used those. Ronan hadn’t said a word more than necessary. The soldiers were coming.

Marisa paled and turned to Isola, hissing, “Take the most valuable things you can carry. We need to run.”

“Not you,” Isola protested. “You’re safe. They think you’re a witch. Droskar is afraid to touch you.”

“Yes, he is,” Marisa said, shaking her head, “but I’m not sure Slink is afraid. And why risk being captured again? Leaving you and Tobin defenseless? Out of the question.”

She turned to Ronan and nodded. “We’ll come with you.”

“Then it’s settled,” Ronan said. “Do you have horses?”

“I do,” Marisa said, pointing to Isola. “But she doesn’t.”

“Never mind,” Ronan replied. “She can ride with me. And you,” he motioned to Tobin, “take the boy.”

“Let’s go,” Marisa cried. “We’ve got no time to waste.”

“But Pax,” Tobin cried, “we can’t just leave him behind!”

“Of course not,” Marisa said, her voice soothing. “Pax is strong. He can run, at least for a while until we are in a safer spot. Now hurry, Tobin. Grab a few things and get Whisperwind out of the stable.”

Tobin’s legs carried him faster than ever, almost as if he had wings. The thought of Pax joining them had erased every trace of fear.

Moments later, Ronan rode off with Isola behind him. Marisa followed with Tobin clinging to Whisperwind, leaving their cozy cottage behind and stepping into an unknown future.

It was no moment too soon. The soldiers’ hooves pounded closer, the forest echoing with every strike and the first horsemen appeared.

Whisperwind shivered beneath Marisa, as if sensing the danger herself.

Only a few moments and then they would be in the forest, where it would be much easier to escape. Hopefully the soldiers had not seen them. If they had, it would become a terrifying chase.

The cove was quiet.

The whisper of wind through the rocks and the chirping of birds reached his ears. Calen’s eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep. Hosanna nudged his cheek with her warm nose.

The confrontation with Seraphiel had drained him. When the storm broke and silence returned, exhaustion pulled him under and he had slipped into sleep without noticing. Sunlight poured through the cove’s mouth, gilding the stones. For a fleeting moment, the place felt almost blessed.

But too much had happened here to stay longer than absolutely necessary. He needed to get up.

His limbs ached as he stretched and yawned. He rested a hand against Hosanna’s nose, letting his fingers linger on the warm, velvety surface. How could he face what lay ahead without her?

He stared back into the cove, the memory of Seraphiel tightening in his chest. The glowing face of the creature, almost charmingly warm and inviting, had turned out to be nothing more than a gateway to a trap meant to ensnare him. Seraphiel’s words had been smooth as honey, at least at first. The creature had sounded wise and mature, convincing and logical, and he had almost fallen for it. He shook his head, disgust rising again.

But he had not fallen for it.

Somehow, the God of the Scrolls had been with him… once more. He had been given the strength to resist and had clung to what he knew to be the truth. As he thought back, the weight of the vision pressed into his chest. How many more such battles would he have to face? He was not cut out for trials like these.

He only wanted to be a simple scribe, copying scriptures.

Why had the God of the Scrolls placed such an enormous responsibility upon his shoulders? What if he had fallen for the lies of the enemy and had given up all the scrolls just like that? It wouldn’t have been his first mistake. He gritted his teeth in an effort to shake off his lingering doubts. Such thoughts would help no one. He had not given up the Scrolls, and nothing good would come out of mulling over mistakes he had not even made.

His eyes slid over the giant boulder near the place where Seraphiel’s image had appeared and his words rang again in Calen’s ears. “There’s a Scroll there… a better Scroll than all the others.” What nonsense. There was no Scroll better than the Scrolls he carried. And yet, Seraphiel’s words stirred a strange and unfamiliar sense of curiosity within him.

Would he look? It would tell him whether the vision had been real.

That Scroll had a weird name. What was it again? The Codex of Everlasting Illumination…

He recalled how Seraphiel’s attitude had changed the moment he mocked and doubted the veracity of that Scroll. The Codex of Everlasting Elimination he had called it and it had enraged Seraphiel.

But Seraphiel was no longer around. At least, it didn’t look like it. So… should he just take a look? Of course, chances were, nothing would be there. After all, it had all been some spiritual vision-like hallucination. Nothing material, so it was unlikely he’d find an actual, physical Scroll.

A quick look wouldn’t hurt.

And so, curiosity won and Calen stepped forward, ever so cautiously.

He was now almost upon the large boulder, right at the place where Seraphiel had been glowing, suspended in the air.

His eyes scanned the shadowy ground.

His breath caught. There, scattered on the ground, were several large bones and right on top… was a scroll.

The Codex of Everlasting Illumination.

Calen stared at it. It was old and brown, neatly rolled up, carrying an air of dignified importance. A strange pull reached him, almost magnetic. It whispered in his mind: Read me. Know your enemy better. New doors of understanding will open…

Sweat broke out on his forehead. His breath came in short gasps as he stared at the scroll. Everything within seemed to cry out to just pick it up, clutch it to his chest, and… and… That Scroll could make him wise… wiser than he was supposed to be.

That last thought jarred him.

Anger flared, sharp and sudden. “No, I won’t read you, wretched thing. I won’t even pick you up.”

The attraction faded. Calen realized his muscles had tensed without him noticing. He could relax them now. How strong the pull had been—how real the battle. He wiped his brow and steadied himself against the boulder.

Last night’s vision had been real, and so was the power of the tempter. Even now, the morning after, Seraphiel was apparently still at work.

Disgusted at himself for having been tempted at all, Calen turned back toward Hosanna. A verse of Scripture came to him: Touch not the unclean thing.

Then he heaved a sigh of relief. At least he had not given in to the temptation and had not contaminated his spirit with whatever poison that scroll contained. Still, it was disturbing to realize how weak he actually was.

He closed his eyes for a moment and whispered a soft prayer,

“Dear Lord… Will you please keep me in the apple of your eye. In me is no good thing and I need you not just every day, not just every hour, but every second of the day. Help me please. I am an unworthy servant.”

A strange scent reached him.

Something he had not smelled in weeks, but the distinct odor of a wood fire filled the cove.

Mixed with it was something else. It was a delicious aroma of roasted Sablewolf Jerky and charred beetroot. The smell made his stomach growl and he realized he had not had a really good meal for quite some time now. But… who in the world would be preparing breakfast in the middle of this savage wilderness?

For a moment, fear hit. What if Seraphiel would use another trick to get him to yield. Oh, would there never be an end to all of these trials?

He resisted the thought. Ridiculous. Had God not guided him every step of the way and kept him safe? No, with God at his side, he had nothing to fear. God was his light and his salvation, even if a host would encamp against him.

He patted Hosanna’s neck again and said, “Let’s see, Hosanna, what’s out there.”

Hosanna seemed ever so pleased to leave the confinements of the dark cove and neighed his agreement.

As soon as Calen stuck his nose out of the cave, he beheld a puzzling sight.

Some ten yards down, right next to the path he had been traveling on the day before, an old bearded man, dressed in a brown cloak, was cooking a meal. His long, silvery hair hung in loose strings next to his weathered face and he was poking with a stick into a small fire on which he roasted the delicacies that Calen had smelled.

He looked up and his eyes met Calen’s.

Friendly. Warm. Trustworthy. Not with a treacherous gleam as had the eyes of Seraphiel who had offered him a false, deceptive friendship. No, these eyes were different.

Calen’s mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came. He did not need to as the old man raised his hand in a friendly fashion and croaked from below, “Hello there. I am Elior Bren. I believe you can use a bit of true fellowship while you nourish your body with the fat of the land.”

Elior Bren?

“W-Who are you?” Calen finally cried back, his voice echoing in the wind.

“I told you,” Elior replied. “My name is Elior Bren. Come and eat, and do not let your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. I know you are a bit suspicious after what you’ve been through these last days. But come and eat. There’s a lot to discuss.”

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