Hidden Fragments Chapter 40

The Keeper of the Flame

Previously on Hidden Fragments…

Calen reached Ömstead and revealed the Council of Twelve’s terrifying new decree: a massive iron beast with twelve heads will soon be raised, and all people will be commanded to bow before it. Knowing true believers will refuse, Osric and the others realize persecution is drawing near.

The believers entrust Calen with two precious Scrolls so he can copy them before delivering them to Elior. To work in secret, he is sent to stay in the lighthouse of Magdalena, a faithful widow whose husband died as a martyr for God.

Meanwhile, Marisa finally returns to her grandfather’s house together with Ronan, Vorren, Isola, and Tobin. Though warmth and laughter briefly fill the old home, Vorren remains deeply troubled. As night falls and everyone settles onto blankets spread across the floor, fear overwhelms him. In the darkness, he whispers to Marisa: “I am afraid.”

Chapter 40

The Keeper of the Flame

The wind howled restlessly through the cracks in the stone walls.

Calen pulled his cloak tighter. Chilliness had settled into the room at the top of the lighthouse. He sat behind a wooden desk while working on a Scroll of parchment. Before him stood an inkwell and there were the two Scrolls he needed to copy.

The Scroll he was presently working on was called Leviticus. Strange name. He could hardly pronounce it. Osric had told him, it meant ‘Relating to the Levites.’

He did not know who the Levites were but he understood, this was not the time for questions. He would ask about it later. For now, he just copied them.

The other Scroll was called the Scroll of Isaiah.

He had started copying almost as soon as he got here, but the work progressed slowly.

Line after line. Law upon law.

His hand moved steadily, but his back already ached.

Nadab and Abihu… offered unauthorized fire…

He paused briefly, then continued writing.

They disobeyed the LORD by burning before him the wrong kind of fire.

Difficult Scroll. It did not inspire him as much as some of the other Scrolls, but that was probably because of his lack of training. It didn’t matter, for surely it was important. Elior would know what to do with this Scroll.

He just had to keep writing.

But the other scroll, Isaiah, drew his eyes again and again. It called out to him and he reached for it, without meaning to.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them has the light shined.

These words stirred his heart. He almost wanted to rush copying Leviticus, so he could start on Isaiah.

He scolded himself and forced his attention back to the work at hand. This was not about him. First, he had to finish the Scroll of Leviticus and his work needed to be perfect.

He sighed.

Another chapter on bringing sacrifices to the priests…

He looked up and out the window.

A salty smell hung in the air, sharp and bracing, unlike anything he had known. It differed greatly from the meadows he was used to, with the scent of Spring flowers and freshly harvested grass. That had its charm, but this smell was different. The salty air spoke of faraway lands he had never seen and could only dream of.

His mind drifted off to the sailors in the Black Boar who sang of harbors most people would never visit. The ocean seemed to stretch out forever and had an unfamiliar pull on him.

Mystery.

Adventure.

He had laughed at the stupid chants those sailors had uttered in the Black Boar, but now, having seen the sea for himself, he understood them better. What would it be like to board a ship and sail off into the mist of the unknown? The thought thrilled him, right until he imagined the shore disappearing behind him. That unsettled him.

Just as he dipped his quill back into the ink, there was a knock on the door, followed by a female voice.

“Calen, can I come in?”

Magdalena!

“Of course,” he said.

A gust of sea wind entered as she opened the door and stepped in. She was carrying food. There was bread, Sable wolf jerky and a mug of tea. She smiled as she gently placed the victuals on the desk, careful not to disturb anything.

“Time for a break,” she said with a warm laugh. “Making good progress?”

“Sort of,” Calen said, as he left the quill in his inkwell and looked into her face. “Thank you.”

Her smile reminded him of Marisa, although she did not resemble Marisa. Nobody could. Magdalena was a lot older, too. Life had left its marks on her face. There was a distinct sparkle in her eyes and yet Calen sensed sadness. The deep lines on her face told of struggle and pain. Still, she carried the same warm demeanor that Marisa did. It was obvious she loved the God of the Scrolls.

Magdalena bit her lower lip and wiped her hands on her white apron. “Well… um…,” she said, “I suppose I will go again. Wouldn’t want to disturb your work.”

Calen smiled at her. “You don’t disturb me,” he said. He actually hoped she would stay awhile, for he could use a distraction from Leviticus. Taking a morsel of Sable wolf jerky, he asked, “How many times a day do you have to climb up here?”

Magdalena shrugged. “Five times. Sometimes six, if there’s a storm brewing. Gotta keep the fires on top of the lighthouse burning, ye know. It will keep the ships safe.”

Calen nodded. This sort of work hardly seemed right for a woman alone.

As if she read his mind, she added, “My son is here. He carries most of the wood.”

True. Her son was there too.

“Glad to be here,” he said, in an effort to chase away the uneasy silence that hung between them. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Karel told me you are on an important mission for God. You can stay as long as you want.”

“It’s… nice here,” Calen said.

But the cold draft moving through the room told another story. He shivered and grabbed his mug of tea to take a long sip. “It’s a heavy climb coming up here,” he said when he had emptied his mug.

She laughed. “I am used to it. Yes, it’s a lot of work, but I enjoy it. Most people do not know what goes on here, but it’s important.”

“Sure is,” Calen agreed. He could almost see the relief on the faces of sailors on a dark, stormy night when they spotted the fire of the lighthouse. Safety was near.

He had never been to the sea, let alone to a lighthouse. When Osric first told him he could stay in a lighthouse, he did not know what to expect. After Karel had brought him here, Calen had stopped in front of the lighthouse. It towered above him, its stone walls dark against the sky. High above, flames burned steadily, cutting through the wind.

“Who keeps those fires burning?” he had asked Karel in amazement.

“My sister, Magdalena,” he stated flatly. “It’s her job.”

He pointed to a small building near the bottom. “She lives there.”

Calen had assumed that was where he would work too.

It was not to be.

“You’ll be up in the lighthouse,” Magdalena told him, once they had met.

Up there? No way!

A rickety spiral staircase wound outside around the lighthouse. Spray from the crashing waves reached him where he stood. He hadn’t even started the climb.

“It’s nothing,” Magdalena informed him. “I do it all the time.”

Calen forced a smile onto his face and nodded. He did not look forward to the climb.

“Up there it’s quiet and nobody will disturb you.” Magdalena said. “And it’s safe. No soldier of the Council of Twelve has ever climbed up there.”

“I understand,” he stated in a flat tone. For once he agreed with the evil soldiers of the Council.

Once he began the ascend, he knew the climb was exactly as he had expected.

The climb was long, wind-beaten and wet, but the sea opened before him, vast and without end and he couldn’t remember ever having been so high. He wondered if eternity might feel like this.

When he reached the top, he was exhausted. A strange wheeze in his throat told him he wasn’t as fit as he claimed to be. But once he entered his new accommodation, he realized his friends were right. It was a good place to work.

Besides the wind and the crashing of the waves, it was still. Nobody was going to disturb him here, besides Magdalena.

He took another bite of his Sable wolf Jerky. “How did you end up being the keeper of the lighthouse?” he asked when his mouth was empty.

“My late husband,” Magdalena said, and her voice became soft. “He loved being the keeper of the lighthouse. I think he was even born here.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “He brought me into it, but to be fair, I loved it too. The smell of the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs, the wind through my hair… To me it’s the closest thing to heaven.”

Calen nodded. A small chuckle escaped his lips. He hoped heaven would be different.

“But your husband died…?”

As he asked, his face reddened. “I am sorry,” he was quick to add. “Don’t mean to pry.”

Magdalena shook her head. “It’s fine. I love talking about him. You see, he showed me who God is.”

“So… what happened?”

“Life was good,” she mumbled. “Simple. Quiet.”

A pause.

“Until one day… it wasn’t.”

Calen looked down. He shouldn’t have asked.

“Don’t,” she said. Her voice was soft, with a warmth that lingered. “You’ve done nothing wrong. God is still good…,” she paused. “It’s just … that I miss him.”

Calen nodded. He wanted to change the subject.

“Do you want to know how he died?” she asked. “It happened two years ago.”

Calen shook his head. “It’s all right, Magdalena.”

“He was a martyr,” she said undeterred. “The Council of Twelve came. There was a traitor in the little group of believers.”

Calen perked up. “A traitor?”

Magdalena sighed. “He was a man who pretended to be a believer, but really wasn’t.”

“What was he like?” Calen asked.

“Never met him,” she said, shrugging. “Only heard about him. Said he had found faith and needed guidance. The little group believed him and wanted to help him, but my husband didn’t like him. Had a strange name too, ye know.”

“What was it?”

Magdalena thought, trying to remember. At last, she shrugged again. “Does it matter? It happened a long time ago. Think his name was Brax or Lax… something like that.”

Calen froze.

Vrax?

He licked his lips, hardly daring to ask what he feared. “Could it… um… have been Vrax? Sylvaine Vrax?”

Magdalena’s face lit up. “Right… That’s what it was. The coward. Sylvaine Vrax. How did you know?”

Calen leaned back in his chair. The world around him turned. He groaned and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Lord, you must stop this foul person, for heaven’s sake.”

Outside, the wind began to rise and Calen shivered again.

***

Many miles away, the wind swept across the field, rattling the shutters of her grandfather’s house. Marisa stirred and sat up.

“What is it, Vorren?” She steeled herself. She did not want to talk. Not now. She wanted to sleep; dream of green pastures, of a world without sorrow, and … of Calen perhaps?

She rubbed her forehead. No, her dreams would have to wait.

The moon was full and cast a strip of luminous light over the floor of Grandfather’s living room. Ronan was asleep. Snoring again. That man could sleep through a thunderstorm. But not Vorren.

His dark silhouette cut through the silver light. He sat upright, waiting.

“Can we talk?” Vorren asked in a low voice.

Marisa hesitated, then yielded. “Sure, Vorren. What is it?”

Vorren stared ahead, saying nothing.

Marisa shifted slightly. “Go on.”

“What’s happening?” he whispered at last. “I don’t understand it anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

He swallowed. “All my life, I’ve served the Council of Twelve. I’ve never questioned the Book of Order… and all my life, I’ve been afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Marisa asked, barely audible.

Vorren let out a slow breath. “Sickness. Pain. Death … Losing everything.” He gave a faint shake of his head. “It’s always there.”

Marisa drew in a slow breath. “What do you do when it comes?”

“Nothing,” he said. “What can I do? Drink helps me forget for a while… but in the morning it’s all there again.” He looked down. “It always comes back.”

A pause settled between them.

From the far corner came a faint scratching sound. A mouse slipped from the shadows, nosing along the floor in search of crumbs.

Marisa drew her feet in slightly, watching it.

“You don’t seem to live that way,” Vorren said at last.

“That is true,” Marisa agreed. “May I ask you something else?”

Vorren shrugged. “Go on.”

“Where do you come from?”

He frowned. “Blunderwood. You know that. I told you so.”

“I mean, before that.”

Vorren let out a short laugh. “Before that? Nowhere. I have always lived in Blunderwood. Born there.”

“And before that?”

“What sort of question is that? Nowhere. I just wasn’t.”

“O… I see. And… um… where are you going?”

That made him hesitate. After a moment, he said, quieter now, “The Book of Order doesn’t say. I suppose… nowhere again.”

“Nowhere,” Marisa repeated. “So, you came from nothing… and you return to nothing.”

Vorren shifted his weight. “I suppose.”

“And in between, you are afraid.”

Vorren frowned. “Shouldn’t we be?”

Marisa shook her head. “No, not really.”

Outside, the wind picked up some more and rattled the shutters.

“I don’t understand,” Marisa continued, “…Why are you afraid if there’s nothing before you were born and nothing after you die? In that case it ends the same for everyone, no matter what you do.”

Vorren opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I am just… afraid.”

Silence settled between them.

At last, Vorren spoke again, more slowly. “I know it’s wrong to be afraid, but… I just am.”

“It’s not wrong,” Marisa said. “You are just human.”

Vorren groaned. “Forget it,” he muttered. “I need to sleep.”

He turned away. “Goodnight.”

“Wait.”

Marisa’s voice cut through the room. “You can’t just leave it there. I want to understand. This is important.”

Vorren paused, then pushed himself upright again.

“It’s just…” He rubbed his face. “Something’s off. There has to be more. There’s a shadow hanging over it all and I can’t get rid of it.”

“Like there should be more than this nothing you speak of.” Marisa grinned. “It sounds like you think that life should have some meaning.” She felt his eyes on her, even though she knew Vorren couldn’t properly see her in the dark.

“Meaning…?” Vorren asked.

He let the word hang.

“The Book of Order says it’s all chance,” he went on. “That we just… move forward. And then it ends.”

He swallowed.

“Like fire. It burns out, and then there’s nothing but cold.”

Marisa studied the vague outline of his silhouette against the pale light of the moon. Warmth for this broken soldier welled up.

“What if that’s not true and the Book of Order has it all wrong?”

He looked at her. “You really think there’s meaning?”

“I do.”

A pause.

“And you’re not afraid to die?”

“No, I am not.”

Marisa hesitated. For a moment, she almost reached for his hand. Words came to her, too many of them, but she let them pass.

She cleared her throat, her voice dry. “I think about death sometimes, but it doesn’t fill me with anxiety. Actually…” She paused. “… it feels sort of good.”

“Good? How can that be?”

Marisa leaned forward. “I feel it like a longing. A longing for home.”

Vorren blinked. “I don’t understand. My home is with my buddies and wherever the captain sends us.”

“That’s not your actual home,” Marisa explained. “I am talking about something much deeper. I long for a place I have not yet seen but I know is waiting for me.”

Vorren said nothing.

“The Council tells you to make your own meaning,” Marisa went on. “Tell me, have you?”

Vorren gave a faint, bitter smile. “I’ve tried.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t last. Not for very long.”

“No,” Marisa said. “It never does.”

Another pause.

“Vorren, you mention it seems like something is absent. What if that sensation is accurate?”

Vorren looked up. “What do you mean?”

“What if something really is missing, and that emptiness is meant to point you to a purpose?”

“A purpose?”

Marisa nodded. “Yes, a plan… I believe you were not made for nothing.”

Vorren swallowed.

“So, what am I made for?”

Marisa’s voice softened.

“For someone.”

Vorren frowned. “Made for… someone?”

“Yes,” Marisa said. She was unable to hold back a smile. “Not a system. Not a council.”

She hesitated.

“Some-one.”

She let the word sink in for a moment and asked, “What if you were made for a Person?”

Vorren’s voice dropped. “A person? Who?”

Marisa did not answer at once.

“When a man is lost,” she said slowly, “he does not first need answers. He needs to be found.”

“And you are convinced… someone is watching?”

“I do not just believe it,” Marisa said. “I know so.”

A silence followed.

“We’ve been talking about this all evening,” she added. “He came looking for me.”

Vorren’s voice was barely above a whisper now.

“Who?”

Marisa sensed a tear approaching as she whispered back. “His name is Jesus.”

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