Hidden Fragments Chapter 8

Previously on Hidden Fragments:
Calen was reunited with Marisa at the cave’s mouth, relieved she had not been harmed by Slink. Over breakfast, he told her of the shimmering lake and the visions he had seen: first the shadows of his past sins, then the image of a man carrying a cross.

Marisa explained that Jesus is the Son of God, who died and rose again to bring forgiveness and eternal life. For the first time, Calen began to grasp the meaning of grace, time, and eternity. Moved by her words, he prayed from the depths of his heart, placing his faith in the God of the Scrolls of the Ages.

When Marisa returned, she found him transformed, his face alight with joy, declaring, “I did it… I believe!”

Chapter 8

The Enemy Revealed

The moment Marisa heard that Calen had surrendered his heart to the God of the Scrolls, her face bloomed with the radiance of warm spring sunshine. It melted away the last fragile snows of doubt and uncertainty still clinging to his mind.

Light seemed to pour from her eyes as she clasped him in a glorious embrace. “Oh, Calen,” she cried as she pressed two kisses upon his cheeks. “This is wonderful … Now you are truly ready to become the man Angus and Asher foretold.”

Calen’s breath caught; his face flushed as though kindled by flames.

She kissed him?

For a moment, he seemed unable to think. All he wanted was to plunge into Marisa’s joy. It was a spring of life that opened before him, brimming with emotions he had never known. The imprint of her lips on his cheeks left him yearning and disarmed, as if caught in a dream from which he never wished to wake.

Yet even in that breathless moment, he knew her feelings were not romantic. They simply flowed from her delight, that he was drawing closer to heaven. He would be wise to guard his heart; Marisa was beyond his reach. And after all, he was a man on a mission.

He stepped back, murmuring that it was nothing, though the words rang hollow. Of course it mattered. And he knew it. Life would never be the same.

“You call what happened to you nothing?” Marisa said softly, her eyes glowing with tenderness. “You are what we call, a new creature.”

“A new what?” Calen asked, his heart racing with wonder. Wasn’t he still the same man he had always been?

“It’s time you truly studied the Scrolls we have access to,” Marisa said simply.

“I’d love to,” Calen said. A deep desire rose to read about all these wonderful and yet mysterious things that were putting his life upside down. He wanted nothing more but to learn about that wonderful man he had seen on the cross and who his new friends were willing to lay down their lives for. Without waiting further, he pulled out the copied words from Angus again and handed them with trembling fingers to Marisa.

“Would you mind reading them to me? And if I don’t understand something, you can explain it to me. Also, can you read the part that’s hidden in the lantern?”

“I can,” Marisa said, “but let’s start with the scrolls from your boot. I’d rather not remove the scroll from the lamp since it’s very intricate, and we’re not in a safe spot here. I’d have to take out a small heat-resistant plate, and I might not be able to put it back properly.” Calen nodded and listened as Marisa began to read aloud with slow, deep reverence.

Her voice, soft, gentle and melodious, washed over the field, mingling with the twitter of birds and the whisper of the wind through the leaves. Calen listened, deeply moved. He understood little, yet somehow everything made perfect sense. With every word he heard, an unfamiliar sense of fulfillment welled up. A yearning to grasp something eternal, so different from anything he’d ever learned; so rich, so unspeakably beautiful.

When at last she finished, he breathed out a long sigh and whispered, “This was so beautiful.”

“It was,” Marisa agreed. “I never fully read this part of the Scrolls. How beautiful indeed.” Her eyes were moist as she looked up, and she fastened her eyes on him and said, “It shows the importance of your mission. We need all the fragments in order to truly know the entire counsel of God. It’s the only way to truly change the world we live in.”

Mission?

For a blissful moment, Calen had forgotten all about his mission and the dangers bound up with it. After the visions and his wondrous personal encounter with the God of the Scrolls he felt whole, lacking nothing. Yet the truth remained: there was the mission, and he had promised Angus he would gather the hidden fragments.

“You are right,” he said at last, but not nearly as enthusiastic as before. “I need to get going. But I just don’t know where to start. I was on my way home before I met you.”

“Home?” Marisa raised her brows. “I thought you said Asher told you to go to Ömstead?”

“He did,” was Calen’s short reply. “But I am not ready. I’ve got no food, no money and I need some clean clothes too.”

“Of course you do,” Marisa said, “But your heavenly Father knows you have need of all these things. When Jesus sent out His disciples, He told them not to take a purse, a staff, or anything. If you truly believe He has told you to go to Ömstead, that’s where you should be going.”

Calen stared at Marisa for a long moment and then lowered his gaze. She was right, yet part of him longed to stay. What if he could stare into the waters of the subterranean lake again and drink in the wonders that seemed to hum with life and mystery? What good was he anyway, for such an enormous mission? A simple scribe, who carried a heart that still faltered. Even though the man on the cross had forgiven him for all his horrible deeds, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t stumble again. He just wasn’t very strong.

He looked up again. “I-I don’t think I can do it. The task is just too big.”

“Of course, the task is too big for you,” Marisa said. Her voice was still gentle, but it lacked the warmth it had held before …

She cleared her throat and added, “Somewhere in the Scrolls it says, ‘Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, says the Lord.’” *

Marisa’s words had little effect. Darkness rolled into Calen’s mind. Maybe he had imagined the entire thing, and he needed to stop it before it cost him even his life.

He said nothing, staring instead at an ant struggling to drag a blade of grass twenty times its size.

Was he like that ant, burdened with a task far beyond his strength?

“Get up,” Marisa said, her voice filled with alarm. “We must go.”

Calen looked up startled. “What is it?”

Marisa’s eyes were wide with apprehension, and her hand trembled slightly as she pointed into the shadowed forest. “Look.”

He followed her gaze and froze. A peculiar mist crept in, cold and suffocating, rolling over the ground and curling around his feet like a living thing.

W-What … what is it?” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Before Marisa could answer, the mist reached them completely and enveloped them both. Within seconds, Marisa was no longer visible. An intense and chilly feeling of deep loneliness entered his heart, and it whispered a wordless, terrifying message.

You are alone, Calen.

You are mistaken about the God of the Scrolls. He’s not really there, and you are alone in a battle you can never win.

Where did that come from?

Calen’s lungs burned with the oppressive, putrid scent of decay. He opened his mouth to shout, but only a strangled rasp escaped. Swiping his arms as if warding off a swarm of angry bees, he stumbled forward, each step a desperate fight against the mist that clawed at him.

Now actual, strange voices filled his ears, loud and penetrating. Malicious. Sarcastic. Cynical. Each word twisted and coiled in his mind, sharp and biting.

“Go home, you loser. Save yourself before it’s too late.”

“Forget about the Scrolls. The Book of Order is enough.”

The peace he had felt only minutes earlier was swallowed by angry accusations of the lowest kind, accompanied again by visions of ugly things he had done. But unlike the deep, cleansing conviction he had felt staring into the lake, these visions left him breathless, offering nothing but relentless judgment.

There was no hope, and the rants hammered it home: he was a loser, proud and arrogant, taking on things far too high for him.

Calen placed his hands on his ears, hoping to drown out the curses, but it didn’t help. The voices were inside his head and seemed to know even his deepest fears, some he had not even realized he harbored.

The mist stung his eyes, made his nose run and choked his lungs. Raw panic clawed at him. Then, an even more formidable vision slammed into his mind. A bejeweled throne appeared, and on it sat a dark man draped in a kingly purple robe. His eyes were like daggers, and a sword gleamed in his hands, raised high above the heads of countless people as he screamed horrible accusations. The crowd before him cowered, trembling in submissive fear.

Then, horror of horrors, the dark man turned from the crowd and fixed his gaze on Calen, who froze, staring into a bottomless pit that was threatening to drag him into pools of hopeless misery. At that moment, the dark man spoke directly to him, even using his name: “Give up, Calen. Yield while you can. Go home. Do not touch the unclean thing.”

Calen shivered, as the dark man’s words pierced him like shards of ice. He fell to his knees. “Dear God,” he whispered in fear. “Have mercy …”

At that very instant a loud, commanding voice cut through the mist: “I rebuke you, foul mist! In the name of Jesus, the King of Heaven and Earth!”

Calen instantly recognized whose voice it was.

“Marisa!” Her name burst from his lips with relief.

There she was, breaking through the foul fog, clothed in light. Calen stared in wonder as the terrifying mist recoiled from every place her feet touched.

Calen ran over to her and grabbed her hands. “W-What is happening?” he cried. “I – I am … afraid.”

She looked at him, her eyes shining like sunlit diamonds, and Calen saw a power radiating from her spirit unlike anything he had ever known. Her face was set like flint, yet softened by remarkable kindness. “Don’t be afraid, Calen,” she said, her voice steady. “This is the power of darkness, doing its utmost to trip and discourage you. But we must resist the enemy and then he will flee from us.”

Calen’s mouth fell open as the fog dissolved into the forest and his breath came easy again. There was the grass once more, and even his half-eaten breakfast. It looked like a treasure. But her words lingered. Enemy?

“W-What enemy?” he mumbled at last.

“The enemy of the God of the Scrolls of the Ages,” Marisa’s eyes held his. “He wants you to think he’s powerful, but he isn’t. Fear is his weapon. If he sees you afraid, he uses it against you.”

“Enemy of God?” Calen blinked. “Where did he come from?”

Marisa couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Calen. The enemy is furious. After all, you’ve just given your heart to the God of the Scrolls, and he wants to discourage you. We’ll talk more about it as we go. God will take care of us.”

“Us?” Calen’s eyes widened.

“Yes, us,” Marisa replied. “We have to hurry. You don’t think I’ll let you go on this mission all by yourself, do you?”

“I – I,” Calen stammered. Again, he was lost for words, although this time it was not because of the fog.

“Come,” Marisa said, and a mischievous smile played around her lips. “I brought two horses.”

For a moment, Calen wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “You-You mean, you really want to come along! But it’s going to be dangerous. Aren’t you afraid of Slink and Drenick, and … the mist?”

Marisa broke out laughing. “Slink? Drenick? The mist?” She shook her head, still smiling. “Didn’t you see how fast the fog fled when God showed His power? Yes, we need to stay watchful, but we don’t have to cower in fear. I told you; the God of the Scrolls is with us. Nothing can stand against Him. ”

Calen was still deeply shaken. “I saw it. The fog was afraid of you. How did you do that?”

Marisa shook her head. “I did nothing. The fog wasn’t afraid of me. It was afraid of the Spirit of God within me.”

Calen felt like a little boy, wide-eyed before a teacher unveiling the secrets of the universe. He grasped nothing yet somehow, he knew it was all true. The power of the God of the Scrolls was, quite simply … awesome.

“Come,” Marisa urged, her tone sharp. “That fog was no accident. I believe it means Slink is close. We need to go, now.”

“Slink?” Calen gasped. “Have you seen him?”

“No,” Marisa said. “But he carries the spirit of the fog. We need to go.”

“But … what about the goats and your grandfather?” Calen objected

Marisa raised her eyebrows. “You do want me to come, right?”

Calen stared at Marisa, hardly believing she was for real. Of course he wanted her to come. A companion like Marisa would make the journey lighter, no matter what dangers lay ahead. She knew the God of the Scrolls. Even the fog had yielded to her prayers. And her presence was just … well, he had promised himself he wouldn’t drift into foolish daydreams. Heat rushed to his ears as he finally blurted, “I—I’d be most happy if you came.”

“Good,” Marisa said, as if she’d expected no other answer. “Then we should get going. Even on horseback, Ömstead is still far from here.”

“One last question,” Calen said. “What about the Scrolls? Shouldn’t we hide what we’ve got so far? Angus told me to keep them safe, and carrying them along might be risky.”

“I considered that,” Marisa replied. “We’ll eventually hide the scrolls, but for now we’ll memorize everything, just as Angus did. If Slink finds the scrolls, the words will still live in our hearts, and you can copy them back later.”

Calen’s face flushed. “I’m terrible at memorizing,” he mumbled. “I can barely remember the names of all my neighbors, let alone entire parts of the Scrolls.”

Marisa grinned. “I’m good at it. While we travel, you read the words, and I’ll memorize them as we go. It’ll make our journey all the more memorable.”

As Marisa strode toward the two beautiful horses standing near the cave’s opening, Calen marveled and whispered a prayer of his own: “Thank you, dear God, for giving me a companion like Marisa.”

*Zechariah 4:6 KJV