Previously on Hidden Fragments
Driven by a violent storm, Calen seeks refuge in a mountain cove, only to encounter a glowing apparition calling himself Seraphiel, who claims to be the guardian of the Scrolls.
Seraphiel praises Calen and urges him to surrender the Scrolls, revealing a supposed “greater” Scroll with new revelation. Though his words sound holy, something feels wrong. When questioned, his warmth falters, and Calen refuses to hand over the Scrolls.
Far away, Marisa awakens with a sudden urgency and begins to pray. As darkness presses in and a storm rises, she faces her own battle against the forces of darkness.
Chapter 27
The Stranger’s Voice
The wind tore at the rocks outside, howling like a monster seeking to devour its prey, but inside the cove the air barely moved.
Neither Seraphiel nor Calen spoke. It felt like a stalemate that neither of them was willing to abandon. Somewhere deeper in the cove, water dripped softly where the relentless rain had found a narrow passage in. The sound echoed, slow and deliberate.
Calen wondered whether his own defenses were enough to keep out more than the rain. Should he ward himself against the quiet seep of Seraphiel’s words, or was he speaking truth, a truth that hitherto had been hidden from him?
The face of Seraphiel remained suspended in the air, glowing with that uncanny light. Calen became aware of his own breathing, loud and ragged in the stillness. The realization unsettled him more than the storm ever could.
Seraphiel’s voice cut through Calen’s thoughts.
“Well?” he asked. “What are you waiting for? Give me the Scrolls you carry, take the other one, and be on your way.”
“Into the storm?” Calen scoffed. “I won’t simply hand over something this precious. And I don’t like being kept in the dark. Why have I never heard of this so-called ‘better’ Scroll?”
Seraphiel’s light did not waver. “I already told you it is not better.” He paused. “Let me put it another way. You should see the Scrolls you carry as a schoolteacher. Your parents taught you to read and write when you were a child. Then they sent you to the Silent Scribes, where you learned how to use those skills in a meaningful way. That’s like the foundation. But the Scroll I am about to offer you contains the wisdom in how to properly use that knowledge.”
Calen looked down. Everything he heard was so different from what all his faithful friends had ever told him. Could he truly trust this? After all, he had been led astray before. The whole thing made his stomach churn, and a dull ache began to throb behind his eyes.
He remembered copying passages from the Scrolls: “I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand.” It sounded definite. If eternal life had already been given, why was there any need for more knowledge?
As if reading his thoughts, Seraphiel said, “You’re thinking about eternal life, am I right?”
“So?” Calen shot back.
“Of course, nobody can snatch a believer from God’s hand,” Seraphiel said, his voice gentle, almost fatherly. “But let me put it another way. There’s a passage in the Scrolls you copied I want to put your attention to… A passage about a door.”
“Right,” Calen said, almost sensing relief. Hearing something he knew to be true felt good. “Jesus said that He is the door.”
The light distorted for a moment, but then Seraphiel spoke again. “Um… right. The knowledge that there is a door is important. But how do you go through that door?”
“You just walk through,” Calen said. “By faith.”
Seraphiel shook his head. “That would be too simple, wouldn’t you agree? You still have to do something. The Scrolls you seek, prepare you for the door. They are the foundation. They tell you about the feast behind the door so to speak, but the final Scroll is about how to actually enter that feast.”
Calen frowned. “But I always thought the One on the Cross said, ‘It is finished.’”
“Yes,” Seraphiel replied patiently as if he was now talking to a six-year-old. “Finished! Just as your basic education was finished when you left your parents behind and began a higher education. I offer you the higher education.”
Hosanna shifted uneasily. Calen’s hand went to the travel bag, fingers tightening as if to shield it from the world itself. His throat felt dry. “Well…” he asked. “What exactly does the new Scroll teach?”
Seraphiel’s eyes gleamed. “You will have to read it for yourself. Immerse yourself in its spirit. Swim in it, if you like. Let it seep into your very pores, infusing you with the knowledge that few humans possess. It’s secret knowledge, but you are chosen to know about it. Very special.”
He paused for a moment and then said, “The best I can tell you is this: it is all about the mysteries of the feast. It holds the keys to freely claim what should have been yours already. Authority over darkness. The power to partner with God, not merely obey Him. You have been nothing but a servant, Calen. This Scroll will teach you how to be a son… and more.”
Calen let Seraphiel’s words wash over him.
Authority over darkness?
The power to partner with God?
Be a son?
Wasn’t that what he wanted? To be more than a frightened boy running errands? And yet, he remembered copying something in the Scrolls… something that spoke of him as a son already, though the memory was hazy. Still, Seraphiel’s words pricked at him, leaving an uneasy weight in his chest.
He looked up at Seraphiel. “What do you mean, your Scroll will teach me… ‘more’?”
“Not my Scroll,” Seraphiel said quickly. “It’s the ultimate Scroll, written long after the others, and therefore far more valuable.”
Calen only half-listened, still digging through memory for that passage about God calling him a son. Then it came, sudden and clear. He’d copied it in Isola’s house:
“I will be a Father to you, and you shall be My sons and daughters, says the LORD Almighty.” *
He bit his lower lip, cleared his throat and replied, “The Scrolls say that I am already a son. I have already gone through the door when I gave my heart to the God of the Scrolls. What more do I need?”
The light around Seraphiel’s face flickered. Just for a moment.
“That’s what you think, Calen…” Seraphiel replied. “Your reasoning is faulty. You look at life through the lens of old knowledge. Good, but outdated. You can only truly understand the riches by claiming them for yourself. One of the Scrolls you carry proclaims, ‘Taste and see that God is good.’ You need to trust me and taste the advanced knowledge in order to understand it.” Seraphiel’s gaze on Calen intensified. Then he added in a demanding voice, “Now come and lay your Scrolls here at my feet and take up the new Scroll and go about your business. The King’s business requires haste. I’m not asking you to abandon your mission. I am just asking you to complete it. To give people not just the Scrolls, but the wisdom to understand them and how to properly enter.”
Calen’s hand hovered over the bag. It sounded reasonable. So close to right… and yet utterly foreign.
Dear God, he prayed silently. I don’t know. This is all so confusing.
And then, quiet as a whisper, a memory of something Marisa had once told him echoed through his mind. “Remember, Calen. Jesus said, My sheep hear My voice and a stranger they will not follow.”
Seraphiel’s words were smooth as honey, but they lacked the ring of truth. Something about this encounter unsettled him. He had not liked Seraphiel from the start. He didn’t know who, or what, this being really was, and he could not trust his voice as that of the Shepherd. Seraphiel was a stranger, no citizen of the Kingdom of Light.
Calen lifted his gaze again and repeated what he’d said earlier. “Jesus said it is finished. All was done on the cross. When He rose three days later the gate was opened, never to be closed again. I don’t need any other information. Jesus is no liar. I trust His words.”
Seraphiel’s eyes flashed like lightning and a low rumble rolled through the cave, not from the storm outside, but from the glowing light itself.
“Do you think I would dare to deceive you?” Seraphiel hissed. “I am one of the holy workers. I am one of the Mighty Ones.” As he spoke, the light around him twisted, darkening at the edges. “For the last time, hand over the Scrolls.”
“I was asked to collect the Scrolls,” Calen fired back. “And so, I will. You can keep your Testament of the Raging Dawn. I stick to the Word of God. That’s what I will do.”
Seraphiel’s eyes filled with rage. The wise, fatherly hermit vanished, his form twisting before Calen’s eyes into something else entirely, a towering, terrifying creature with hateful, bitter eyes and a fury Calen had never before witnessed.
“Yours is not to ask and wonder why,” Seraphiel hissed. “Yours is just to do and… die.”
One of his hands rose, stretching and reshaping into a claw. The air around it shimmered, and Calen knew the apparition was about to strike.
Have no fear. I am the Lord your God.
The words came to Calen loud and clear, as if Jesus Himself stood right beside him.
“Jesus, help me,” Calen cried out. “Rebuke this lying vision.” He looked up, gritted his teeth and hurled a verse of the Scrolls at Seraphiel: “Get thee behind me, Satan. In the name of Jesus.”
He had not even finished speaking when the shimmering glow vanished. The cove fell utterly silent, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Calen’s chest thumped; his hands trembled. For a moment, he waited, fearing some response, but nothing came. Silence stretched, absolute and complete, pressing in from every direction.
He swayed, trying to find his bearings, and rested his head against Hosanna’s neck. Tears spilled freely down his face.
That was when he noticed.
The storm was over. The moon hung high in a starlit sky, and somewhere in the distance, an owl called. All was at peace.
Hosanna shifted behind him, nuzzling his shoulder, calm and steady.
- 2 Corinthians 6:18
Marisa woke up refreshed. It had been a long time since she had felt this rested. The sun was already high, streaming through the windows, and afternoon had settled quietly over the house. A gentle warmth filled the room.
She lingered under the heavy quilt a bit longer, savoring its comfort as it seeped through her muscles and bones. The house was still. When she listened closely, she caught the faint scrape of dishes in the kitchen. Outside, a dog barked and a youthful voice rang out with joyful laughter. Everything felt the way it should; steady, familiar and ordinary.
Finally, she pushed the quilt aside and rose to her feet. Her stomach growled. No surprise. Last night, all she’d had was a cup of tea before bed.
Last night?
As she washed her face in the washbowl and the cold water revived her further, her thoughts drifted back to Calen. It had been a difficult fight, but God was so good. She rested in the assurance, wherever Calen was right now and whatever he was doing, he was in God’s hands and all was well.
Today would be another good day, as all days were, as long as they were consecrated to God. The words of a hymn she knew, rose and she began to hum.
For the beauty of the earth,
for the glory of the skies,
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise. *
She let the melody drift through her mind, a quiet offering of gratitude. Every note brought strength and blessing, turning the ordinary start of her day into something holy.
As she finished and prepared to step into the land of the living, the door was suddenly opened and it startled her. Tobin rushed in, his voice trembling with alarm.
“A soldier is coming… a soldier is on his way.” And off he was again, back to his mother in the kitchen.
Instant concern gripped Marisa. Droskar had let her go, claiming she was a witch. Still, it was painfully clear he was not finished with the followers of the God of the Scrolls, and neither was the Council of Twelve. She stopped brushing her hair, set down the brush and stepped into Isola’s kitchen.
Tobin pointed outside, his eyes wide with fear. “A soldier! Marisa, is he going to arrest you?”
“He is not,” Marisa said. “The Council of Twelve never sends only one soldier to accomplish a mission. They always work in teams.”
Her explanation brought a measure of peace in Tobin’s eyes.
“What’s more,” she continued, “why would Captain Droskar decide to arrest me again, after he just released me?” She gave Tobin a reassuring pat on the head. “No, Tobin. He wouldn’t dare.”
Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation she had overheard in the forest, when Droskar’s soldiers had come to the realization that hunting an invisible witch was not only useless, but could very well be dangerous. After all, Droskar’s body had apparently broken out in boils as large as turkey eggs. The captain feared her just as much as his men did, and that was fine. She had no intention of convincing him she was merely an ordinary goat herder. He was contending with the God of the Scrolls Himself.
Still, hearing about another one of Droskar’s soldiers unsettled her.
Looking outside, she saw him. A true soldier indeed, clad in the full armor of the Bramblebrook regiment, just like the three she had fooled in the forest. He was dismounting now. His expression was grim, and the sheath at his side held a formidable sword that gleamed in the sun.
She had never seen him before, but any soldier sent by Captain Droskar, Slink, or another follower of the Council of Twelve was never good news. She had to be careful.
Marisa’s breath caught as the grinding footsteps neared the front door. Tobin whined softly, and Pax growled. The footsteps stopped.
“Are you sure it’s going to be all right?” Isola whispered, pressing closer, her eyes wide.
Then came a sharp, commanding knock. It demanded an answer.
Marisa let out a slow breath. “Stay back,” she told Isola and Tobin. “I’ll open the door…”
____
* For the Beauty of the Earth” (1864) Folliott S. Pierpoint