Previously on Hidden Fragments…
Fleeing Droskar’s soldiers, Marisa, Tobin, and Isola escape into the forest with the help of the mysterious Ronan. With horns sounding behind them, they race toward an abandoned way station, hoping to stay one step ahead of the hunters closing in.
Meanwhile, Calen encounters the true hermit, Elior Bran, who feeds him a delicious breakfast and then helps him destroy the deceptive Scroll left by the prince of darkness, Seraphiel. At last, he brings unexpected news about Marisa which makes Calen’s heart jump for joy.
Chapter 30
Where Eagles Soar
The hermit was surprisingly fit for his age, striding ahead of Calen along the stony path. At first Calen considered offering him Hosanna, then thought better of it. The old man would take it as an insult. Instead, he followed, leading the horse by the reins and struggling to match the hermit’s pace.
After a quarter hour, they reached a fork in the trail. Elior Bran chose the lesser path, a narrow track that clung to the mountainside and wound downward along the face of the heights. Each step required care. Yet the bleak wilderness where Calen had passed the night, now gave way to a sight that drew the breath from his lungs.
Far below, a vast valley opened wide. A silver ribbon of water wound through fields and dark clusters of trees. In the distance lay a lake, still and pale beneath the morning light. Beyond it rose another mountain range, its peaks softened by haze.
The sun stood high in a flawless blue sky, pouring light across hill and meadow alike. How stark the contrast with the grey, jagged heights where he had contended with Seraphiel.
Elior stopped and turned, pointing toward the lake.
“That is your next stop, Young Pilgrim.”
Calen narrowed his eyes, following the line of the hermit’s hand.
“My next stop? What lies there?”
“Ömstead,” Elior replied. “There you will find the remaining Scrolls. The Lord has made it known.”
At the name, Calen’s heart faltered. He shaded his eyes, searching the far side of the water, but saw nothing that resembled a town.
“I do not see it.”
“Look again,” Elior said. “Beyond the lake. Close to the mountains.”
And then he saw it.
Faint shapes shimmered beside the shore, roofs catching sunlight. A slender church spire rising among clustered homes pressed against the mountain’s foot.
“That is Ömstead?”
Dread and hope rose together within him as he stared at the distant settlement. The remaining Scrolls. The Lord has made it known.
If all went well, and it should go well for the God of the Scrolls was with him, he would soon return home. He would see Marisa again. Isola. The others.
But what awaited him in that small cluster of roofs? Peace, or yet another trial?
His pulse quickened. Old memories pressed against his thoughts. He steadied himself with a hand on Hosanna’s neck.
Elior seemed to sense the unrest. In gentle tones he said,
“Take no thought for the morrow, Young Pilgrim. For the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
Calen managed a faint smile. The hermit was right, of course. Yet he wished he possessed such steadiness. Elior and Marisa always seemed to see beyond the moment, while he faltered at every shadow.
“I have much to learn, Master Elior.”
The old man shook his head, eyes bright.
“I am no master, Calen. We have only one Master. He is the One who holds the world in His hand.”
He clapped his hands together once, sharply, and turned back to the path.
“Come. You will first visit my dwelling. There is much we must discuss.”
Elior moved on, and Calen followed. Just before they entered a small forest, he cast one last look at the valley below and at Ömstead. High above, an eagle soared, its wings slicing the air. The bird screeched as it veered toward the lake.
A passage he had copied from the Scrolls came to mind: “They that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles.”
The thought steadied him. As he followed Elior into the forest, he murmured a soft prayer: “Help me, dear Lord, to be like the eagle; bold, trusting and unafraid. I know there is more to come, but when You are with me, all will be well.”
***
As they sped through the forest, the blaring sound of the ox horn sent a tremor through Marisa’s body. This one was ahead of them. Had the soldiers encircled them? They were so close. Much closer than she had expected.
Ronan’s jaw tightened. His expression hardened into something cold and determined.
“They are closing in on us,” he said. “I don’t know how it is possible, but they must have found our trail.”
“What do we do?” Marisa asked. “Can we outrun them?”
Ronan shook his head. “Not likely.” His grip tightened on the reins. “There’s only one thing to do.”
“What?”
He pointed toward a sharp rise in the forest, thick with bushes and scattered boulders. A narrow stream trickled at its base.
“Hide there. Take the horse with you,” he said. “I’ll ride toward them. They don’t know I’ve left the Council. I’ll try to lead them away.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a short shrug. “I’ll think of something. Just do as I say. We don’t have much time.”
Marisa saw Isola’s face pale.
He’s going back.
He was always one of them.
For a moment doubt flared in her chest. The thought of Isola and Tobin falling into Droskar’s hands stole her breath away.
Ronan was watching her.
“What are you waiting for?” he hissed. “Go. While you still can.”
When her own life had been threatened, she had not felt this fear.
But Tobin…
Isola…
That was different.
She looked into Ronan’s eyes. She could not read him.
“You speak of your God,” he muttered, impatience written over his face. “Now would be the time to trust Him.”
His words struck like an accusation. He was right.
“Climb down,” Marisa said, turning to Isola and motioning for her to move.
Isola hesitated, but then another blast of the horn cut through the forest. She jumped off the horse with a small cry.
Marisa gave Ronan one last look. He was risking everything for them. Not for glory. Not for reward. Just because Calen had once helped him. She wanted to say something; extend to him her trust and make him feel one of them. Nothing profound came. Instead, she whispered, “Go with God, Ronan.”
He nodded.
“I’ll see you again.” A faint smile touched his face. “I’m coming back. You don’t even know the way. Pray for me. Now go!” The sound of his horse’s hooves faded quickly as he rode off. When she turned once more, she saw him vanish between the trees.
“Come,” Marisa said to Isola. “Over there.”
She steered Whisperwind toward the bushes, praying silently as she went.
Then she got off the horse in the thick undergrowth. Branches scratched her face as she pushed forward. She ignored the pain.
Tobin clung to her side and Isola followed close behind. Pax brought up the rear, unusually quiet.
Please, God. Don’t let him bark.
Another horn blast sounded nearby.
Marisa pressed her arm around Tobin. “Whatever happens,” she whispered, “we are in God’s hands.”
Isola’s arm tightened around her shoulder. “Thank you, Marisa. I don’t know how I would survive this without you.”
Marisa managed a tired smile. “Whatever happens, we are in God’s hands.”
They pressed themselves behind a large cluster of boulders, hidden beneath branches and leaves. It was a good hiding place and they kept as quiet as they could.
Even Pax seemed to understand. He curled near Tobin’s feet and lay still. Marisa marveled at the animal that didn’t seem concerned about a care in the world.
The minutes passed.
A bird screeched somewhere in the distance. A deer burst through the brush and vanished just as quickly.
Nothing else moved.
Then, at least fifteen minutes later, they heard the ox horn again.
Far away.
Much further than before.
Isola’s shoulders loosened. “Do you think they…?” she whispered.
Another blast sounded.
Even further away.
Ronan’s trick had worked.
Marisa closed her eyes. “Dear God… be with Ronan. Keep him safe.”
All three relaxed and dared to move again. Tobin stuck his head up and ventured a peek around the massive boulder. When he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, he turned to Marisa and asked, “Are we safe, Marisa?”
“Let’s hope so, Tobin. But let’s not be careless now.”
“What will we do now?” Tobin wanted to know.
“We just wait,” Marisa said. There was nothing else to do.
Wait for Ronan.
Wait for a miracle.
Wait for a path forward she could not yet see.
After some time, Elior turned, a smile creasing his weathered face. “Well… what do you think?”
Calen stopped. Until that moment he had done little more than follow, one hand on Hosanna’s reins, his eyes fixed on the path. His thoughts had been elsewhere.
His breath stalled, and he loosened Hosanna’s reins without realizing it.
Trees rose around them; their bark furred with lichen and moss. Their branches locked overhead, sealing off the sky. Yet light slipped through in narrow beams, gold darkening to green and then to orange before settling on the forest floor.
The leaves whispered as the breeze moved through them, and a lump rose in Calen’s throat. He inhaled slowly. Warm wood, sharp pine needles, unfamiliar flowers and the dark, damp smell of turned soil filled his lungs.
Somewhere far off he heard the steady dripping of water. It was soft, yet curiously distinct, as if the sound was somehow amplified.
Beyond that, there was nothing to hear. He tilted his head, expecting to hear the twitter of birds.
He waited and listened, but the only thing he could now hear was the sound of his own heartbeat.
“No birds?” he asked. “I don’t hear any.”
Elior smiled in quiet mystery and nodded. “They are here. Only… not at this moment.”
Calen did not understand, yet sensed it was not his place to ask the hermit about it any further. He nodded and continued to gaze in wonder.
He lowered his voice to a whisper. The silence felt fragile, as if a louder word might shatter it.
The hermit turned and said, “A little ways further now and we shall be at my home.”
Across the path stood an enormous tree. Yet someone, likely Elior himself, had carved a perfect passage through it, so that they might pass through as if it were a tunnel. The air within smelled damp, yet fresh, and by no means unpleasant.
With every step Calen took, he felt smaller. How was it possible that he, as one who had been educated by the Silent Scribes, had never heard of this place?
Elior seemed to read his thoughts. He turned and said, “Few cross the Bridge of Echoes. Thus, this area of our country remains ever so quiet… and delightfully still. Here the Council of Twelve can’t reach.”
Calen thought about what Elior said. A delightful truth, and yet it appeared the forces of darkness still seemed able to cross the Bridge. That much was clear after his encounter with Seraphiel.
At last, they reached a clearing. It was a grassy, sun-covered field laden with wildflowers in various colors. Hosanna seemed equally impressed; the horse let out a joyful neigh and began to feed on the rich verdure. At the edge was a small stream.
Elior stopped.
“Here I dwell,” he said simply. “Look.” He pointed ahead.
Calen looked in the direction where he pointed. The path led to a large tree with a massive trunk. A sturdy wooden staircase was spiraling upward about the trunk like a great serpent and it led halfway the trunk to a quaint looking treehouse.
“Y-You live up there?” Calen stammered.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Elior replied. “Come, and let us go up and share a cup of raspberry tea.”
Tea sounded good.
Elior stepped towards the tree and began to ascend. After climbing some steps and nearly vanishing behind the curve of the trunk, he paused and looked down at Calen with good-natured patience.
“Are you coming? It’s safe. I built it myself.”
Calen nodded and steadied himself. Of course he could climb it. He had crossed the Bridge of Echoes.