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Previously on Hidden Fragments

Calen’s long journey brought him at last to the hermit Elior, where what began as a simple moment of rest turned into a life-altering revelation. Though Calen believed his quest nearly complete, Elior revealed a far greater calling: the Scrolls were not merely to be gathered, but multiplied. Calen, once unknowingly tied to the false Book of Order, is now chosen to help spread the true Word across the land, through writing, copying, and raising up others to do the same. What he thought was the end of his mission is only the beginning of a lifelong calling, one that will demand faith, sacrifice, and courage beyond anything he has yet faced.

Meanwhile, far from Calen, Marisa, Tobin, Isola, and the soldier Ronan take shelter in a crumbling Waystation, where trust is still fragile after past betrayals. As night falls, a small discovery stirs new hope and perhaps new danger. Guided by Pax, Tobin and Ronan uncover a hidden Scroll buried within the ruins. But in a land where truth is hunted and darkness watches closely, even the smallest light may draw unseen eyes…

Chapter 33

The Awakening of Hearts 

By the time Calen and Elior reached the softly rippling river, it was late in the day. The hermit had said he wanted to pray for him, but why here? Couldn’t he have just prayed in his hut up in the tree? 

Calen studied the horizon far away. The sun was sinking quickly, and it would not be long before the fiery orb would be swallowed by the Grey Mountains. 

It was a breathtaking sight. Great clouds drifting in reflected the light of the setting sun in a palette of deep oranges and burning reds.

Patches of blue sky seemed to resist the approaching night, but their struggle was futile. Within half an hour the sun would disappear completely, and the darkness would slowly swallow the land.

The hermit seemed unconcerned about the approaching darkness. He climbed over several smooth rocks, pushed some reeds aside and to Calen’s astonishment stepped right into the golden stream.

“W-what are you doing,” Calen said. “You are getting yourself all wet.”

“Come,” Elior said and motioned for Calen to follow him into the stream. 

Hesitation rose. Had the hermit lost his mind? Not that it was cold, but still… why would he do such a thing? 

A smile appeared on the hermit’s face.

“Afraid of the water, Young Pilgrim?”

“Of course not,” said Calen. He felt clumsy and small, but he was not afraid of water. The hermit now stood in the middle of the current. The water flowed gently around his waist.

“But… what are we going to do here?”

The hermit chuckled. “You are about to take a new step of faith, Calen. And to properly equip you for the rest of your mission, you will need more strength, and that strength can only come from God.”

“But that strength isn’t in the water, is it?” Calen said.

“Of course not,” said the hermit. “But God wants to anoint you with His Holy Spirit. In one of the Scrolls you copied, the apostle Paul asked, ‘Have you received the Holy Spirit since you believed?’ I would like to baptize you just as the first Christians did.”

Suddenly Calen understood what the hermit meant. He had read about it in the Scroll of John, where the Baptizer was mentioned, the man who said he baptized with water, but that Jesus would baptize with fire and the Holy Spirit. The Spirit described as the Comforter, who gives power and leads believers into all truth.

He recalled how Marisa had once mentioned that the apostle Peter had been rather clumsy throughout most of his time with Jesus, yet he became a fiery apostle after receiving the Holy Spirit. The hermit wanted him to receive the Holy Spirit as well.

He stared at the water.

The sun was now behind the mountains and the sparkle that had been on the stream before, was slipping away. The water now appeared cold and deep. He looked once more at the hermit, who patiently waited for Calen to step in.

At last, he took the plunge.

If it worked for the apostle Peter, why wouldn’t it work for me?

He climbed over the same smooth stones as Elior had done, pushed the reeds aside, and stepped into the stream. To his relief, the water wasn’t as cold as he had feared. Still, a slight shiver rippled through his body as he stepped forward and the water surrounded him, cooling his skin.

He waded toward the hermit, who stood ready.

Not sure what was expected of him, he stared helplessly at Elior. The hermit’s eyes were ever so kind and gentle.

“W-what do I do now?” Calen asked.

“Nothing,” the hermit replied. “Just let me help you. May I place my hands on your head?”

“Of course,” Calen said.

“I will dunk you under water,” Elior explained. A moment later Calen felt the hermit’s strong hand rest on his head. The old man closed his eyes and spoke a quiet prayer.

“Lord of heaven and earth, receive this pilgrim. Fill him with Your Spirit and guide his steps.”

He had barely finished speaking when Calen felt the hermit’s gentle push. He did not resist as he was immersed in the water.

The water covered him completely and caressed his cheeks. A deep silence settled over him as the hermit kept him beneath the surface for a few seconds, moments that seemed like a wonderful eternity. Calen was certain he could hear his own heartbeat.

Then the hermit pulled him back up.

Calen opened his eyes as water streamed down his face and stared around in astonishment.

The river shimmered with an ethereal light, as if countless small crystals had been scattered across its surface.

Above the darkening trees, the moon had already risen. Calen had expected the cold to make him shiver, yet a strange warmth filled him instead.

Words rose within him, words he had never spoken before. For a moment he felt as though heaven itself were very near.

Elior watched with quiet amusement and said nothing.

At last Calen turned to the hermit and stammered,

“How great our God is.”

“He is,” Elior replied solemnly. “Come, let us go home and warm ourselves with another cup of tea. I will show you more about the Spirit in one of the Scrolls I have for you. And then, in a few days, you must travel to Ömstead to retrieve the last Scrolls.”

The name Ömstead had once filled him with dread. Yet now it held no fear at all. Instead, a quiet excitement stirred within him. Serving God seemed to take on a different meaning.

Was that the work of the Spirit?

Well, as he had thought before, it had happened to the apostle Peter, so why not to him?

Elior was already stepping out of the river.

Calen followed him, filled with a courage he had never known before.

The water sloshed in his boots, but it sounded like a melody sent straight from heaven.

Ronan examined the small Scroll from every side and shrugged.

“Probably messages the smugglers hide for one another. Nothing much to it.”

But Tobin thought otherwise.

“We should show it to Marisa at once,” he said excitedly. “Who knows, it might be one of the Scrolls Calen is searching for. What does it say?”

Ronan cast him a nervous glance.

“Perhaps you’re right. Let’s show it to the others.”

“Does it have a name?” Tobin wanted to know. “The Scrolls all have names.”

You know…” Ronan began hesitantly, “…I cannot read. So, I don’t know.”

“By the Whiskers of Saint Gilles,” Tobin said, almost speechless. “Surely every man can read?”

“Well, I do not,” Ronan grumbled. “I had other things to do.”

Tobin shook his head.

“That’s all right. I can teach you; it isn’t hard.”

“Sure,” Ronan snapped. “That will do. Let’s just show the Scroll to Marisa.”

Without paying Tobin any further attention he strode off with the Scroll, in search of Marisa.

She let out a small cry of excitement when Ronan showed her the find.

“W-where did you get this?” she asked, touching it as if it were a priceless gem.

“A little farther down,” Ronan said, pointing into the darkness.

“Was there anything else?”

“There was a hole in the wall where the dog found it. When I pulled the stone loose, I saw this. Nothing more.”

Marisa’s eyes widened.

“This,” she began, “is indeed one of the Scrolls Calen has been searching for.”

“Seems rather small,” Ronan said, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Very small, but one we did not yet have. This is the Scroll of Jude.”

Ronan shrugged impatiently.

“What’s so special about these Scrolls anyway? Why are Captain Droskar and that Slink fellow so eager to destroy them?”

“This is the Word of God,” Marisa said reverently, letting her fingers glide over the Scroll.

“But we already have the Book of Order,” Ronan replied. “What more do we need? And who is this God that He should be so important?”

“You do not really know God yet, do you?” Marisa asked gently. “God is the Creator of heaven and earth.”

“Bold claim,” Ronan said, struggling to understand.

“Yes,” Marisa agreed. “And He is the true King too. Not the Council of Twelve.”

Ronan narrowed his eyes, trying to process it all. “Is that why men like my captain are so eager to destroy the Scrolls?”

Marisa’s face lit up. “If people come to know God, they will no longer follow the Council. God’s ways are often very different from what the usurpers demand.” She smiled. “But enough from me. You may read for yourself.”

She held the Scroll out, but Ronan waved it away.

“Much too dark,” he said.

Marisa frowned. “Soon we’ll have light. You were gathering wood, weren’t you? You can read while we share our meal.”

Ronan scratched his head and gave her a helpless look, mumbling something she couldn’t make out.

“What?” she asked.

“He cannot read,” Tobin said. “But that’s all right. I’ll teach him.”

Marisa’s expression softened, and she placed a hand on Ronan’s shoulder.

“I understand. That is nothing to be ashamed of. I will read the words aloud, and then you can decide for yourself what to do with the God of these Scrolls.”

Ronan nodded, though his face showed he felt even smaller than Tobin.

The boy tugged at Ronan’s sleeve. “Come on. We’ve got to get the wood.”

Ronan seemed relieved and followed Tobin to the pile of wood he had been slicing with his sword. Together, they stacked the kindling and larger logs while Isola and Marisa prepared the small camp. Soon, the fire leapt to life, crackling warmly and sending sparks flickering into the night sky.

Half an hour later, the four of them sat around the glowing fire, its warmth softening the chill of the evening.

Ronan poked at the flames with his sword, sparks leaping high into the night. The others remained tense after the day’s events, but the warmth and crackle of the fire slowly eased their nerves.

What now?

They were hungry.

Isola knew what to do. That morning, in her haste, she had grabbed a few loaves of bread from the table before fleeing her cottage. Now she tore them into uneven pieces, the crusts a bit stale. The smell of bread mingled with the fire smoke was almost enough to make them forget the day’s dangers.

Ronan had a flask of Ogre Ale tucked in his saddlebag, which he was eager to share with his friends. Tobin’s ears perked up at the offer, but his mother shook her head firmly when Ronan held it out.

“I saw a small stream with clear, fresh water just behind the Waystation. Plenty to drink,” she said kindly, looking at Ronan. “Still, thanks.”

Ronan shrugged with a look that said, ‘Fine. All the more for me,’ and took a long pull from the flask.

There they sat.

Tobin stared into the flames with Pax at his feet. After finishing his bread, his head drooped forward; he was utterly exhausted. Isola sprang up and carefully laid him on her cloak, covering him as best she could.

No one knew what to say, until Ronan cleared his throat and said,

“That Scroll… the thing we found. Can you tell me a bit about it, Marisa?”

“Ah, the Scroll of Jude,” Marisa said thoughtfully. She gave Ronan an affirming nod and got up to retrieve the Scroll from her saddlebag on Whisperwind’s back.

She sat back down again, unrolled the Scroll and studied the words before her. “Jude,” she said slowly while briefly looking up at Ronan, “was a follower of the God-man, called Jesus Christ.” 

“So, in your circles, this Jude was a good man?” he asked.

Marisa nodded. “He was. There was another fellow by the same name, but he was like Slink. But now let me read…”

Marisa began, her voice steady and gentle in the darkness.

I must ask you to defend the faith that God has once for all given to his people. 

Ronan leaned forward, not wanting to miss even a word. The fire crackled softly as she read. He didn’t understand much of what he heard, yet he knew something profound was being shared with him.

An unfamiliar awe crept over him. The words pressed on him until he felt small beneath them. How was this possible? What strange words these were.

We should also be warned by what happened to the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah and the nearby towns.
Their people became immoral and committed all sorts of sexual sins.

The words struck him like a blow. He thought of what he had done in the dark hours of the day. He forced the thoughts away. He did not want to miss another word.

They are like senseless animals that end up getting destroyed, because they live only by their feelings.
Now they are in for real trouble.

His breath came in short gasps as he struggled to understand what that Scroll meant. The words felt as though they were written about him. The Book of Order didn’t say such things…

These people grumble and complain and live by their own selfish desires.
They brag about themselves and flatter others to get what they want.

“Stop,” he cried out. “I mean … read on!”

Marisa stopped reading and looked at him. 

“What do you want me to do, dear man?” she asked softly.

Dear man?

No one had called him that in years. 

Perhaps his mother had, once. Long ago.

No, he was anything but dear. On the contrary, he was a horrible man who had only lived for himself, just as this Scroll said. He wanted to hear more, but he did not want to. It hurt too much. There was no hope for him.

“R-read on,” he whispered. A shiver ran through him.

Marisa nodded and looked at the Scroll again.

And keep in step with God’s love, as you wait for our Lord Jesus Christ to show how kind he is by giving you eternal life.

He heard no more. A sob tore out of him.

Marisa handed the Scroll to Isola and walked over to Ronan. She knelt beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. “It’s all right, Ronan,” she spoke in a soft voice. “As I read, Jesus is kind. He forgives all our sins, including yours.”

“I have been so bad,” Ronan wailed. “Never saw it before, but now I see.” He looked up with a tear-stained face. “Is there any hope for me?”

She smiled at him, ever so gently. “Calen went through the same thing,” she said gently. “And you saw what became of him.”

“Can you teach me the way of the Scrolls?” Ronan asked, still crying. 

He hated tears.

He never cried.

And yet, crying felt so good. 

For the first time in his life, he wanted to know the One the Scroll spoke about.

The One who was kind.

The One who gave eternal life.

_____

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