Previously on Hidden Fragments:
Calen and Marisa left the cave on horseback, bound for Ömstead beyond the Grey Mountains. Along the way, Marisa taught Calen the sacred Scrolls, memorizing their words as they rode. But when carrier pigeons crossed their path, fear stirred that the Council of Twelve might be tracking them.
They met Tobin, a slightly crippled boy on his way to the Bramblebrook market, and took him along. Yet as they reached the town gates, soldiers stood watch, and the pigeon on the captain’s shoulder suddenly took flight as if marking them for capture.
Chapter 10
At the Edge of Danger
The sight of heavily armed guards, their faces dark with suspicion, made Calen hesitate. Maybe it would be wiser to turn back and forget about Bramblebrook. No loaf of bread was worth this kind of danger. The soldiers brutally searched everyone without mercy; mothers, children, even an old farmer with a twisted back. They nearly pushed him to the ground and the poor man stumbled, barely able to keep his balance. The soldiers laughed and hurled foul insults at the trembling man.
These ruffians were hunting for something, and Calen knew exactly what: the Scrolls they carried.
He gritted his teeth, his heart thudding with dread. What could they do?
“Shall we turn around?” he whispered to Marisa. “I don’t like the look of that.”
Marisa sighed and murmured, “You are right. I don’t trust them, either.”
But it was too late. One of the soldiers had already spotted them and let out an excited yell. “Look!” he barked in a harsh voice. “A young woman and a man … perhaps the very ones we seek.”
The soldiers lost interest in the farmer and strode towards them.
Almost imperceptibly, Marisa moved her hand to the shiny cross around her neck and hid it behind her clothes. This was no time to attract unnecessary attention.
Calen heard the thunder of hooves behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and froze. Another soldier, his face twisted in a cruel sneer, rode up on a sturdy horse.
“We need to make the best of it,” Calen whispered to Marisa. “If we run now, with little Tobin perched on Whisperwind, we have no chance.”
“Pray,” Marisa whispered back, her voice trembling but her eyes shining. “The Lord is my refuge and my fortress; in Him will I tru—”
“Stop!” a dark, unpleasant voice roared. The horseman had caught up with them.
Marisa stopped Whisperwind and turned her head to face him. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said in a pleasant voice. “It is market day today, isn’t it? We came for apples and flour. Is there a problem?”
Calen recognized the uniform. He was the captain of the guard. He wore the same uniform Drenick had.
She gave the man one of her dazzling smiles, though Calen saw the tension in her arms; she was brave, but would it be enough?
Briefly disarmed by Marisa’s beauty and her innocent speech, the captain’s harsh stance softened. “Is that your son?” he asked, motioning toward Tobin.
“My son?” Marisa asked, still smiling, though a flicker of nervousness crossed her eyes.
Tobin tightened his grip around her waist and pressed his face into her back, shoulders trembling, refusing to look at the soldier.
“What’s with him?” the captain asked.
“He’s been through a lot,” Marisa said, sliding one arm protectively around the boy. “His father is gone … he gets frightened easily.”
“That’s unfortunate,” the captain said, casting Calen a suspicious glance. “So … I take it this fellow is the boy’s new father? Your new husband?”
Marisa let out a small laugh. “Not at all, good sir. We’ve only just met and travel together for company.”
The captain’s stance relaxed even more. “Apples and flour… you live nearby?”
“It’s a bit of a ride, sir,” Marisa replied sweetly. “We mean no harm … just need some supplies, then we’ll be on our way.” She tilted her head and added in a coy tone, “I’m sure you’re hunting troublemakers. It’s a shame what the world’s gotten to these days … ”
The captain smiled and guided his horse closer to Marisa, leaning over. Calen caught the sharp odor of garlic and ale.
“Indeed,” the captain said, voice rough. “Looking for some troublemakers. A woman with a hard face who is smelling of goats … and a man who looks like one of those deceived followers of that god who doesn’t exist. A real clodpoll. Not like you, though.” His eyes roamed over Marisa. To Calen he looked like a wolf eyeing a helpless little lamb.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Marisa replied in innocent tones. “Hope you’ll catch them soon … Can we, eh … be on our way, now?”
The captain thought for a moment, smacking his lips. “Could I invite you for a pint of Ogre’s Ale at the Crooked Lantern? We rarely see a woman … as … as delicate as you,” he said, clearly grasping for words that might impress her.
Calen bit his lip, unease gnawing at him. He disliked the exchange. He wasn’t entirely sure Marisa was still just trying to fool this man. The fellow smelled bad, yet there was something disarmingly handsome about him too. It was a stupid thought, a fleeting doubt he shouldn’t entertain, and yet it lingered. Marisa’s apparent fondness for that brute unsettled him even more.
Now she even leaned closer, her head dangerously near the captain’s. And of all things, she flashed a radiant smile, the kind even Calen himself had never seen.
“And I don’t meet a handsome captain like you every day,” she said brightly. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on that pint. Where in town is the Crooked Lantern?”
A victorious grin split the captain’s face, softening his harsh features into something almost friendly. “Right on the market square,” he said. “Next to the town hall. You can’t miss it.” He paused, then added, “I’m off duty in an hour, but …”
“But what?” Marisa asked.
“The Crooked Lantern doesn’t allow children,” he said, eyes flicking toward Tobin with an eagerness that made Calen’s stomach turn. “And your friend… well, it’s mostly a place for soldiers.”
“I know,” Marisa said, as if tavern rules were no surprise to her. “It won’t be a problem,” she continued, shrugging as she cast Calen a disinterested look. “He’s just someone I met, that’s all.”
A sharp pain cut through Calen’s heart. He knew she didn’t mean it, not really. Or… did she?
“Good,” the captain replied, a gleam lighting his dark eyes. “Hope to see you there for a good pint of Ogre’s Ale,” the captain continued. “… or two, perhaps?”
“Looking forward to it, handsome,” Marisa said smoothly.
“My name is Droskar,” the captain said, clearly pleased at the compliment. “Droskar Varn. Ask for me if you don’t see me there immediately. The place is usually packed.”
“Nice,” Marisa said with a teasing nod.
Calen bit back his anger. Did she really have to rub it in like this? Droskar was no gallant captain, but a vulture in a uniform. Handsome, perhaps, but in an ugly way. Calen detested his gray bushy brows, hawk-like nose, sunken eyes, and, as far as he was concerned, the man looked downright sick. Yet Marisa seemed oblivious to all of it. She clicked her tongue and urged Whisperwind forward, leading them past the soldiers with a calmness that made Calen’s stomach twist.
“W-Wait,” one of the other soldiers said, tugging the captain’s arm. “Captain, we should search them. You mustn’t let them pass.”
Calen’s heart skipped. His eyes darted to his boot. No! The scroll … there it was, jutting out in plain sight. After reading it to Marisa, he hadn’t tucked it back properly. A slip of parchment was plain for any man to see.
Panic rose like fire in his chest. Fool that he was! One mistake, and all was lost.
Captain Droskar scowled, clearly irritated at being challenged. He laid a heavy hand on Calen’s horse, as if he owned it.
“Just peasants,” he said sharply. Then, with a glare at his underling: “They’re not who we’re after. I’ve been a captain since you were in swaddling clothes. I can smell a rat better than any man alive, and these three aren’t the ones we are looking for.”
Calen saw Marisa’s eyes flickering up. She had seen the scroll too, but kept her composure. The captain’s eyes slid one more time over Marisa, then turned to Calen … his legs, his boots … and saw nothing. “You can pass,” he said at last.
What? He had not seen the parchment! How was that possible?
With a pounding heart he too moved his horse forward. The soldiers stepped aside, and the three of them rode slowly through the gate into Bramblebrook.
Calen felt as though in only a few moments he had aged years.
***
Bramblebrook bustled with noise, smoke and restless energy.
Calen remembered his lessons at the Silent Scribes: Bramblebrook was the last town of note before Bonefang Desert, the wild stretch before Ömstead. Thus, it was a booming city with trade and commerce. This was obvious especially today, since it was market day. There were people all over the place; farmers rattled past with their creaking ox-carts, wheels clattering against the cobblestones. Merchants staggered beneath bundles of wares, shouting hoarse promises of the best deals. Irritated mothers dragged whining children along, while the occasional nobleman glided through, nose high, with silks brushing against the dust and dung of the street.
The houses leaned toward one another like tired old men. Their sagging roofs were patched with moss and tar. Smoke belched from crooked chimneys, draping the streets in a haze of roasted meat and burned wood as well as ash.
Not a place Calen wished to linger in any longer than necessary. First things first, though. He was still in shock after the encounter with the soldiers and couldn’t shake the uneasy surprise of seeing Marisa so at ease with the captain.
Why it bothered him so much, he couldn’t tell, but the feeling gnawed at him.
He cleared his throat. “Eh … Marisa?”
She turned, eyebrows lifted, eyes bright with curiosity. “What is it, Calen?”
He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’re not actually going to the Crooked Lantern, are you?”
For a moment, she looked at him, her face a perfect question mark. Then she broke into a disarming, jovial laugh.
“What? Me, drinking Ogre’s Ale with Captain Droskar? I don’t like that stuff, and I like Droskar even less.” She narrowed her eyes and softened her voice. “You’re not serious, are you? Droskar is the enemy, yet the Scrolls tell us to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves. And that,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on Calen, “is exactly what I did.”
Calen felt his cheeks getting warm. He understood. How could he have been so foolish? And why had he doubted Marisa so easily? After all she had been through with him, and after all the kindness she had shown him …
He remembered telling himself not to yield to feelings that bordered on the romantic. They would only endanger the mission. And yet, he had. Now he knew. He had been jealous. Plain and simple.
He felt her gentle eyes boring into him and for a moment he wished he could disappear into a hole in the ground. She knew exactly what he had been thinking.
Thankfully, Tobin came to the rescue.
“What you are saying is true,” the boy cried out from behind. “That captain is the enemy. That’s why I was afraid.”
“I thought you were acting,” Marisa said, the surprise palpable in her voice.
“I wasn’t,” Tobin replied, his voice low and a little ashamed. “That Captain came to our house once. He was looking for something. He even claimed we owned illegal writings. They searched our place and left an enormous mess, but found nothing.”
Marisa stopped her horse, turned and looked at the boy. “Your mother has illegal writings? What are they?”
“Mother says they’re not illegal at all,” Tobin said, clearly a little offended. “They’re part of God’s word. Are you looking for them too?”
Calen blinked, hardly believing his ears. Finally he said, “Yes, Tobin, we are, but not like Captain Droskar. That man wants to destroy the Scrolls. We want to collect them so everyone can read them.”
“By the whiskers of Saint Giles!” Tobin said, his eyes lighting up. “That sounds wonderful. Mother says the words of the Scrolls give life, light and hope.”
“They sure do,” Marisa added with a smile, ruffling Tobin’s hair. “They’re the best thing that could ever happen to our country.” She paused, then added, “You said there’s a meeting tonight at your house … and that we’d be welcome? We can drive you back.”
“Good gravy!” Tobin exclaimed. “Then I won’t have to carry the apples and flour alone, on my way back.”
“No, you won’t,” Calen said. “We will carry you.”
Tobin’s eyes shone like diamonds in the sun. He hesitated for a moment, then whispered innocently, “The baker has Scrolls too … though I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you that.”
“What baker?” Calen asked, feeling his courage return.
“Samwell Wheatley,” Tobin replied. “He sometimes comes to our house, and then we read from the Scroll he has.”
“The baker has a Scroll as well?” Calen could hardly believe his ears.
“Where’s the bakery?” Marisa asked.
“Just go straight,” Tobin said. “That’s where I buy the flour.”
Marisa cast Calen a hopeful glance. It warmed his heart. She had already forgotten his brief moment of jealousy, and everything felt right between them again.
Thank you, dear God, for teaching me so many new and beautiful things. I am a foolish man, but I am grateful for Your mercy.
***
A few hundred yards back, at the gate, a new traveler arrived on a large black steed. A wiry man in a black cloak and hood rode up to the guards. He turned down his hood. “Captain!” he called to Droskar, who was taking a break in the shade, nibbling a dry sausage.
Droskar froze. Then recognition flickered in his eyes. “Slink,” he said slowly. “You’re here for the renegades… aren’t you?”
“I am.” The voice was dark and menacing.
____