Previously on Hidden Fragments
Calen’s mission to protect the sacred Scrolls was shaken by betrayal when he trusted the wrong man. While he failed to see the danger, Marisa sensed it in time. She hid the Scrolls, unknown to the others, beneath Tobin’s bed. Wracked with guilt but determined, Calen resolved to carry them alone to the hermit in the Grey Mountains, trusting God to guide him.
Meanwhile, Captain Droskar was struck by a mysterious affliction and, convinced Marisa had cursed him, begrudgingly showed her mercy. With Marisa now free but watched, and Calen on a perilous journey, the paths of faith, danger, and vengeance are set to collide.
Chapter 22
Steps into the Unknown
The Scrolls were safe; for the moment.
As Calen carried them back to the kitchen table with Tobin running after him, they felt like heavy rocks, although they barely weighed anything at all. He laid them down carefully, arranging them by size and let out a deep sigh. He was grateful that their work had not been in vain. Yet the relief was short-lived. With the Scrolls in his care again, the burden had returned. He felt Tobin’s eyes boring into him and when he looked up, another pang of guilt welled up. The boy clearly did not want him to go, but he had no choice. Keeping the Scrolls here placed Isola and Tobin in grave danger. It would only be a matter of time before soldiers came to search the place.
The Grey Mountains and the Bridge of Echoes called him once more, and he could not delay any longer.
“Will you leave right away?” Isola asked, as if reading his thoughts.
Calen turned and met the eyes of dear Isola. How he had come to appreciate this gentle woman, these last weeks. Seeing her warm expression and her trusting eyes made him even more determined.
“Yes, I will,” he said gravely. “Immediately after breakfast. The soldiers may come and while I don’t believe Marisa will tell Droskar where she hid the Scrolls, we cannot take anything for granted. I need to go to the hermit and keep them safe, that was our original plan.”
“But you don’t know the way,” Isola objected.
Calen shrugged. “God does. It’s time I truly trust Him. He will show the way.”
“Can I come?” Tobin asked.
“No,” Isola said at once, her voice firm. “It’s way too dangerous.”
“But I want to come,” he pouted. “God will keep me too.”
Calen sighed and placed his hand on Tobin’s head. “Your mother is right, Tobin,” he said. “While I could use your company and I would love to ride with you, this is not your call. You need to stay here. Remember, you are the man in the house.”
“Will you come back?” Tobin asked and his lip trembled.
“I am most certainly planning on it,” Calen replied. “This house will be just about the first place I want to come back to when all is as God wants it to be.”
And so it was that not much later, Calen mounted Hosanna and waved one last time to Isola and Tobin. He greatly missed Marisa, but it was no use torturing himself with more thoughts of guilt and sorrow. He had a mission to fulfill and by God’s grace he would do it.
Isola had supplied him with a new travel bag, filled with the precious Scrolls and a bit of food to tide him over for a few days.
“Here we go, Father,” he whispered while looking up to the heavens. The words of a hymn Marisa had sung to him on several occasions rose and he hummed them. *
I’ll go where You want me to go, dear Lord,
Over mountain, plain, or sea;
I’ll say what You want me to say, dear Lord,
I’ll be what You want me to be. *
The journey would be tough and while his failures were overwhelming, God would not abandon him. That much was clear.
*Lyrics: Mary Brown (written in 1895)
***
Marisa had no idea what was happening.
Upon their arrival in Bramblebrook, her guards dumped her at Droskar’s office. For unknown reasons, they ran off as fast as they could. As if she carried something they feared.
Meeting Droskar had been a trial.
As far as Marisa was concerned, he was a madman and his attitude had only strengthened her convictions. He had ranted and raved, trying to coax her into submission. But before she would cower for someone like Droskar, she would have to lose her own sanity. And by God’s grace, that would never happen. She answered him calmly, even politely and respectfully, so as to not aggravate him further. When the Captain finally understood she would not fall for his threats, charms or empty promises, he exploded into a rage.
In a hysterical voice, he called for his soldiers. Rough hands grabbed her and tossed her into a dark dungeon. A miserable place it was, but at least she no longer had to face Captain Droskar.
There was nothing but moldy straw on a cold stone floor. The cell had no windows, and it was as dark as midnight in a forest on a moonless winter night. A terrible, oppressive scent of death and decay hung in the air and she was alone.
Well… almost. She could feel the stare of unseen creatures upon her, probably rats, still deciding what to do about this unpleasant intruder.
Hardly any food had been given to her. By the light of a smelly torch and with a mocking grin, the jailer slid a filthy jug of water into her cell. The vessel was cracked and its contents quickly seeped away, barely lasting a minute.
Yet, in spite of it all, the wonderful sense of peace that had come over her on the way back to Bramblebrook had not left her.
God was good.
God was great. And He was still with her.
She refused to fix her eyes on her circumstances. Instead, she lifted them to the hills of heaven, from where her true help would come. Her dear Savior had never felt closer, and this hellish place of misery, at least within her heart, was swiftly transformed into a temple of worship and blessing.
And then, without warning or explanation, the jailer appeared again with his smelly torch. He coughed apologetically, helped her to her feet and said, “Would you… um… like to sleep in a real bed? We’ve been given orders to move you upstairs, and there’s a meal of bread waiting for you.”
She was suspicious. Droskar was a sly, twisted man and surely had a reason for suddenly improving her situation. But she would not give in. That much was clear. Never.
Still, moving away from her cell seemed a welcome option and she agreed.
Her new quarters felt like heaven compared to the dungeon below. This room was luxurious and spacious. A wonderful canopy bed with colorful drapes stood in the center, while several large woven tapestries adorned the walls. One of them depicted noblemen hunting a fox; another showed children playing in a kitchen as a woman prepared food. Lovely. It gave the room a homey atmosphere.
A large rocking chair near the window invited quiet contemplation, perfect for overlooking the green fields of Bramblebrook or meditating on the gentle clouds drifting by. What a change from her horrible cell. The room looked bright and fresh and there was a smell of sandalwood.
However, a guard posted at the door reminded her that she was still a prisoner. Escaping through the window would be a harrowing undertaking. The ground below was too far; a jump would surely injure her. And even if she survived, she would still find herself right in the middle of the prison compound.
It was best to trust God and see what would happen.
Then a large dinner was served: honey-glazed river pheasant with saffron barley and spiced figs. Surely Droskar was laying it on thick. She stared at the steaming delicacies in wonder. Dear God, help me be prepared for whatever this fellow is cooking up in his unbelieving mind.
She ate slowly, savoring each bite, when a servant appeared, hesitant, a small smile on his face. “You may go, Milady. You are free.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, blinking in disbelief.
The servant bowed and pointed to the open door. “My master, Captain Droskar, says… everyone, that is, all of us, misunderstood. He… he wanted me to say that.” The words stumbled out, oddly formal, almost as if the servant were reciting from a script. “And… will you forgive any mistakes we’ve made?”
Marisa could hardly believe her ears. She had not been sure she would even live. She expected more cruelty, but an apology was offered. The tales of the executions of faithful brethren at the hand of the Council of Twelve were plentiful. Yet, she had not been afraid. Her heart was right with God. But this, no, this she had not expected, not even in her fantasies. Confusion stirred. Was this another trick?
“Droskar is sorry?”
“Yes, Milady. He truly hopes you will forgive him for the days you had to sit in those miserable conditions, down in that horrible cellar of our prison. His only request is that you think of him favorably again and… not hold any grudges.”
Marisa’s eyes widened as she stared at the servant. What had happened to make Droskar speak such words? Could she truly believe him? Trusting a man like Droskar was out of the question. It must be that God Himself had intervened.
She remained still for a long moment, weighing his words. At last, she nodded and whispered, “So… I can go?”
The servant inclined his head. “Yes, Milady. Would you like a bit of food to take along?”
Marisa shook her head. “After that last meal, I don’t think I’ll need to eat for a week. But I do want my own horse again.”
“Of course,” the servant said. “I’ll make sure, your horse is ready for you.” He hesitated, then cast a fearful look into her eyes. “Please… think of me graciously, Milady. I have a wife and four children.”
Marisa furrowed her brow, her heart thumping strangely. The man was afraid. Genuinely afraid. Of what? What had happened? Marisa looked up and a new wave of peace flooded her soul. This was no trick. Something extraordinary had happened. God had stepped in. She couldn’t suppress a smile. Dear Lord, I don’t know what You did, but surely Your hand is in all this. Thank You so much.
She turned back to the servant and gave him a gentle smile. “No worries, good man. I will pray for you and your family.”
“So… you will keep the curse from all of us?” the servant asked, his nose twitching nervously.
“The curse?”
“Please,” he moaned. “I hold no grudges against you, milady. I only seek your favor.”
Understanding dawned on her. Somehow, God had intervened, one of His glorious mysteries. She nodded graciously and said, “I will pray for you and for your family, that no curse will come upon your household.”
“Thank you, milady,” he replied, visibly relieved. “Your horse will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
***
Droskar pressed his face to the small tower window and watched the tiny figure riding off into the distance. The witch was gone. Ever since he’d taken his counselor’s advice, things had gone well. Her curse had lifted, the boils vanished, and strength surged through him once more. Pride swelled in his chest; but how he despised that woman riding away scot-free!
He had wanted to see her executed, yet her mysterious power had bested the medicines of Doctor Pomeroy and the charms of Bramblebrook’s astrologers. She was surely the ringleader of those god-followers. He would need a stronger curse, one that could break her spirit and make her beg for mercy. But how?
One thing was clear: he could not lose sight of her. His counselor had been wise. “Stay in the background, Captain,” he’d said. “You’ve been weakened before. Let your men do the work.”
Droskar had sent three of his best riders, with strict orders: Follow her, but remain unseen. Learn all you can about her allies, her weaknesses, and about everything. The Council will be pleased.
He watched as his men disappeared after her into the forest. Victory was close. He could almost hear the Council’s praise and feel his rise in the ranks, although it would be somewhat difficult to explain why he had let her go. But that was not his concern for the moment. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.
A smile spread across his face. Joy returned. He deserved a drink.
“Bring me some Ogre Ale!” he barked at his servant.
The curse had been lifted, and he was back to his good old self again. Soon he would know more, and then he could properly plan for the witch’s downfall.