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Previously on Hidden Fragments…
Carrying the precious Scrolls alone, Calen travels toward the Grey Mountains with a vigilance born of hard lessons learned. Haunted by past failures and the absence of Marisa, he presses on through the wilderness, burdened by responsibility yet sustained by quiet resolve. Along the way, an unexpected encounter with Angus in a vision reminds him that strength was never meant to be carried alone, and that faith is not something to be performed, but trusted.
Meanwhile, Marisa, newly freed from captivity, discovers that danger still trails her steps. With enemies lurking and few safe paths left, she must choose her next move carefully. Though uncertainty lies ahead, both Calen and Marisa move forward under the same unseen truth: they are not abandoned, and the Shepherd’s presence goes with them into whatever awaits next.
Crossing the Bridge of Echoes
As Calen continued his journey, an enormous weight lifted from his chest. Had it been a dream, or a vision? Either way, it had been deeply comforting. This was no coincidence. Despite his failings, God had not forsaken him and the mission remained just as vital.
And while Angus had not mentioned Marisa’s safety specifically, he had made clear that there was nothing to fear. Not even a hair of her head would be harmed without God’s approval. The thought made music well up in Calen’s heart, and he softly began to hum another hymn he had memorized while copying the Scrolls at Isola’s home.
Abide with me; I need Thee every day,
To lead me on thro’ all the weary way;
When storms surround, and only clouds I see,
Lord, be my comfort, and abide with me. *
As he steered Hosanna onward, keeping his eyes on the silvery stream in the distance, the sound of horses caught his ear.
Horses? Immediately, he withdrew toward the forest and when he was certain he was well out of sight, he stopped and scanned the area.
There they were; soldiers, at least ten of them. And there, at the head of the group an ugly, dark figure he would recognize anywhere… Slink.
For a moment, cold fear coursed through him, but Calen rebuked it as he watched the riders thunder past. He had hoped Slink would not dare to come near the Grey Mountains again after his humiliating defeat, but he had been wrong. Maybe it was the crook’s pride that drove him back, or perhaps the Council of Twelve had forced him. It did not matter what the reason was. It was clear he could not continue along the same route.
But what was he to do? He had no idea how to find the Bridge of Echoes once he reached the ruins, let alone from here. He let out a deep sigh and patted Hosanna’s neck.
“Well, dear friend,” he murmured, “what can we do now?”
Just then, he heard the soft flapping of wings and looked up. A bird had landed only a few feet away. Not just any bird, but a creature of startling beauty, with snowy, fluffy feathers and a beak that glowed a warm, vibrant orange.
Calen stared, mesmerized. He had never seen a bird like this. Normally, he would not have known a sparrow from a finch or a great tit, yet even he could tell that this was no ordinary bird; too small to be a bird of prey, yet far larger than any songbird he had seen.
The bird fixed him with dark, steady eyes, as though it were waiting, quietly urging him to follow. When Calen hesitated, it fluttered upward, landing again a few yards ahead. It turned its head, looking back at him, patient and unafraid.
Calen blinked. Was he still dreaming?
But the world around him was real. The sun’s rays were balmy and warm. Pine-scented air filled his lungs, and the comforting murmur of the Grey River in the distance steadied his nerves. No, this was no dream.
He took a careful step toward the white bird. Instantly, it lifted into the air again, gliding to the far end of the glade just before the forest. There it fluttered down once more, turning to look back at him, silently inviting him onward.
Careful not to frighten the bird, Calen took Hosanna by the rein and began to follow. Yet the bird showed no fear at all. As he drew closer, it lifted into the air and slipped into the forest, never flying so far ahead that he lost sight of it.
Calen followed the gentle apparition and his heart soared, much as it had when God had guided him with lights through the dark forest while they searched for Tobin’s house. A verse from the Scrolls he had once copied rose in his mind: “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.” **
And so, he began his trek through the forest. Before long, the sound of the Grey River faded away, and though the bird remained just ahead of him, clearly guiding his steps, the terrain around them grew unfamiliar.
If the bird were to suddenly take flight and disappear, he would surely be stranded and lost. Yet it did not. It stayed close, faithful in its leading, and Calen followed on, trusting he was not being led astray.
As he thought of Slink and his henchmen, he could not help but chuckle. That fellow was in for a surprise. He and his soldiers would be waiting for him in vain. Most stumble only once over the same stone, yet some are doomed to repeat their mistakes. Slink seemed to be one of them. The fiend had learned nothing from his defeats. Well, he would come away empty-handed yet again.
He pictured Slink and his men, nervously scanning the horizons, half expecting the glowing lights of the Grey Mountains to appear once more, all the while clinging to the faint hope of capturing him at last. How foolish it was to take up arms against the God of the Scrolls.
By now they had been traveling for quite some time. The landscape had changed. These were the foothills of the Grey Mountains, where everything was far more rugged. The path rose steadily, and the surroundings were dusty and dry.
Large, jagged boulders lay scattered across the land, interspersed with thorny shrubs bristling with spines. Now and then a desert rat darted out from beneath Hosanna’s hooves, and at one point Calen even spotted a rattlesnake stretched out on a flat rock, basking in the late afternoon sun.
And then, just like that, the white bird was gone.
Calen looked everywhere, but the angelic guide had vanished. He considered calling out but quickly dismissed the idea, as surely there was a reason for its absence, even if he could not understand. Most likely, he had reached his destination, although the Bridge of Echoes was nowhere in sight. At least, not as far as he could see. Surely, things would become clearer as he continued up the rocky path. About fifty yards up the hill the road seemed to curve and there he would have a better view.
He steered Hosanna further up and when they rounded the bend, his heart skipped a beat at the sight before him.
Far below, a shaky wooden bridge spanned a deep, foreboding ravine.
There it was … the Bridge of Echoes.
As he slowly descended he had to admit, it looked dreadful. The wind howled through the gorge, and the jagged rocks sent up strange, eerie sounds that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. The rickety bridge swayed violently in the gusting wind, as if it were a plaything tossed about.
And he had to cross… that?
Calen’s stomach twisted. How could he possibly get Hosanna across? The bridge swayed like it had a life of its own, each gust of wind making it groan and twist as if daring him to try. Yet, he was not about to leave Hosanna behind.
Hosanna however did not show any fear and as Calen dismounted and walked in the direction of the bridge, his faithful friend followed without reservations.
Calen carefully examined the structure. Rickety, yes, and unstable as well, but not rotten. The wooden planks seemed sturdy… at least somewhat.
He set one foot onto the first plank, holding tightly to the coarse rope railing, and pressed down. The wood creaked and groaned, but gave no sign of breaking. He braced himself, knowing the Bridge of Echoes would not let him pass easily.
He turned to Hosanna. The horse’s large, dark eyes met his, full of trust. He had heard horses could cross unsteady ground if they trusted their rider, but this would be a true test of both their courage.
He took a deep breath and patted Hosanna’s neck. “We can do this, friend.” Hosanna neighed and seemed to consider her options as Calen slowly nudged her onto the bridge. The planks groaned again, swaying with the gusting wind. Hosanna’s hooves hesitated, testing each step, and Calen kept his voice soft and steady, stroking her mane as he urged her forward. Inch by inch, they moved further. It was then that Calen remembered the dream and Angus’ warnings.
“When you cross it, the echoes of your own heart will thunder through the abyss, loud and clear.”
A chill ran through him. The echoes… When would they come?
The answer was immediate. A voice roared through his thoughts, merciless and loud: “Failure. Coward.”
Hosanna did not seem to hear anything. She obediently trudged along behind Calen, trusting him fully to guide her safely to the other side. But Calen was not so sure.
He gritted his teeth and shouted back, “No! I am washed by the blood of the Lamb. Forgiven and fully restored.”
“No, you are not,” another echo thundered through the ravine. “You are not restored. You harbor jealous thoughts. You constantly give in to fear and selfishness. It was all a mistake. You are nothing but a worm, a worthless creature.”
“God, dear God, please help,” Calen cried out, trying to ward off the echoes like a man fighting a swarm of stinging bees. The accusations cut deep, for they rang uncomfortably true.
He did struggle with jealous thoughts. Fear still gripped him at the worst moments. Selfish inclinations lingered, stubborn and persistent, with no sign of disappearing anytime soon.
The accusations pressed in on him, heavy and merciless, until he feared they might crush him altogether.
“You may as well throw yourself down as so many others have,” the echoes screamed.
“I am forgiven by the blood of the Lamb!” Calen cried out again.
At once, it felt as though a great, misty wall rose up before him, making each step forward nearly impossible. It was as if he were immersed in a thick, fog-laden syrup. Every movement slowed, and he was weighed down by unseen hands.
“No, you are not,” the echoes yelled again to his mind. “You believe a lie… a fairy tale.”
Calen held tight to Hosanna’s reins and clung with his other hand to the rope railing as the bridge swayed beneath them in the howling wind. Then Hosanna snorted. A comforting sound, steady and familiar, and it grounded him.
He had to go on. If he gave in to the echoes, both he and Hosanna would perish.
He clung to another verse from the Scrolls he had once copied with trembling care. “There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ,” he cried out. “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
His voice broke.
“God, I am undone. Save me. I am a sinner.”
The wind still tugged at his coat and hair. The bridge creaked beneath him, protesting every step, and from somewhere behind him he heard angry, excited voices rising again.
No. He would not yield. He had to go on. He could not stop now.
He pushed forward and then, just as he took the next step, the wind fell silent. The echoes ceased. The strange, foggy mist of confusion and fear lifted as suddenly as it had come.
Calen knew. It was over.
Angus had said it: “Even as you pass the Bridge of Echoes, the Shepherd will be with you. His rod and His staff will comfort you. The accusations will stop.”
It was true.
He was almost across now. Just a few more steps and he would stand on solid ground once more.
Voices rose behind him. For an instant, Calen thought the echoes had returned.
“There he goes. Go after him. Now!”
No! These were not the voices of the bridge. These voices were real. And worse, they were familiar.
Just before stepping off the bridge, he turned and looked back. His heart skipped a beat.
There stood Slink, surrounded by the soldiers he had seen earlier. Somehow, they too had found their way to the Bridge of Echoes.
How? Had they discovered a shortcut, despite their terror of the shimmering lights? Or had some darker influence driven Slink to seek out the bridge himself?
Strangely, Calen felt no fear at the sight of his enemy. Instead, a quiet sense of compassion rose within him. These men did not know God. And to cross the bridge without that knowledge would be a dangerous thing indeed. But Slink’s intention was clear. The first soldiers, their faces tight with fear, approached the Bridge of Echoes in obedience to their master.
“Don’t come,” Calen cried, waving his arms. “Don’t try to follow me here. Your hearts are not right. You will fail and be destroyed.”
The soldiers, who heard him, halted and stared at him in confusion. Then they glanced back at Slink, silently hoping he would order them to turn back. But Slink did not.
“Keep moving,” the fiend shouted. “Get that miserable liar and his scrolls. We must protect the kingdom from filth and heresy.”
In his frenzy, Slink leapt forward and shoved a third soldier onto the bridge. The man stumbled, barely keeping his footing. The other two stepped further onto the bridge, dread written across their faces, each step heavier than the last.
That was when it happened.
The wind rose again, the sky darkened and the foggy mist crept back over the bridge. Calen heard nothing but the howling winds, yet it was clear the soldiers themselves were hearing something far more sinister.
They cried out in panic. One soldier clutched his ears with both hands, hoping to drown out the voices tormenting him. In his desperation, he’d let go of the rope railing. A fatal mistake.
The soldier who had just stepped onto the bridge turned, and despite Slink’s furious protests, ran back toward the safety of solid ground. The bridge swayed violently. The man clutching his ears lost his balance, toppled over the rope railing, and vanished into the abyss with a chilling scream.
The last one standing slipped too. For a moment, he rolled around on the swaying bridge, then fell, but somehow, grabbed hold of a fragment of the creaking bridge. Suspended between bridge and sky, he dangled precariously, clinging with every ounce of strength, struggling to pull himself back up.
Slink cursed loudly and yelled for the man to climb back up and stick to his duties. Then he turned and shouted for the other soldiers to go help their companion, but none of them dared take a step. They were frozen with fear of the Bridge of Echoes. Death for the struggling soldier was inevitable. It would only be a matter of seconds before that poor soldier plunged to his death too.
“Help!” the soldier cried, his desperate voice echoing through the canyon. “Somebody… please help me!”
There was only one thing to do. Calen let go of Hosanna and stepped onto the bridge with a prayer on his lips and his hand gripping the rope tightly. He moved slowly back toward the desperate man.
He did not fear the echoes anymore. They had no power over him. He was a sinner, yes, but a forgiven one. The God of the Scrolls would help him, no matter what. And now, he had to help this soldier. It was not God’s will that anyone else should die.
“Hold on,” he called to the soldier. “I’m almost there. I will help you.” He hoped his words would give the man courage to hang on just a critical moment longer. Yet, the strength of the unfortunate fellow was fading fast.
“Help me… please!” the soldier cried again, terror in his voice. He was likely still hearing the accusing echoes. Calen heard nothing but the raging wind. What made it worse was the fog again that thickened around them by the second.
“Dear God,” he prayed, “give that man the strength to hold on. Let me save him.”
Two more steps… one more step… The soldier was hanging by a thread. Just as Calen grasped the man’s wrist, the soldier slipped. The impact nearly overwhelmed Calen, sending him sprawling full length across the wobbly bridge. Yet he held fast to the man’s hand.
“Help me, God,” he cried, “give me strength.”
Slowly, straining and huffing, Calen began to pull the man up. Every muscle in his body ached, but he could not give up. He had to hold on. Inch by agonizing inch, he heaved the soldier upward, until at last the man was able to hoist himself onto the relative safety of the swaying bridge.
Rest… Peace… The man was saved.
There they lay together, like two exhausted brothers, heaving and gasping for breath. To Calen’s surprise, the wind had died down, the fog lifted and all was calm again.
“Get him!” Slink barked from the side to the rescued soldier. “I command you to arrest him!”
“A-Arrest him y-yourself,” the soldier panted, although it was doubtful Slink could hear him. Nevertheless, Slink himself did not move an inch. He just kept yelling and screaming, all in vain. The rescued soldier refused to obey Slink’s fury, and so did the other soldiers. He turned to Calen, tears in his eyes, and murmured, “T-Thank you.”
“Thank the God of the Scrolls,” Calen replied softly. “He’s the One truly worth serving. Think of Him when you are back with the others.”
The soldier nodded but said nothing.
“What’s your name?” Calen asked again.
“Ronan,” the soldier replied. “And yours?”
“I am Calen,” he said.
Ronan extended his hand and grasped Calen’s arm. “I will never forget what you have done, Calen. “Now go,” Ronan urged, “before my master comes up with another one of his idiotic plans.”
He had barely finished speaking when a fearful scream erupted from the remaining soldiers and they all ran for their horses. “The light!” they cried. “The lights are back!”
Calen turned and beheld the shimmering glow that had thrown them into confusion before, now inching forward from the mountains once more. He glanced back at Ronan and said, “Go now, Ronan, and sin no more, so that nothing worse may befall you.”
As the words left his mouth and Ronan crawled back to the safety of his side of the mountain, Calen marveled. How great was their God.
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* Abide With Me: Dietrick- roots in the 19th century
** Psalm 32:8
*** Romans 8:1
**** 1 John 1:9
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