Previously on Hidden Fragments
Marisa, freed from captivity, finds refuge at Isola’s home, where warmth, friendship, and prayer begin to heal her ordeal. There, she learns that Calen has already recovered the precious Scrolls and set out alone toward the Grey Mountains. Though her heart longs to follow, she accepts that her role has shifted to watching, waiting, and fighting for him through prayer rather than footsteps.
Meanwhile, Calen presses on, the Scrolls secured, leaving the Bridge of Echoes behind but not its threats. Trusting God’s guidance, he chooses a path that seems gentle and promising, only to be drawn deeper into harsh terrain and gathering danger. When a violent storm forces him into a rocky shelter, an eerie, unnatural light stirs in the darkness, and Calen realizes he may not be alone after all.
Chapter 26
Faith Under Fire
Calen, instinctively, moved closer to Hosanna for comfort and while suppressing the growing unease, he glanced outside. Thunder rolled around the mountain and shook the walls of his small cove. Lightning sliced through the darkness, casting jagged shadows. It painted the rocks in a ghostly glow. Pressing himself against Hosanna, wet mist clung to his hair and clothes. He dared not move. Going back out was not an option, but the cove itself didn’t offer the sort of comfort he had been looking for either.
He turned again toward the strange glow at the back of the cove. Nothing he had seen before compared to it. A cold dread crept into his chest. The dark grotto, which had felt like a refuge only moments ago, seemed to tighten around him. His shoulders sagged, and the weight of his pack felt heavier than it had all day. Even lifting his hands felt like a major effort.
Calen gritted his teeth and shouted, “Anybody there? I don’t want to cause problems. I am just here to wait until the storm is over.”
His heart pounded in his throat as he spoke the words. Without realizing it, his grip on Hosanna’s neck tightened, until the horse whinnied tensely and stepped back.
“Who’s there?” he called out again. And then, the shimmering light began to grow, shaping itself into a face. Calen raised his hand protectively.
“Dear God, help me.”
A pale face emerged from the light. Dark eyes locked onto Calen’s. He stiffened as dread snaked up his spine like ice, yet alongside it stirred a strange curiosity, as if the vision was about to reveal something he did not yet know, or was never meant to know.
This face was nothing like Angus’, neither did the vision bear any resemblance to what he had experienced in the cave with Jesus.
Hosanna snorted restlessly, as if sensing danger.
The man in the vision held his gaze, unblinking and steady. He stared with the quiet authority of someone entirely in control.
Calen’s eyes lingered on him longer than he intended. Every line of the man’s face was impossibly precise, commanding attention without a word.
“W-Who are you?” Calen muttered and felt the hairs in his neck standing up. As he asked the question, the light grew in intensity and the cove filled with an unfamiliar incense, sweet but biting.
Then the face spoke. The sound rippled through Calen, rattling his bones. It wasn’t the warm, gentle voice of one of God’s children. This was something else entirely. Whispers rolled over him like a tidal wave, overlapping and brushing his ears from every direction, perfectly synchronized.
“I am the one you came looking for. I am the hermit you so desperately want to see.”
“Y-You are the hermit?” Calen said, blinking. “You… you sound so different.”
His unease tightened, making his breath come out in short gasps. He had expected the hermit to sound different and he found his thoughts scattering. What was he supposed to do now?
Here he was, face to face with the man spoken of in hushed reverence, the supposed guardian of the Scrolls. This was not the hermit he had expected.
“Yes, I am the hermit,” the voice answered. “You can call me Seraphiel. I can see you are confused about my appearance, and I understand, but let that not distract you. I am your helper and there’s no need for fear. All is in the hands of God.”
While Seraphiel’s words still came to him in this strange way, the voice now carried a warm, almost comforting tone. Calen pressed down the urge to run away and decided to listen.
“Again, have no fear, Calen,” Seraphiel continued. “I am very pleased with you and your mighty endeavors. I have been following your progress with great interest. Your heroic deeds at the Bridge of Echoes have warmed my heart. Well done. I can see why the only true God has called you out for this mission.”
The words settled on Calen like a weight he hadn’t expected. Warmth flickered in his chest at the thought of being judged worthy, but something about the praise made him wary too, as if he was invited to step out onto ground that looked solid and firm, but really wasn’t.
Had he really done so well?
His mind drifted back over the past weeks. What surfaced were not the victories, but the moments of hesitation, of pride and of fear. He had been thinking too much of himself and too little of others.
The praise did not fit. The failures were too sharp to ignore.
Calen reached again for Hosanna’s neck, his fingers curling into the horse’s warm, solid hide. The contact steadied him, even as his eyes strayed back to the shimmering figure. He swallowed and tried again. “Why are you talking so… so—”
“—Different?” Seraphiel said.
“No offense,” Calen said, the words coming out faltering, “but your voice is unlike anything I’ve ever heard.”
“That may be true,” Seraphiel replied. “But I am speaking the truth. I am here to help you accomplish your mission. I speak as one who speaks with the voice of many waters.”
Calen stared at the vision, his mind scrambling for footing. He had imagined many things, but not this. The apparition spoke kindly and spoke in words fitting for the Scrolls. Still, why that tightness in his chest?
A jagged flash of lightning split the darkness outside, the thunder following so close it made the cove shudder. Hosanna neighed and pulled back once more. Calen turned at once, laying a calming hand on her neck. As he did, his eyes caught on the travel bag at her side, the one carrying the Scrolls.
Calen turned back to Seraphiel. “What about the Scrolls? I was told I should give them to you for safe-keeping.”
“Ah, the Scrolls,” the voice whispered. “That is what I have been waiting for. Indeed. Leave them here in the cove.”
“Just leave them here? What will you do with them?”
A chuckle erupted from Seraphiel, warm and charming as water from a waterfall on a summer day. “Yours is not to ask and wonder why. You just need to collect the Scrolls.” Seraphiel continued. “There are still more Scrolls to find. Bring them here too, and your mission will be complete. Your reward will be great.”
“I am not looking for reward,” Calen muttered. “I just want to do the right thing.”
“Of course,” Seraphiel drooled. “So commendable. To help you do that, there is one more thing you need to do besides collecting the remaining Scrolls.”
“What’s that?”
Seraphiel’s eyes narrowed. “You see that large stone on my right?”
Calen squinted and by the shimmering light of the apparition, he detected a massive boulder. “And?”
“Here, you must place all the Scrolls you have found so far. But as you do, you will find there another Scroll. You are to take that Scroll and begin teaching from it to everyone you meet.”
“Another Scroll?” Calen asked. “Why do I need to take it if it’s already safely here?”
“It is a special Scroll,” Seraphiel said. “Full of proper teaching from the God of the Scrolls. It will prepare the hearts of everyone for when the other Scrolls are ready to be revealed.”
“So it’s part of the sixty-six books of the Scrolls?” Calen asked.
“No,” Seraphiel said decisively, and his face glowed again in intensity. “This one is above all the other Scrolls. It contains secret knowledge omitted from the rest. It is newer, with fresh revelations. Without this Scroll, your mission will ultimately fail.”
Calen blinked again. Marisa had never mentioned a Scroll above all the others. Neither had Angus, or anyone else. His heart pounded, and for the first time he wished he had never taken on this mission. It was too complicated, too strange. He cast an anxious glance at the storm outside. If only it were over, he could leave and… do what? But the storm was far from over.
The image of Angus rose again. Something he had said flashed through Calen’s mind: Never forget, Calen, Jesus is always near. When you don’t know what to do, cry out to Him. Take His hand and talk to Him. The worst thing you can do is to go on without the conviction of the Spirit.
The thought swept through him like a sudden spring breeze, scattering the confusion that had gripped him. Yes, he should cry out to the Shepherd. Calen lifted his eyes heavenward, and his lips moved in a silent prayer.
Dear God, I don’t understand this, and I don’t particularly like the hermit. Is he really the hermit and am I supposed to just drop the Scrolls and believe in the other Scroll? Will you give me wisdom, please?
“Well,” Seraphiel asked, his tone soft, inviting, and melodious. “Will you come and place the Scrolls where I want them?”
Calen’s jaw tightened. No, he would not hand over the Scrolls until he knew, beyond a doubt, that it was the right thing to do.
“What’s the name of the other Scroll?’ he said. As the words left his mouth, warmth spread through his chest.
“The name of the Scroll?” Seraphiel said, sounding almost taken aback. “It is…um… the Codex of Everlasting Illumination. Some know it as the Testament of the Radiant Dawn.”
“I’m sorry,” Calen said slowly. “The Codex of… did you say Illumination… or Elimination?”
Seraphiel’s expression didn’t change. “Illumination.”
“Right. And the Testament of the Radiant Dawn? Because I could have sworn, I heard Raging—”
“You heard correctly,” Seraphiel snapped, the warmth draining from his voice. “Your mortal ears struggle with the language of the spiritual realm. Now cease this foolishness and listen.”
For a long pause, Seraphiel kept on staring at Calen; coldly and not friendly at all, but at last his features softened and he spoke again. “I understand it’s hard for you to grasp. You are still young in the faith. But let me explain.”
The glow brightened with an unsettling intensity.
“The Scroll I am about to offer is the fulfillment of all the other Scrolls. In a sense it’s the ultimate Scroll.”
“A better Scroll?” Calen asked.
“You may call it whatever you want,” Seraphiel said. “Is the full-grown apple tree better than the tiny plant that has just pushed its little leaves out of the ground? Perhaps. But they all work together and are both needed.”
Calen frowned.
The Scrolls had never spoken of the Word of God as something unfinished, waiting to be outgrown.
As he let Seraphiel’s words sink in, lightning struck a nearby tree. The sound was deafening. It rang like a thunderous judgment; the very judgment the God of the Scrolls had promised to pour out on those who twisted His words. An uneasy feeling settled over him. No, he didn’t trust Seraphiel at all.
Calen took a slow, steadying breath and reminded himself that God’s hand was still over him. The storm raged, but within his chest, a quiet resolve began to take root. He would face whatever lay ahead, guided by faith and not by fear.
And Seraphiel?
That spook needed to come up with as better argument before he would hand over the Scrolls that other people had given their lives for.
That night Marisa could not fall asleep.
She had been constantly yawning, to the point that even Tobin said she should go to bed. It brought a smile to Isola’s face as it wasn’t even Tobin’s own bedtime yet. She agreed and after giving both Tobin and Isola an affectionate hug, she withdrew to her own bedroom.
But sleep would not come.
The moment she pulled the blankets away and slid between the clean, fresh sheets, disturbing thoughts besieged her. Images of Calen, alone in the mountains presented themselves to her in a stormy flurry of broken images. Slink made his appearance too. Uninvited. His darting, evil eyes, his detestable high voice and his disturbing cackle made sleep impossible.
For a good while, she tossed and turned and even covered her head with her pillow, to no avail.
Gone was her tiredness. She stared wide-awake into the darkness of her bedroom.
Pray, Marisa. You need to pray now.
The urge hit her with unexpected force. For a moment she pondered the thought. The image of Tobin rose. “What is a prayer warrior, Marisa?” he had asked in his youthful voice. She recalled her answer.
To be a prayer warrior means to follow Calen into danger with faith alone, trusting God he will arrive at the right place before fear and trouble do.
She needed not to sleep. At least, not right now. She needed to pray.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, lit a candle and knelt down.
“Lord,” she began, “You are Calen’s Shepherd. You will lead him to the green pastures. Help him to find Your still waters…”
But instead of peace, a heavy, dark sense of oppression pressed down upon her, as though something unseen resisted her every word. A disturbing dread rolled in. At this very moment, Calen was nowhere near the green pastures, and neither was he listening to the rippling, still waters. Rather he was passing through the shadow of death. Her folded hands clenched tight, and she pressed on.
“Lord, You promised, Your staff and Your rod would comfort Calen, for You are with him right at this moment.”
The sense of pressure increased. Though her bedroom remained calm and peaceful, an unseen unrest marched through it. Marisa sensed a great disturbance in the spiritual realm. There was actual danger and God called upon her to fight.
Up till now the evening had felt settled. At least Marisa thought so, but for some reason the wind outside suddenly increased and rattled her shutters. A storm, now?
Was her window closed properly?
She got up to check and found everything was as it was supposed to be. For a moment she listened to the furious gusts of wind that whipped through the trees in the nearby forest and in the distance, she heard the rumble of thunder.
She shivered and her heart pounded. This was not a normal storm. She returned to her place by the bed and knelt down again. And then, for no reason at all, as the shutters were properly closed and there was no draft to speak of, her candle went out. The flame died out while protesting with a soft hiss and before Marisa could do anything at all, she was plunged into darkness. Anger rose inside her. Not fear, but a fierce resolve. The Prince of Darkness was at work. That much was clear. Darkness or no darkness, to God it made no difference at all. She would not yield to fear. Jesus was the light of the world and she just had to resist the enemy with all that was in her. Even though it was dark, she closed her eyes once more and continued her prayer. That’s how she wrestled for she did not know how long. Praying, pleading and interceding.
“Jesus, reveal yourself… Show yourself strong on behalf of Calen.”
A vision appeared. She rarely had visions, didn’t even know what that really meant, but all of a sudden, she saw the face of an angel… or was it Jesus Himself? A strong face full of light and glory was lifting a shepherd’s staff. Flashes of lightning came out of the staff and right before her eyes she saw a dark impish creature falling backward in terror and fear.
The image only appeared for a second.
Maybe not even that long.
But it was so strong, so clear, and Marisa knew her prayers had been heard. She dropped her head onto the bed, exhausted. Unexpected tears rolled out. They were no tears of desperation, but just tears… Tears of tiredness, tears of gratitude, tears of hope.
Some things were clear. While the battle was far from over, God was in control and He would not abandon Calen. And she could go back to sleep. There was no doubt in her heart, the angels stood around her bed…
Outside, a last weak gust of wind rattled at her shutter, but Marisa didn’t hear it anymore.
She had fallen asleep.
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