Previously, in Chapter 2:
Calen is caught at Angus’s house by Captain Drenick and thrown into prison under suspicion of being tied to the forbidden writings. With dangerous secrets hidden in his boot, he narrowly avoids discovery. In the cell, he meets Asher, a blind believer in God, who, like Angus in Chapter 1, claims Calen has been chosen to gather the lost Scrolls of the Ages. Asher tells him to go to Ömstead where he will find an important part of the Scrolls. Though sceptical and fearful, Calen cannot shake the peace he felt with Asher, even as Drenick takes the young man away. Left alone in the dark cell, Calen wrestles with doubt, destiny, and a God he does not believe in.
Chapter 3
Eyes in the Wilderness
The night seemed endless, but at last the first rays of the morning light worked their way into Calen’s cell. He rose slowly, rubbing aching joints. He strained toward the tiny barred window to look out, but it was just out of reach.
His stomach growled; a hollow sound that reminded him of the hours that had passed since his last meal. What would be the breakfast options in this beautiful place?
Just then, the echoes of footsteps in the corridor grew louder and seconds later his cell door screeched open, revealing a soldier he’d never met. He was a giant; a mountain of muscle and raw power with an untamed beard and scornful eyes that held little promise of help. Without a word, he indicated with a tilt of his head that Calen should trail behind him.
“No food?” Calen muttered, “Or are you guiding me to the breakfast table?”
Calen’s remark was met with stony silence. The giant turned on his heel, so the sword at his side started swaying like a threat left unsaid. He looked back, clearly expecting Calen to follow.
Calen’s heart skipped a beat, fearing he would be taken deeper into the prison, but to his relief they walked towards the exit. And there stood Drenick, solid and unmoving with his boots firmly planted on the stones and his arms folded like a monarch. His nose twitched as the giant, with a sudden shove, pushed Calen before him while holding him so firmly that his arm felt numb.
“I take it you had a good sleep?” Drenick asked, his voice dripping with cynicism.
“Couldn’t be better,” Calen replied in equal fashion.
“Is that so?” Drenick gave him a long, hard stare. Then he shook his head and spoke in softer tones, as if he were a parent admonishing a wayward son. “Calen, Calen, Calen … It does not have to be like this. We were once friends, but it appears you have chosen a different road. You seem to associate with shady individuals and adversaries of the state. Be cautious, or we might call you a heretic.” He waited for impact and then added, “So … are you sure you have nothing to tell us?”
Calen held Drenick’s gaze, searching for the warmth he remembered from their days as young friends. But it was gone, if it had ever been there. Maybe those eyes had always been cold and self-serving and he’d just been too blind to see it.
For a moment, he felt pity. Drenick was a firm believer in his own version of law and order, a staunch follower of the gloomy Book of Order, but compared to old man Angus and blind Asher the man was naked, wretched and blind.
Was he any better? Was it really God that made that difference?
“Well?” Drenick’s impatient voice cut through the silence.
“Well, what?”
“Are you telling me everything you know?”
There is no way I’ll yield to Drenick and betray Angus’ trust. I may not understand it all, but I’ll stick to the promise I made.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Calen replied in a firm voice. “I told you all I know. I am a simple scribe and I wish to go home.”
Drenick nodded. “Then go. Just remember, we’ll never stop watching.”
He was free to go?
Asher’s gentle face appeared in his mind. He had told him they would release him soon. How had the blind man known? But he’d also said Drenick’s soldiers would follow him and possibly even seek to snuff out his life.
“My horse,” Calen said. “I need my horse.”
Drenic snorted. “What horse? You think we’d saddle a horse for you? Be glad we let you keep your boots. Now move.”
Calen’s anger rose, but he suppressed it. He was in no position to argue.
Harmless as the dove, wise as the serpent…
Calen already missed his blind friend and hated to leave him behind in this cruel prison. But there was no alternative.
He cast Drenick one last glance, turned and walked toward the heavy prison gate.
It creaked open with unexpected ease and he slipped through, feeling more like a mouse scurrying for cover than a man on a mission for the God who according to Asher and Angus, had shaped the world.
Lost in thought, he stepped outside into the morning glow. It was a welcome embrace after the dreariness of his cell. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the gentle morning air. Birds chattered in the nearby trees and a rabbit darted behind the edge of the prison wall, vanishing like a shadow. The day held the promise of greatness, but too much had happened for Calen to see it as such.
Here he was, far from home and without food and a horse. What now?
Home lay somewhere beyond the distant ridge. It would be a long walk, and while he’d never set foot in this part of the country, he recognized the jagged line of mountains on the horizon. His home was out there, tucked behind those silent hills, waiting.
Ömstead, as far as he knew from the map, was in the opposite direction. It would be foolishness to go down there now. He wasn’t prepared. At home he could rest up, get proper food and get another horse for the journey. Yes, the choice was easy. Ömstead needed to wait.
And so, he cast one last glance at the prison, whispered an airy goodbye to Asher who was locked up somewhere in that depressing prison, and stepped away towards the forest that would lead him on his way home.
At first the way was gentle, as if even the earth itself offered him a quiet welcome back. The dusty road, marred by potholes and tree roots, was surprisingly manageable, with stunning scenery unfolding before his eyes. What was it again Asher had said? I believe in the Creator of heaven and earth…
Was there truly a Creator?
The Book of Order insisted that nothing had ever been created. Everything simply came to be. It was all the result of chance and time. Calen had always accepted that as truth. After all, the people who claimed to know better, folks like the scholars, the enforcers and the voices of certainty had said so. So, why question it?
But now, for the first time, a quiet doubt stirred.
What if they were wrong?
What if there really was a Maker behind it all?
At least out here, walking beneath the whispering trees and wrapped in the stillness of the forest, the thought of a Creator felt less like a myth, and more like something he could almost believe.
The forest around him remained quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the occasional twitter of a bird. Time passed, but after several hours the trees began to thin, the path started to change and the road became more difficult. Here he faced the beginning of the mountainous area with the wind whipping up dust around him. The sun, a fiery orb, was scorching him from its peak in the sky, and suddenly his hunger hit him like a mighty blow that almost sent him reeling. In the forest he had quenched his thirst at a small stream, but besides a few berries there had been nothing to fill his stomach.
No matter, he just had to keep going and he forced himself forward.
But after another half hour or so it all became too much. Exhausted he sank down on a stone, wondering what to do. The terrain was still highly unfamiliar, but it couldn’t be long before he’d recognize something. Soon he’d be home. He had to. There, he could fill his stomach with dried meat and a hearty cup of his favorite ale.
Home… The thought alone was a sweet scenting balm for his soul.
And then, just as the comfort of home settled and gave him new strength, something stirred in the distance. Something besides the wind, and it did not sound natural.
He wasn’t alone.
He could feel it.
An animal, perhaps? Wolves were known to haunt these hills and Calen had nothing to defend himself but his boots and bare hands. And yet, wolves were not known to attack in broad daylight. He turned toward the noise, alert and still.
Footsteps, soft as breath and sly as shadow, crept through the silence.
Something was walking after him, and he wasn’t imagining it.
He could now hear a distinct grinding of dust and stones. Stealthy and soft, as if something did not want others to know it was there.
It stopped.
With bated breath, Calen remembered the words of Drenick. ‘Just remember, we’ll never stop watching.’
Were they following him?
Calen looked around.
Above and around him were large stones and jagged rocks. He cautiously got up and climbed upwards and away from the path, where he hid behind a large stone. From here he could look at the path and he’d see who or what was following him.
He did not have long to wait.
Only moments later, a traveler appeared on the dusty path below. A thin, wiry figure in a dark tunic and hooded cloak crept forward, stopping every few paces to study the ground, then tilting his head to listen, cautious as a thief.
Since Calen was no longer walking, the man heard nothing and seemed puzzled. He peered around. Calen pressed his face against the hard rock, willing himself to disappear, yet he couldn’t stop watching. For a breathless moment, the hooded man’s eyes met his, dark and unreadable. Calen’s heart slammed against his ribs. He was sure the hooded man had seen him. But no, the man lingered only a second longer, then moved on, vanishing behind a distant boulder like a shadow slipping from sight.
Calen heaved a deep breath of relief. Whoever that was, it was not a friend.
But what now?
Continuing on the same road seemed foolishness. Surely, the hooded fellow was a skilled tracker and most likely would lie in wait himself somewhere, just a few miles up the path.
Another sound caught his ears.
Bells, light and musical, dancing on the breeze. A moment later, the bleating of goats followed, warm and familiar. There was a goat herder.
Joy warmed Calen’s heart. There were people here, good people in this deserted part of the country, and they could help him. Careful not to make any noise, he got up from behind his rock and climbed further up the hill toward the sounds.
Staying low, in case the hooded man was still nearby, Calen crept further to the top of the hill. And there, just ahead, no more than fifty yards away, a broad herd of goats grazed peacefully, their bells jingling softly. A woman no older than he, was guiding them, moving with quiet confidence among the animals.
How should he approach? He couldn’t risk frightening her, especially not since the hooded man was still around. And she wasn’t alone. At her side stood a large brown dog, tail wagging but alert, clearly keeping watch. Still, he had little choice. Even if the hooded man heard him, he had done nothing wrong. After all, Drenick himself had released him from prison. He just had to take a risk.
So, with cautious breath he stepped out from his hiding place and raised a hand in greeting, hoping the dog wouldn’t bark or charge to defend the girl and her goats.
The dog growled but did not bark, and the girl waved back.
It seemed safe. Carefully, making sure he did not make any unexpected movements, Calen walked towards the girl. As he came near and the dog posed no danger, he gave her a warm smile. “I am so happy to see you,” he said.
She smiled back unafraid.
It was then he noticed how her fingers brushed a small cross hanging beneath her tunic.
A cross? Did she believe in the God of Asher and Angus too?
He had heard, the cross was the sign of the believers. It glinted for a moment in the sun as if to confirm his thoughts.
“You look exhausted, stranger,” she said. “Have you come from afar? Sometimes the path isn’t ours to choose, but the One who walks beside us makes sure we never walk it alone.”
Calen’s throat tightened and for a moment, he felt tears welling up. He didn’t understand the God of The Scrolls of the Ages but how good it was to meet someone like Angus and Asher; quiet, steady and sure. And deep down, he ached to get to know their God.
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