Previously on Hidden Fragments…
As the sun sets behind the Grey Mountains, Calen takes a step of faith and is baptized, experiencing a powerful transformation that fills him with new strength for his mission.
At the same time, Ronan and Tobin stumble upon a hidden Scroll. It is the Scroll of Jude, and that night Marisa reads it to him by the fire. As she reads, the words strike deep into his heart, exposing his past and awakening a desperate longing to know the God behind them.
Chapter 34
Guided Steps
Rain drummed steadily on Calen’s cloak.
The road to Ömstead had turned into a ribbon of mud. Puddles widened with every step of his horse. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. It didn’t do much to keep the rain out. When Elior had sent him back toward the Bridge of Echoes the sun had still been shining, but now all beauty had vanished behind a dull grey mist.
He had been a little wary about having to cross the Bridge again. After all, Ömstead had looked so close from the hermit’s house. Going all the way back seemed like a waste. What’s more, he didn’t look forward to hearing those accusing voices again.
“Do I have to cross again?” he had asked.
Elior just grinned. “It will trouble you no more, Young Pilgrim,” he had stated in a confident voice. “To be honest, you can’t properly leave this place unless you go over the Bridge again.”
He had mumbled something about deep ravines and other dangers, and Calen had taken his word for it. Still, he approached the Bridge with a sense of dread. Thankfully, the old man had been right. Crossing the Bridge had been strangely easy. While the wind was just as treacherous and wild, no voice had accused him from the deep and reaching the other side caused no problems.
But it was precisely there that the weather had changed.
It was as if he had stepped out of a place of sanctuary and landed back into the ordinary world, where trials and tribulations ruled with iron fists.
Parting with Elior had been difficult.
He missed the presence of the gentle, old hermit. Now he was alone once more.
Although… perhaps not.
Since the hermit had baptized him in the small stream beside the tree house, something had changed. God was with him.
Of course He had been with him before as well, but, as Elior had explained, the Holy Spirit made a difference. He was the Comforter. Calen could not explain it, yet he sensed God’s presence in a new way. He could not put it properly into words. He could not see it, yet it was there; steady and reassuring.
These past two days, the hermit had taken great care to teach Calen more about the Scrolls, and especially about the work of the Holy Spirit. Their conversations and their studies in the Scrolls had been a true delight.
Elior was a wise man, and his love for God shone through everything he did. Whenever he spoke of God, his eyes lit up and Calen listened with reverence. At times he could almost see what the hermit was talking about.
Marisa had been a bit like that. She knew God well, though in a quieter way. Nevertheless, a conversation with Elior was something altogether different. His love for the Word and for the Redeemer burned brightly in his heart.
“And,” Elior had said, “God’s love for us is a personal love, Young Pilgrim. Not all people understand that. They don’t rest in Him. Rather, they imagine Him as a kind of supreme judge, sort of like one of the Council of Twelve, always seeking to condemn them. But there is nothing in the heart of God but goodness and gentle kindness toward those who have surrendered to Him.”
If only he could learn to rest in God like that. His thoughts returned again to the name Elior had given him.
“In Ömstead, you are to go to the blacksmith’s shop,” Elior had said, his voice low. “Ask for Emeth. He is faithful… and trustworthy.”
“Does he have the missing Scrolls?” Calen had asked.
Elior had shaken his head slowly. “I don’t know, Young Pilgrim. Names are all I am given to pass on.” He rested a hand briefly on Calen’s shoulder. “The rest… God must guide.”
Lost in thought, he barely noticed the road bending toward the lake.
Now he could see Ömstead again. It was much closer than when he had seen it from the hermit’s tree dwelling. The church tower he had noticed earlier was swallowed up by fog.
“Come on, Hosanna,” he murmured to his horse. “Let’s find you a stable. I doubt you enjoy this rain any more than I do.”
He nudged her forward.
Then he heard commotion behind him.
A horse neighed. Hooves splashed through the mud.
Calen stopped and turned.
Across the fields he had just crossed, a lone rider raced toward him.
Old fears stirred, but they no longer gripped him. After all, he carried no forbidden Scrolls, and in this part of the country no one should know him.
Should he wait?
The man was shouting and waving for him to stop, though not in an aggressive manner.
Let’s see what this is all about.
He reined in Hosanna and waited for the man to catch up.
“I’m glad to see you,” the rider shouted as he drew closer.
Calen studied him carefully. The man was stocky, a little fidgety, with wet curls plastered to his round face. His clothes were plain. No sword, no armor. Clearly not a soldier.
A merchant, perhaps?
When the man brought his horse to a halt, he repeated what he had said before.
“Good to meet you.” He glanced around nervously. “By the Twelve! I don’t like it here much.”
“How do you mean?” Calen asked innocently.
“Didn’t you see the Bridge back there? Great Woe… the wailing wind there, the whole place… misery everywhere. Take my word for it.”
“You mean, the Bridge of Echoes?” Calen asked, leaning forward slightly on Hosanna. “I’ve seen it. I admit, it’s a scary place.”
“Scary it is.” The man nodded vigorously. “I’d heard of it, yes. But when I passed it, I wasn’t sure I’d survive.”
Calen frowned. “Did you cross it?”
The man cast him an incredulous stare. “Of course not. Are you mad? Couldn’t get away from it soon enough. By the Twelve, my grandmother would turn in her grave. It’s that frightening.”
“I take it, you’re not from here?” Calen asked.
“Bramblebrook,” the rider said.
Calen felt a twinge. That far. What was that man doing here?
“My name is Lorin,” the rider continued. “I work for the local captain in Bramblebrook. Droskar is his name. But that means nothing to you. And you… your name?”
Calen paused. Perhaps this was all a coincidence, but he should be careful. “Names don’t matter,” he said finally. “What matters is what I am. I am a pilgrim. Call me Young Pilgrim. It’s the name my order gave me.”
“Your order? Then, you are a religious man.” Lorin’s eyes grew wide. “You must be one who treasures the Book of Order… a pillar of the Council of Twelve. What’s the name of your order?”
“The name?” Calen asked. “Um… The order of the Living… Bread.”
By the Twelve,” Lorin mumbled in respect. “That sounds awesome.”
“We are very secret,” Calen added.
“Nah,” Lorin said. “I think I’ve heard of your group. In any case, with you I am in safe hands.”
“Assume what you will,” Calen said barely audible. He felt his courage drain out. Now he had to deal with a servant of Droskar’s. He cleared his throat and said in a forced voice, “But let us ride on; standing here in the rain does us no favors.”
“Good idea,” Lorin said, entirely reassured by the presence of a supposed loyalist to the Council of Twelve.
They rode on in silence for a while. Finally, Calen asked, “And what is it you do for Captain Droskar?”
“I carry messages,” Lorin said, tone casual but clipped. “I come with a message for the captain of Ömstead.”
“Really? And what does it say?” Calen asked. The unease in his heart grew but he pretended to study the road.
“I shouldn’t tell you. I am not allowed,” Lorin said. But when he saw Calen’s face drop, he changed his mind. “Never mind. I’ll tell you. With you, it will be safe, right?” He glanced around as if someone might overhear.
“Absolutely. My lips are sealed.”
“Good.” Lorin’s grin was sharp now. “There are dangerous elements in the land. People who do not worship the Council of Twelve but follow some strange god. They call themselves Christians.” His face got a sour expression as if he had swallowed a lemon. “They try to gather lose scrolls or something, so they can make it into a book.” He shook his head in disbelief and hissed, “So they can undermine the Council’s rule.”
“I’ve heard that,” Calen said, feigning shock.
“Of course, you did,” Lorin said. “You are a learned man. You know such things. Lately though it has grown worse.” Lorin’s eyes flicked to Calen, sharp and assessing. “Something has happened. Something that has made them bolder. My message is about a new law that will make it harder for these people.”
“What is it?” Calen asked, unease creeping up his spine.
“Every market square must now hold a statue,” Lorin said, voice low. “A beast of iron with the heads of the twelve council members. All must bow and worship the statue. The Christians… they will not. That way it will be easy to spot them.”
Calen shivered. “So… that is your message?”
“Yes,” Lorin said, grinning. But the grin carried a faint edge. “And I am the one delivering it.”
Calen’s pulse quickened. Hosanna shifted beneath him, sensing the tension. This was no chance encounter…
***
Marisa woke before the others.
The sun was already climbing above the ruins, warming her stiff limbs. The fire they had made the evening before, had burned down to charred embers that still smoldered faintly.
She looked around. The others were still asleep.
Ronan was snoring loudly, his head resting on his cloak. Tobin lay in Isola’s arms, most of her coat draped over him, while Pax lay pressed close against the boy.
Marisa stretched, yawned once more and stood up. She would have to wake the others soon; they still had a long journey ahead of them. By evening she would be home again. She longed to help Calen gather the Scrolls. Yet the thought of returning home filled her with quiet joy.
Seeing Grandfather again, the goats… Winston. Her heart began to beat a little faster as she pondered the thought.
She knelt beside Isola and gently shook her shoulder.
“Wake up, Isola,” she said softly.
Isola shot upright as if stung by an adder and looked around in alarm. “Is there danger?” she mumbled, still half asleep.
“Not at all,” Marisa said. “But it is time for us to move on.”
Isola woke fully now, and it seemed that everything that had happened the day before returned to her at once. She put an arm around Marisa and nodded.
“What times we live in, Marisa,” she said quietly, and Marisa could see that tears were closer than laughter.
“We will be all right, Isola,” she said gently and squeezed her hand.
“God has not promised us an easy journey,” she said quietly. “But He has promised us a safe arrival.”
Isola nodded and turned to Tobin, softly calling his name. The boy groaned and tried to keep sleeping, but when Pax got to his feet, Tobin opened his eyes as well. He looked up into his mother’s face and remembered again where they were.
Pax stretched his legs and immediately began sniffing around Ronan’s large boots. The rough soldier was still snoring as loudly as before. Apparently, he had gone to sleep with a few crumbs still clinging to his clothes, for Pax climbed onto his chest and began digging about enthusiastically with his large snout.
Ronan jerked awake and shoved the dog aside with a rough curse.
“Sorry,” he muttered when he saw the shocked look on Isola’s face.
Marisa burst out laughing, but now that everyone was awake the day could truly begin.
While Ronan checked the horses, Marisa and Isola washed in the small stream near the ruins.
He tightened the saddle straps in silence, glancing once at Tobin, then at his sword.
As Marisa returned from the stream, she noticed him. Something in his expression had softened.
Isola still had some bread left. Not much, but enough to quiet the worst of their hunger. And then they were ready to move. But not before Marisa prayed a simple prayer for guidance and protection. Ronan squeezed his eyes shut so tightly, his face turned red and he nodded solemnly at every yes and amen.
As they rode away, Marisa glanced back once more. Her hand slipped into her saddlebag and touched the Scroll of Jude.
Ronan had surrendered to the God of the Scrolls, and they had found another one of the missing Scrolls.
How gracious their God had been, guiding them every step.
She lifted her eyes to heaven and offered a silent prayer of thanks.
Two deer crossed in the forest before them, followed by a fawn with white spots lit up by the morning light. They were not afraid, but paused to watch the strange riders pass. Then they quietly stepped further and disappeared into the overgrowth.
Faith.
Peace.
If God was with them, who could stand against them?
Let the Council of Twelve rage. Their end was certain.
____