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Previously on Hidden Fragments…

After parting ways with the hermit Elior, Calen sets out once more toward Ömstead, changed, strengthened, and no longer alone. Though the road is harsh and the skies unforgiving, a quiet assurance now travels with him.

But the world beyond the Bridge is far from safe.

A chance encounter with a messenger reveals troubling news: the grip of the Council of Twelve is tightening, and those who follow the God of the Scrolls are being drawn into the light… whether they wish it or not.

Meanwhile, Marisa and her companions press forward, guided step by step, trusting that even in uncertainty, they are not without direction. The path ahead is narrowing.
And danger is closer than it seems.

Chapter 35

Through Gate and Marsh 

Just as Calen and Lorin came upon the gates of Ömstead, the rain ceased. Both were drenched, yet Calen did not care. A tight, restless excitement took hold of him as he took in the city.

A long stone bridge stretched before them, spanning a foul-smelling moat of sullied water. On the other side, at the open gate two soldiers leaned idly against the stone walls of the watchtowers, their spears propped carelessly beside them. High above, more guards stood upon the towers. Calen could not make them out clearly, yet he felt their eyes upon him and Lorin, watchful and unyielding. Bows were drawn and ready, should anything go amiss.

Bramblebrook, hardly the most pleasant place he had known, had seemed more welcoming than this. Perhaps it was because of the heavy clouds that hung over the city like a somber shroud. Yet, it mattered little. Here, he hoped he would find the last of the Scrolls. Here, this part of his journey would be brought to its end.

The wardens at the gate cast wary glances at the two rain-soaked travelers as they drew near. Calen forced down the unease rising in his chest. He carried nothing that might betray him, and no one knew why he had come.

Calen decided to let Lorin speak with the guards. He reined in Hosanna and made himself small, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Lorin had an official reason to be here. Calen did not; at least not one that the rulers would welcome.

“Stop,” one of the guards called, seizing his spear and stepping brusquely toward the riders. “What is your purpose for visiting our fine city?” He narrowed his eyes, and planted his spear with a loud thud on the stones before Lorin’s horse. His eyes met Lorin, defiant.

Lorin leaned forward in his saddle, a bemused smile on his face. “Well, well, you’re hardly welcoming. Is it always like this in this part of the country?”

Lorin’s chatter frayed Calen’s nerves. The man did not use diplomacy and from the corner of his eye, Calen saw the second guard, a hulking man whose muscles seemed to strain against his armor, lift his spear and advance.

“I asked the reason for your visit,” repeated the first soldier.

To Calen’s relief, Lorin decided to give an answer. A haughty expression creased his round face as he spoke: “Official business. I come for Captain Malren. I bear an important message for him from the Council of Twelve.”

That worked. The first soldier took a cautious step back, clearly impressed. But the hulking guard still demanded proof. The tip of his spear rose a few inches.

“What sort of message?”

Lorin chuckled. “That, I’m afraid, I cannot tell you, unless you are Captain Malren.” He studied the soldier, then added with mock suspicion, “But I very much doubt you are.”

The hulking man’s expression darkened, but then Lorin’s hand slipped beneath his cloak, revealing a brown envelope. It bore a red seal, the official mark of the Council of Twelve that gleamed in the light.

“Enough seen?” Lorin taunted.

The man nodded, then cast his gaze toward Calen. “And you? Are you also here for Captain Malren?”

Before Calen could answer, Lorin spoke again:

“He’s with me. Now, move along, boys, unless you want me complaining to Captain Malren himself.”

It worked. The soldiers stepped aside now. The first guard motioned for them to ride through.

Only then did Calen dare to relax. He had not expected the city’s security to be so strict. This was far from normal. Lorin seemed to sense his thoughts and said, almost to himself:

“It’s those Christians. The whole country is in an uproar. That’s why the soldiers make such a fuss. Of course, they’re right, you know. Can’t have those fanatics roaming freely.”

“No,” Calen replied softly. “That would not be wise.”

As they entered the cobblestone streets of Ömstead, a drizzle began to fall again. Lorin uttered a curse. 

“I hate rain,” he muttered as they passed a tavern. For a moment he reined in his horse as he glanced up at the sign swaying above the door. “Look at that… The Black Boar.”

Calen raised his brows. “So?”

“Warmth, my boy, and a good mug of Ogre Ale. It’s all I need to change my mood.” He cast Calen a thoughtful look and said, “Come, I’ll invite you for a drink. The message to Captain Malren can wait another hour or so. First, I need to tend to the inner man.”

“Another time, perhaps?” Calen said, not really wanting to spend more time with Loren. The man served the Council. That much was clear. What was more, he himself was not here to fill his stomach with Ogre Ale. He needed to find out where the blacksmith lived. 

“I am pressed for time.”

Lorin raised his brows. “With what? I thought you were just traveling. Come to think of it, you haven’t told me what you are actually doing here. Come, let us sit together for a moment.”

A flicker of hesitation crossed his mind. What good could come out of more fellowship with the messenger of Captain Droskar? Still, he should not put more suspicion on himself than was absolutely necessary. For a moment, he stared at Lorin while asking God to speak. 

Lord, what do I do?

Go with him to the tavern. I’ll be with you.

The command was clear. It came to him in a flash; soft, but full of conviction. Was that the work of the Holy Spirit? The realization that God was ever so close and always within speaking distance, filled Calen with a sense of steady peace. How great was the God of the Scrolls. A very present help in time of trouble.

“Very well,” Calen said at last. “I could use some warmth. We’ll drink to our friendship.”

“That’s more like it,” Lorin said with a grin. He guided his horse toward a post and dismounted, clearly pleased.

***

The weather turned just as Ronan reined in his horse. Isola was seated behind him, at the edge of a marsh.

“We must tread carefully as we pass through here,” he said, without turning, addressing Marisa who had only just become entangled in a lively debate with Tobin about whether Pax truly needed to learn how to fetch. The sun had vanished behind a mass of brooding clouds, and the wind had begun to rise. It did not bode well.

Marisa drew up beside Ronan and gazed out over the seemingly impassable stretch of water before them. Tall trees stood scattered throughout the marsh, their slick trunks gleaming faintly as a low mist drifted across the surface.

“Must we go through that?” she asked, a trace of concern in her voice. “Is there no way around?”

Ronan shook his head. “Not if you wish to avoid the soldiers of the Council of Twelve. They would never venture into this marsh.”

“That, I can imagine,” Marisa replied. She understood well enough why Ronan refused to take the common roads. “Is the water deep?”

Ronan shrugged. “I have not been here often. There are treacherous channels, deep and sudden, and in places the ground gives way to quicksand. But there are narrow, dry paths where we may pass safely, if we are careful.”

“And you know the way?” Marisa asked, her unease beginning to grow. Her eyes swept over the sodden, mist-laden ground and the trees that rose like jagged weapons from the water, their twisted, ghostly shapes seeming to claw at the sky.

“No,” Ronan said plainly. “But I can find it.” He leaned forward in the saddle, narrowing his eyes as they moved across the landscape. “Where the water reflects too cleanly, it is deep—we must keep away from such places. I look for broken reeds as well; where animals have passed, the ground is likely safe. Certain mosses grow only on dry earth. And lastly… one can listen.”

“What do you mean?” Marisa asked.

“Where the water can be clearly heard, where it flows, it is likely shallow. But where all is silent, the depths are often greater. And the hum of insects is another sign. They favor shallow water.”

“How do you know all this?” Marisa asked, unable to hide her respect.

Ronan chuckled. “Experience, I suppose. They always said in the army, I was a fine tracker.”

“So it would seem,” Marisa said, nodding. She trusted him. 

“Ready?” he asked, with a mischievous grin on his weathered face.

Isola cast a somewhat uncertain glance at Marisa, but Marisa nodded reassuringly. Tobin, for his part, found the whole affair delightful. Only Pax, who harbored a deep and abiding hatred of water, was far less enthusiastic, whining softly as though the ordeal were already too much for him.

“Good gravy, Pax!” Tobin shouted excitedly from his safe perch behind Marisa. “It’s just water. That’s all!”

Pax hesitated, whining all the more, but when Ronan and Marisa pressed on regardless, he seemed to realize he had no choice and leapt after them.

Ronan advanced slowly, his gaze sharp as he guided them onward. At times they stepped upon patches of dry ground, but more often they trudged through damp, sucking mire. The mist thickened, making it ever harder to see.

At last Ronan halted and let out a sigh.

“Is everything all right?” Marisa asked. “Do you still know where to go?”

Ronan glanced at her and grinned once more. “No, I do not,” he admitted. “But I know very well where not to go.”

Marisa sighed.

Lord, keep us safe.

Just as Ronan was about to move on, Marisa heard voices. She froze and reached out to stop him.

“I hear something,” she whispered.

Ronan, so focused on finding their path, started in surprise. “What?”

“I hear something,” Marisa repeated. “Voices.”

Ronan’s expression darkened. “That cannot be. There is no one here, save perhaps an otter or a few waterfowl.”

“Quiet,” Marisa commanded again.

The silence was overwhelming, broken only by the sound of water flowing somewhere nearby and the soft rustling of reeds. Just as Ronan shrugged and made to move again there came, unmistakably, a sound.

Someone was cursing.

Another was yelling.

And there was neighing of horses. 

It sounded like a group of soldiers. Lost soldiers.

Ronan’s face darkened. “They must have followed us anyway.”

“How?” Marisa said. “You shook them off.”

“I don’t know,” Ronan said. 

Marisa eyed him consciously. She had not seen him this lost yet.  

He scratched his forehead and said, “Maybe some of them didn’t believe my ruse. They went back and caught our trail.”

“By the Whiskers of Saint Gilles,” Tobin piped up. “It sounds more like they are in trouble.”

“Right,” Ronan replied in a grave voice. “Perhaps they got caught in the swamp.” The tense expression on his face softened somewhat and his shoulders relaxed. “Navigating this labyrinth requires a bit of skill.”

They all listened again, hoping to get a clue of what was going on.

“Can we go on,” Tobin asked, his voice impatient. “I don’t like it here.”

Right at that time another scream from behind them pierced the silence. “Somebody, help! Please.”

Ronan shook his head in dismay. “As I thought. They got themselves caught in the quicksand.”

His words were grave and hung for a moment in the oppressive air. The danger they were all in was becoming clearer. Not too far away a waterbird flew away.

“They are in the quicksand?” Tobin said. “That’s good, right? They shouldn’t even be following us. We are good and they are not. It’s their own fault.”

Nobody spoke. Tobin’s words echoed the thought they all harbored. And yet, here were people in need. People facing death, people created in the image of God… 

Could they just shrug their shoulders, thank God for a good outcome and take off?

Marisa was pondering what to say, but Ronan beat her to it. “I am going to look,” he said. “Calen could have left me to die when I was about to fall off the Bridge. He would have been right to do so, for we were going to finish him. But he did not leave me. He came back for me. How can I do any less?”

Marisa nodded. “You are right, Ronan. I am with you.”

“W-we are going to help them?” Tobin croaked, the fear in his voice palpable. 

“Yes,” Marisa stated decisively. “It’s what God wants us to do.”

And without further ado, they turned their horses and ever so slowly moved back toward the place where the desperate screams were echoing through the silent swamp. 

What would they find there?

____

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