Previously on Hidden Fragment
Calen found the one he was sent to seek, the blacksmith Emeth, yet all was not safe. Danger followed close behind. As soldiers raided the Black Boar, Calen escaped into the shadows, following the blacksmith. He was happy to leave Lorin in the hands of the soldiers.
In the swamp, Ronan was confronted with the weight of his past. Faced with dying enemies, he chose compassion, and pulled them from death.
But mercy has consequences.
Join me in the next chapter of Hidden Fragments.
Chapter 37
Faith in the Fog
The door stood ajar.
The blacksmith had slipped through it moments ago, leaving the wooden bar hanging loose.
A relief.
Calen pulled the door open and stepped outside.
Back into the rain.
The clouds hung low over the town, smothering the street in a cold, watery fog. Few people were out. Nearby, an old woman struggled through the mud, pushing a cart of produce. One wheel sank deep into a puddle, and she sighed in frustration.
Normally, Calen would have stopped and given her a hand. But not now.
He had to hurry.
The blacksmith was already nearing the end of the street, about to disappear into a side alley.
Calen ran, splashing through muddy pools, nearly slipping. He needed Hosanna, but his horse was still at the Black Boar. He would have to fetch him later.
Leaving Hosanna outside was the safest choice for now. The horse was well-trained; he would wait patiently.
Faster.
The blacksmith had disappeared from sight.
What would he do if he caught him? Calen had no idea.
How could he convince the man he was one of them?
Ömstead was a hotbed for the Council of Twelve, more than any city he had seen. The blacksmith didn’t know him and had every reason to be suspicious.
Hello, I am Calen, and I am on a mission from God. Help me find the Scrolls.
He almost snorted at the thought.
Should he use the name of Elior? Better yet, the name of Jesus.
He reached the corner where the blacksmith had turned, and he slowed and peeked around it.
The blacksmith was still there, standing at the door of a small, fragile-looking house. He knocked. The house leaned slightly forward, as if it might collapse at any moment under the weight of the sky.
What now?
Calen saw the door creaking open. A woman’s face appeared. She scanned the street in both directions.
Calen pulled back just in time.
When he looked again, the door was closed.
The blacksmith and the woman were gone.
What was he to do now?
Wait?
In the rain?
He shivered. Perhaps it would make more sense to get Hosanna, find an inn and rest up. He could look for the blacksmith’s shop tomorrow.
A tempting thought.
But he wasn’t here for comfort.
Bumping into the blacksmith had felt… significant. What if it had been God’s guidance? What if he had been led into that pub for a reason? He would never have entered a place like the Black Boar on his own.
No. He should wait.
As he lingered in the alley, the old woman with the cart passed by again. Her face was tired, her clothes caked with mud, yet she offered him a gentle smile.
Calen smiled back.
Then, to his surprise, she turned into the very street where the blacksmith had gone.
Calen followed her with his eyes. He felt a jolt of shock as she stopped at the same house. She set down her cart, walked to the door, and knocked.
Calen’s breath stopped and he stepped back, keeping out of sight.
When he peeked around the corner again, several men had come out of the house. Without a word, they had begun unloading the cart and carried the produce inside.
It was over quickly.
Soon, the street was empty again, as if nothing had ever happened. The cart stood by the door, now empty. Everyone had gone inside.
A wave of excitement coursed through him.
What if these people were believers?
What if he had just stumbled upon a hidden gathering like the one he had once attended in Isola’s house?
His thoughts drifted back to that night, when life had seemed almost perfect.
A longing for fellowship stirred within him. Singing around an open fire. Listening to words from a Scroll he had never heard before. How good and how pleasant it was for the brethren to be together. But that night had also been the night Sylvaine Vrax showed up.
Treacherous Sylvaine Vrax.
No. He could not just knock on that door and expect to be welcomed as a brother.
They might see him the way he saw Sylvaine.
To them, he was just an untrustworthy stranger.
Another threat.
Another Sylvaine Vrax.
“Oh God,” he prayed, “what am I to do?”
Someone coughed nearby.
Somebody else in the rain?
Calen turned. A middle-aged man stared at him with questioning eyes, plainly suspicious. Rain had soaked his mud-stained tunic. He did not appear dangerous or unfriendly, but he looked in need of shelter. As if he had just climbed out of a river.
Not knowing what else to do, Calen raised his hand in greeting. “H-Hello,” he mumbled.
“I saw you looking at that house,” the man said quietly while wiping rain from his face. “Something the matter?”
“N-No, not really,” Calen stammered.
What was he to say now?
“So… then why are you looking?”
Calen’s mind raced. The image of the woman with the cart came back to him.
“I saw an old woman,” he said. “She looked tired, and I wondered if she needed help. When I looked again, she was gone.”
It was not a complete lie. Her smile had been kind. He had felt the urge to help her.
Still, it sounded lame.
Would the man believe him?
Calen wouldn’t.
“Gone where?”
Calen studied the man more closely. His bare arms glistened in the rain, but they were not the arms of a soldier. He did not look like a servant of the Council of Twelve, although, neither had Sylvaine Vrax.
He knew he had to be honest. He cleared his throat and met the man’s gaze.
This was a test. He could only pray it would work.
“The Lord is my Shepherd,” he said. “I shall not want.”
“What did you say?” the man asked while raising his brows.
“He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He leads me to still waters.”
“How do you know such things?”
“I memorized it,” Calen said. “It is a song.”
“What song?”
“A song from the Scrolls. From a Psalm… Psalm 23.”
The man tilted his head. He seemed unsure how to respond. A long pause followed. At last he asked, “What do you mean by the Scrolls?”
“The Scrolls of God,” Calen said. “They are filled with the words of life.”
He paused, trying to recall another verse he had memorized.
“Thy Word… um… is this little light of mine? No… wait… it was… a light unto… my feet? Or the path? I think… a light unto my feet?”
He stared at the man, uncertainty written all over his face.
The man did not react; at least, not outwardly. He narrowed his eyes. “I thought only the Book of Order gives us light.”
Calen blinked. He had hoped for a smile. Some kind of joyful praise. Maybe even a bear hug, though the stranger was as wet as a seal.
But the man did not respond.
Had he been wrong? If this man was not a believer, danger could follow.
Then a thought from the Scrolls came to him: Fear not. I am with you. Be not afraid, for I am your God.
Clear. Compelling.
Calen licked his lips. “The true King said, I am the light of the world. He that follows Me shall not walk in darkness.”
He knew that verse. No doubt about it. Beautiful, steady. He could recite it in his sleep. But would the stranger believe him?
The man’s shoulders relaxed, a soft smile spreading across his face.
“So, you actually believe in the God of the Scrolls?”
“I do,” Calen said.
“Then tell me, why were you watching that house?”
“I was told to find Emeth the blacksmith. I believe he’s in that house. That’s why I kept staring. I didn’t know what else to do. No one in Ömstead knows me, so I can’t just knock on the door and expect the people inside to trust me.”
“Told by who?”
“Elior the Hermit. The one on the other side of the Bridge of Echoes.”
“You’ve been over the Bridge of Echoes?”
“I have,” Calen said. “It’s a long story.”
“I believe you,” the man said. “No one not right with God could cross that bridge. You were right: there are believers in that house, and I am one of them. Follow me. Several of us are gathering shortly. What’s your name?”
“Calen,” he said.
“My name is Alaric.” A grin appeared. “By the way, that verse you quoted is a little different: It says, ‘Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.’ You got it mixed up.”
Calen smiled. “I know. Memorizing is one thing. Keeping it all straight is another.”
His heart soared as he followed Alaric to the house.
Alaric knocked.
A special knock. Two short knocks, a pause, then two more short ones.
Yes, in Ömstead even a knock could be dangerous.
***
Tobin knew not what to think as he stood on the small, dry ridge overlooking the misty swamp.
Pride warred with fear. He had done right, but never had danger felt so close.
He looked at the soldiers.
The men who had thrown him and his mother from their home. Spent and broken, like mud-caked men gasping for air. These were the ones who had tried to seize him and his mother for their faith. By some unkind chance, they were all trapped together in the marsh, weary and wary of one another. He remembered his mother’s words: ‘Tobin, even in fear, God’s light never falters.’ He clutched the thought like a lifeline, for the fog thickened, the mud sucked at his boots, and he saw little light anywhere else. The land lay drowned in silence, only occasionally broken by the distant hoot of an owl. If he closed his eyes, would the swamp still be there when he opened them?
Of course it would.
The wind, the fog, the cold… It was too real. An involuntary shiver passed through him.
He fidgeted and cleared his throat, glancing at the others. Ronan looked up.
“By the Whiskers of Saint Gilles,” Tobin said. “We must press on. Night draws near, and I would sooner not sleep in such a place.”
A faint smile touched Ronan’s face. He shrugged and cast a glance at Marisa. She stood beside Isola, who had come up to join them. Then Marisa knelt beside the rescued soldiers and laid her hand upon Draeven’s shoulder, who stiffened.
“That was a narrow escape,” she said softly.
“Get away from me,” Draeven said, without giving her a glance.
Tobin felt the weight of the man’s hatred. Yet Marisa didn’t flinch. Her hand stayed on his shoulder, steady and calm. Tobin marveled. Even in the face of such rejection, God’s care could shine through her. She continued as cheerfully as she could. “I am glad you are still alive.”
Draeven looked up, his eyes sharp and darting.
“Do not think we are your friends now,” he growled. “You are enemies of the State, and that is contemptible.”
He fixed her with a cold, merciless gaze, void of any gratitude. The hatred in his eyes made Tobin’s stomach turn. Maybe they would have done better to leave that man to the quicksand. Vorren did not seem too bad, but Draeven… no, he was dangerous, still.
Marisa seemed taken aback for a moment, but quickly recovered.
“We are no enemies, and we seek harm to none. Yet it is true that we serve another King than the one you serve.” She paused for a moment. “Do you realize it’s because your friend Ronan gave his heart to the God you despise, that you yet draw breath?”
“Ronan is no friend of mine,” Draeven snapped. “Never was. And I have no need of your god. He is a deceiver who has led you all astray with foolish tales.”
Marisa sighed. “How would you know?”
The question confused Draeven. “Because… Because… well, because he just is. I am loyal to the Council. I trust the Book of Order. That’s enough.”
“But you have never given the God of the Scroll a chance,” Marisa went on.
Draeven narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you understand the meaning of the word loyalty? What has the god you talk about ever done for me? I don’t want to hear about it. It’s just not true. There is no other truth but the Book of Order.”
“Okay,” Marisa said with a sigh. “Then tell me, what was your charge?” There was no judgment in her voice, only warmth.
“That is no concern of yours,” Draeven hissed. “And do not think you are rid of us, just because you supposedly fished us out. You did not. I was about to get myself onto the dry land.” He wiped mud from his face and added, “The Council of Twelve will deal with you rebels soon enough.” He wanted to say more, but was cut short as Ronan rose to his feet. He stood over him, his gaze fierce.
“We saved your life, Draeven. Perhaps we should have left you to the marsh.”
“I said, I was about to save myself,” Draeven spat. “You are a turncoat, a traitor. What has befallen you, that you forsake us and join hands with the enemies of our glorious rule?”
“That rule is not so glorious,” Ronan replied, his voice strained. “As Marisa said, I am now a citizen of a far greater kingdom.”
“Aye, no doubt,” Draeven growled. “The kingdom of fools, I’d wager.”
Tobin saw the sting of those words upon Ronan. A bitter taste rose. Should he set Pax upon that scoundrel? Even as the thought came, he knew he’d be treading dangerous ground. Marisa and his mother would not approve. Nor, perhaps, even God Himself would not.
Then Vorren spoke.
“Hold your tongue, Draeven,” he said wearily. “They speak truth. Had they not helped us, we would both be dead. And you know it.”
“I said, I was about to save myself,” Draeven’s voice rose a pitch.
“Not so, Draeven. You are a fool if you believe that,” Vorren continued. “And I must agree with Ronan. The Council of Twelve is not so noble as you claim.”
Draeven’s fury now turned upon his companion. He pushed himself upright, blazing with rage.
“What? Are you, too, ensnared by the lies of this so-called God of the Scrolls?”
Vorren rose as well and gave a small shrug.
“I know not what to think, Draeven. But this I do know: I looked death in the face. And now I stand here, alive. They could have left us to perish, but they did not. It is precisely what you would have done, though.”
“Silence!” Draeven roared. “You speak blasphemy.”
Ronan shrugged and planted both of his legs firmly before the two arguing soldiers. “Enough,” he roared. “It matters not what you two believe. I don’t care. We don’t have time for this and will move on.”
He turned to Marisa.
“Shall we ride on?”
She cast one last glance at Draeven and Vorren, then nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”
“And what of us?” Draeven sneered.
“You return the way you came,” Ronan replied sharply. “Keep your wits about you, follow the path, and you will soon be free of this marsh. Then you may rejoin your fellows.”
Draeven cursed.
Tobin flinched. He had never heard such a curse before.
But then, Vorren cleared his throat and looked up, the confusion plain in his eyes.
“May I come with you?” he murmured. “Forgive me for pursuing you. I just followed orders, but… I am not content with the Council. I desire something more.”
Another curse spilled from Draeven. “You are a lost cause, Vorren. Before you know you too will rot in our prison… or worse.”
Vorren paid him no heed. He stood, pleading.
“Please… You have shown me something I do not understand, yet I long to know it.” His voice faltered, and the soldier broke. Tears came, and to Draeven’s horror, his shoulders shook.
“I am not happy,” he whispered. “I can’t sleep at night. Questions… things I cannot answer.”
Ronan looked to Marisa, and Marisa to Ronan.
“What shall we do?” Ronan asked.
Tobin watched, holding his breath. Would they take this rogue with them? Vorren seemed better than Draeven, yet moments ago, he had hunted them. His gaze drifted to Ronan. He too had once been a villain. When Ronan had first pounded upon their door, Tobin had been terrified. But now he trusted him. That rough man had given his heart to the God of the Scrolls.
He saw Marisa wrestling with the same thought. She pressed her lips together and looked at Vorren, who stood weeping like a child. It was almost moving.
“Come with us,” she said gently at last. “You are welcome. The Son of God has said: ‘He who comes unto Me, I shall by no means cast out.’”
“Good riddance of bad rubbish,” Draeven scoffed, glaring at Vorren. “Go on, then. Seeing they have no room for you on their horses, you will have to walk. That will do you good.”
“Walk?” said Ronan, and there was a grin on his face. “Walking will be your burden.”
“What do you mean?” Draeven snapped. “I have a horse.”
“Not so,” Ronan replied. “You have no horse, for we shall take it. You figure it out for yourself.”
Another curse followed.
It stung Tobin’s ears, and he looked uneasily to his mother. She said nothing, only watched Draeven with burning eyes.
And so, scarcely a minute later, they pressed on through the marsh once more. Ronan led the way, Vorren followed, and Marisa brought up the rear with Tobin riding behind her.
As they made steady progress, Draeven’s shouting followed them through the mist. Tobin shivered and tightened his grip on Marisa. He could only pray they would soon reach Grandfather and the goats, and that place where there was a friend for Pax.
If only they’d ever make it there.
***