<<     >>

Previously on Hidden Fragments

Calen finds refuge among hidden believers. Though Boran, Emeth, and the others distrust him at first, Calen earns their confidence when he reveals that the hermit Elior sent him. He shares their mission of collecting and assembling the sacred Scrolls of God, so the Word of God can spread across the land despite the Council’s growing persecution.

Far away, Marisa’s grandfather is troubled after Bram dreams of Marisa riding beside soldiers of the Council. Yet after spending time in prayer, peace returns to his heart.

By evening, riders appear on the horizon, and to the old man’s amazement, Marisa herself comes racing home alive.

Chapter 39

The Lighthouse and the Scrolls

A solemn silence settled over the room when Calen finished his story.

The Hearthbroth was long ready, but no one reached for it.

Boran shook his head and murmured, “What a story. I am so glad you came.”

“Think of what it means,” Zelda said in a cheerful voice. “Soon we will be able to read the full counsel of God. All the Scrolls will be available to us.”

“Truly a good thing indeed, brother,” Osric agreed, a hopeful smile playing around his lips. “We have heard fragments of the other Scrolls, but never yet have I been able to study them in their entirety.”

Calen rubbed his chin. Should he ask about the Scrolls now? Would they trust him enough to part with what little they had? Perhaps he could offer to copy some for them.

He hesitated. Copying Scrolls would take time, and he did not want to remain in Ömstead any longer than necessary. After what he had heard from Lorin, he needed to move quickly.

Lorin…

The thought struck him. He had not yet told them about the statue that was to be raised.

He cleared his throat. “How many believers are there in Ömstead? I am sure you are not the only ones.”

“That’s right,” Osric said, his eyes shining with a light Calen had seen before. “We are many.” As Calen looked at Osric, his face reminded him of Elior.

There was something about him.

A resemblance.

“We have little time,” Calen began. “On my way here, I encountered a messenger of the Council. I forced the truth from him.”

The room stilled. All eyes were on him.

“There is a new law. The captain of Ömstead is to raise a beast of iron with twelve heads. All will be commanded to bow before it.”

“What?” Zelda cried.

Calen looked at her, sorrow in his eyes. “It is a trap. They know we will not bow.”

Karel sprang to his feet, anger flashing across his face.

“I told you, we should fight,” he said, his voice rising. “We can’t just stand by and let this happen. We’ve endured enough.”

“Sit,” Osric said firmly.

Karel hesitated.

“Your zeal is running ahead of you,” Osric continued. “The Kingdom of God is not of this world. His servants do not take up the sword.”

“The statue has not yet been raised,” Calen said. “We still have a little time. But we must act quickly. I was sent to gather the Scrolls. We must secure the ones here in Ömstead and bring them to Elior.”

“Well said,” Osric agreed. “We have two Scrolls here. One is kept in this house. The other is in mine.”

Calen’s face fell. “Only two? Elior told me we are missing five.”

“Only two,” Osric said again. “I wish there were more.”

“Then… where are the others?”

Boran cleared his throat. “Be that as it may,” he said, his voice firm, “I will not simply hand over the only Scroll in my keeping.”

His gaze hardened. “You seem a decent man, but I do not know you. And handing over the precious Scroll is no small thing.”

Calen nodded. “I understand. But I can copy it for you. At least most of it, if time allows.”

Boran frowned. “You can write?”

Calen straightened. “I am a scribe. It is what I do. I write swiftly… and I write well.” 

A deep silence fell over the room. Each was lost in thought.

At last, Boran nodded. “Alright… I will get the Scroll for you. When can you begin?”

“Right now,” Calen said.

His stomach growled as the scent of Hearthbroth reached him. He needed to eat something. “Perhaps… a small bowl first. Then I am ready to work.”

“Of course,” Zelda said. “We all need something to keep us going.” 

“That we do,” Osric said. “We can eat first, but Calen should not stay here. He can’t work here. He will need quiet.”

He glanced around the room. “We gather here tonight. There is much to pray about. Calen has his own mission, and that is to copy. Let him work undisturbed.”

His eyes returned to Calen. “And there’s more…”

“What?”

“Boran is right. I would like you to copy my Scroll as well, so we will not be left in the dark.”

Calen nodded. He understood. Overwork. He would not sleep tonight.

“So where will he go?” Emeth asked.

Osric turned to Karel. “Your sister… would she receive him? Only for a night or two.”

“Magdalena?” Karel said. “I… would have to ask her.”

The name struck Calen.

Magdalena.

He had heard it before.

A dim cell. The voice of Asher in the darkness.

“When you reach Ömstead, ask for Magdalena and her son. They have an important Scroll… the beginning of the Scroll of Ages. Genesis. The history of our world.”

“She lives in the lighthouse,” Osric said. “It is safe, and no one will disturb you there while you copy the Scrolls.”

A lighthouse.

That meant, he would finally see the sea. Calen remembered how Marisa had spoken of Ömstead as the city by the Great Sea, where the sun sank into its depths. He had never seen the sea and had often wondered what it would be like.

“So… it is safe to go there?” he asked, hesitating.

Boran frowned. “Of course it is safe. She loves God and lives there with her son. Her husband died years ago, but she has not abandoned the faith.”

Osric smiled. “You will be in good hands there, Calen.”

He turned to Karel. “Go and ask her. We must move quickly.”

Karel nodded. “Aye. Just save me a bowl of Hearthbroth.”

Zelda grinned. “Then run before we finish it. We’re a hungry lot, so you may yet find the dog in the pot.”

***

The scent of old wooden furniture and familiar cooking herbs hit Marisa the moment she stepped inside. She smiled as she inhaled it.

Home.

Just as she remembered.

Strangely, Grandfather’s house felt smaller than she recalled. She hadn’t been gone long, yet her horizons had widened after all she’d seen and experienced. She could sense that Grandfather had many questions too. They lingered in the air between them.

The old man’s gaze held a mixture of joy, shadowed by concern and uncertainty. Not all that strange, considering she had arrived unannounced with two fully armed soldiers from the Council of Twelve. And who were the others? The little boy with the dog, and the woman who looked after him? Their presence seemed to unsettle him.

“Have no fear, Grandfather,” Marisa said. “These are my friends.”

He nodded, and with a look of genuine care, he stepped forward and drew her into another embrace.

Ronan coughed. He had followed Marisa inside with the others and tried to appear as forthcoming as he could, but it did not come naturally to him. Friendly visits to the homes of old men were unfamiliar territory. The only times he had been in such surroundings were during acts of plunder, while quelling rebellion in the name of the Council.

Not knowing how to act, he saluted Grandfather in a most bumbling way.

“Most Honorable and Formidably Wise Grandfather, we bring tidings of utmost importance! I am at your service.”

Grandfather shook his head, then managed, “At ease, soldier. At ease.”

Ronan relaxed his shoulders and an awkward silence followed until Marisa’s cheerful voice cut through.

“Let’s sit down, Grandfather. There is much to tell.” 

Right at that moment, she heard the distant bleating of the goats outside and the enthusiastic bark of a dog. She looked up through the window and saw the goats coming, guided by a young lad and Winston.

“The goats and Winston,” she cried. “How I missed them.” She turned to Grandfather. “You’ve got yourself a young helper. That’s great. I was worried about you.”

Grandfather shrugged. “It’s the best I could find. I’d rather have you.”

His face told an unspoken story of trial and error, and with a flicker of hope, he added, “Have you come to stay?”

“Oh, Grandfather.” Marisa’s words were warm and gentle. “I’d love to, but the future is not up to me.” She turned to the others and said, “We could all use of good cup of tea, couldn’t we?”

Even Vorren and Ronan offered polite nods of agreement, though Marisa knew tea was far from their preference. Yet, the drinks they favored had never crossed Grandfather’s doorstep.

It wasn’t possible to fit everyone around the table. Marisa, Tobin and Isola took the best seats; Vorren and Ronan ended up on the seats near the window.

The door flew open, and Winston stormed in, with Bram close behind, his face a picture of dread as he spotted Ronan and Vorren.

“Oi,” he muttered, a perplexed expression on his face. 

While Winston launched into a loud, enthusiastic greeting for Marisa, the lad clung to the door handle, already plotting his escape from what he swore was a full-scale invasion by the Council of Twelve.

“Friends!” Marisa cried. “There’s no need for fear.”

Bram’s shoulders dropped, but he lingered in the doorway, still poised to run at the slightest sign of trouble. After a moment, he relaxed a little and hesitantly stepped further inside to close the door behind him.

The only seat left was a stool right next to Ronan, who had just been served a steaming cup of tea.

Not a good place to sit.

But when Ronan lifted his cup in a mock toast, grinning as though it held Ogre Ale instead of tea, the shepherd boy understood there truly was nothing to fear, and he sat down.

For the next hour, stories were shared with animated gestures.

The only ones who did not fully participate were Bram and Vorren. Bram slouched over his stool, his face saying it all: he was done, and he hadn’t expected this intrusion on his daily routine. He had spent the day sprawled on the hills, lying in the grass, doing what he considered his work, and now he was in for more difficulties. It seemed he didn’t even have a bedroom to call his own anymore.

Vorren, by contrast, simply listened. His expression flickered between wonder and unease. He heard things he had never encountered before, and each revelation seemed to press on him, quietly shaking his composure. Yet he said nothing, his hands folded in his lap, eyes tracing the gestures of the others as if filing each story away.

At last, the stories ended. The room gradually quieted. The laughter faded, the last animated gestures subsided. Only the soft crackle of the hearth remained.

Grandfather cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is time we called it a day.”

He was right. The weight of the day, of so many emotions and revelations, pressed on them all.

Arrangements were made.

Bram’s face paled when Marisa announced that Isola and Tobin would take her room. She even had the nerve to direct him to the smelly goat’s shed, which, surprisingly, made for a comfortable bed of hay. 

At last, Marisa turned off the oil lamp and whispered goodnight to Vorren and Ronan. Quiet filled the house, soft and comforting after the day’s noise.

Outside, a gentle wind rustled the apple tree, and somewhere far off, a lone coyote barked. She had always despised that sound, but tonight it was music. She was home again.

Truly home.

When she closed her eyes, her heart overflowed with gratitude. Here, on the floor of Grandfather’s house, breathing in the scent of normalcy, she felt perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven she could imagine.

Her eyelids grew heavy, but an urgent whisper jolted her awake.

“Marisa.”

She shot upright. “What?”

“I am afraid,” the voice whispered.

Afraid of what?

It was Vorren. He clearly wanted to talk.

***

Previous Chapter     Next Chapter