<< >
Previously on Hidden Fragments:
Calen and Alaric reached the mysterious island of Lumenreach, convinced that Jonathan’s ancient song concealed the location of the lost Scroll of Genesis. Braving freezing waters and dangerous currents, Calen crossed the last stretch alone and discovered that the clues in the song pointed toward a rotting tree on the lonely island.
Meanwhile, back at Grandfather’s farm, fear gripped Marisa and the others when Tobin disappeared into a deep shaft and Vorren descended after him. After hours of anxious waiting and desperate prayer, Vorren emerged safely with Tobin, having discovered a vast hidden network of tunnels and a strange underground lake untouched by the Council. That evening, hope returned to the farm. Grandfather invited Vorren to stay, Isola was reunited with her son, and Marisa made plans to continue her journey to deliver the Scroll of Jude to the hermit.
But the road ahead leads toward the dreaded Bridge of Echoes, a place Ronan barely survived once before…
Chapter 46
The Beginning and the End
Three Years Earlier
Jonathan; Magdalena’s husband, was exhausted.
His heart hammered in his throat and his breath rasped and wheezed like an old farm cart, ready to be thrown upon the scrap heap. His stiff legs could barely carry him any further, and sweat poured from his brow.
Still, he dared not stop.
The soldiers were close. Too close.
The Scroll of Genesis remained safely hidden inside the satchel strapped tightly across his back. What a joy it had been when they discovered it. Then Sylvaine Vrax had revealed his true nature. But Vrax had failed. Jonathan still carried it.
Now, he only needed to hide it.
But where?
The eyes of the Council of Twelve were everywhere.
He thought of Magdalena, safely back at the lighthouse. The thought of her beautiful face gave him strength.
Keep going, Jonathan. Do not surrender to the enemy.
Easier said than done. With soldiers so close behind he had no time left to think.
All that mattered now was keeping the Scroll safe. The Scroll of Genesis… the beginning of everything. The story of the Maker, of mankind, of paradise lost and the promised redemption. The Council must never possess it. Too many believers clung to its words in this present darkness.
Not far behind, he heard the dreadful sound of an ox horn; that hated instrument the soldiers of the Council used, to signal one another.
The sound was drawing closer.
They had riders… and bloodthirsty hounds that delighted in hunting down defenseless Christians.
But that could not happen.
A thorn-bush scraped against his arm and a low hanging branch tore across his forehead. He barely felt it, though he tasted blood.
It did not matter.
That was a concern for later… if there would even be a later.
At last, he reached the end of the forest.
Before him stretched a barren sandy plain, scattered with jagged rocks and somewhere ahead he heard the furious crashing of waves.
He had reached the sea.
What now?
There was nowhere left to run. He knew this region well enough. The cliffs here were steep and unforgiving, and there were no caves where he might hide.
Oh God… help me…
His heart felt ready to burst apart, and his lungs burned like fire.
Black spots danced before his eyes and dizziness overtook him. Yet through the haze he noticed a thin column of smoke rising beyond a nearby dune.
A farm?
Perhaps they would hide him there.
It was a terrible risk. The people might well be loyal followers of the Council of Twelve.
But if he kept running, he would surely become prey for the enemy.
He forced his trembling legs onward.
Up one dune.
Down another.
There it was at last. A small farm, little more than a crumbling stony hut, sagging beneath years of neglect. Typical of the way the Council cared for the common people.
He tripped over a stone, staggered upright again and fell once more.
This was the end…
Behind, he heard the savage barking of the hounds once again.
It was over.
He had failed. He could not escape. He dropped to his knees, ready to surrender. Awful… Just awful.
“Here. Quickly.”
A voice hissed close beside his ear.
A voice?
Had the soldiers already reached him? No… this was not the voice of a soldier.
Strong hands seized him beneath the arms and dragged him away. Jonathan looked up and saw the broad muscular figure of a farmer. The face looked tense but gentle.
“Hold on,” the farmer whispered sharply. “And not a sound from you. Then all will be well.”
“W-What are you doing?” Jonathan gasped.
“I’m hiding you in my muddy irrigation trench. Cold and filthy, but safe. The dogs won’t catch your scent there.”
The farmer glanced around nervously before adding, “Do you have anything heavy?”
“H-Heavy?” Jonathan panted. “I don’t understand.”
“Something I can throw. Something carrying your scent. The dogs will follow it.”
“My money pouch,” Jonathan whispered faintly. “My last coins are inside.”
“Good,” the farmer said. “Quickly then. Give it to me.”
Jonathan tore the pouch from his leather belt and handed it over. Without even glancing at it, the farmer hurled it far across the dunes toward the sea.
“Now into the trench.”
Before Jonathan fully understood what was happening, he sank into a foul wet mass of mud and stagnant water.
The irrigation trench.
It was not deep, but a terrible stench entered his nostrils. His boots touched the bottom.
“Keep only your head above the mud,” the farmer whispered. “I’ll cover you with reeds.”
A great heap of reeds was dumped over him. Just as the farmer finished concealing him completely, Jonathan heard furious barking nearby and a harsh voice shouting: “Where is that cursed Christian? Have you seen anyone?”
The farmer’s reply, claiming that a strange man had run toward the sea, reached Jonathan only dimly.
Then darkness swallowed him whole.
***
Jonathan drifted upward through warmth and darkness.
“Wake up!”
A harsh commanding voice pierced deep into his fading consciousness. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him.
Jonathan groaned softly.
It was warm here. Safe.
He did not want to wake.
Where that voice came from, there was only cold and danger. Soldiers waited there, ready to drag him away to prison and tear the Scroll from his hands.
The Scroll…
At once his eyes flew open.
He looked around in confusion. The first thing he saw was the rough face of a man staring down at him with an unreadable expression.
“Wake up,” the man repeated. “The soldiers are gone. You must leave as well. It is too dangerous for me.”
Jonathan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slowly pushed himself upright.
Where was he?
He lay on the dusty floor of a cramped cluttered room beneath several rough buffalo hides.
“W-Where am I?” he asked weakly, while throwing the hides aside.
Immediately the warmth vanished. A cold draft swept through the room and made him shiver violently.
He was wet.
Filthy too, smeared from head to toe with drying mud.
Then suddenly it all came rushing back.
The forest.
The barking hounds.
The terrible chase.
…The moment he had finally given up hope.
And there had been that farmer, the man who had saved him. A deep wave of gratitude filled Jonathan’s heart as he looked at him. “Thank you,” he said softly. “You saved my life.”
“It is nothing,” the farmer replied gruffly. “I hate the Council of Twelve. Their enemies are my friends.”
“May God bless you for your sacrifice,” Jonathan said earnestly. “He will reward you.”
“God?” the farmer muttered bitterly, and his face darkened. “I want nothing to do with Him. Not since He refused to help my wife.”
“Your wife?”
The man nodded slowly.
“My wife believed in that God of yours. I do not. In that regard, I agree with the Council. Fairy tales, all of it.” He snorted quietly. “But my wife believed. She attended secret gatherings where they read from a Scroll.” He gave a hollow laugh. “And look where it got her.”
“And then?”
“The soldiers of the Council raided one of those gatherings. My wife was arrested and died in prison.” His jaw tightened. “They questioned me too. I still feel their boots in my sides.” He shrugged bitterly. “But once they realized I did not believe, they lost interest.””
For a moment he fell silent.
“Thus,” he said at last, “I remain alive… and my wife did not. That is why I hate the Council.”
“Why did you save me if you don’t believe in God?” A warm compassionate feeling rose. “That was dangerous.”
The farmer shrugged. “I don’t know. Just doesn’t feel right not to help.” He got up. “But now you must go. It’s too dangerous for me if you stay here. The soldiers may be back.”
Jonathan understood. “Where’s my satchel,” he asked as he got up.
“Over there,” the farmer said while nodding with his head to a corner. “What’s in it that’s so important that you are risking your life for it? You were talking about it in your sleep.”
“A Scroll,” Jonathan replied. “Like the one they killed your wife for. It’s the Scroll of the beginning.”
The farmer raised his eyes and stared at Jonathan for good while.
He seemed distraught.
Why?
At last he spoke while tilting his head. “The beginning? That’s odd. I heard of another Scroll. An opposite Scroll.”
Jonathan frowned. “An opposite Scroll? What do you mean?”
The farmer looked down and seemed conflicted. At last, he cleared his throat and said, “A few years ago, a sailor washed ashore here. Said his boat had gone down in the waters.”
“So?”
The farmer shrugged. “Said he carried a Scroll too. Not of beginnings… but of endings.”
The farmer rubbed his beard uneasily. “Called it the Revelation.”
Jonathan’s mouth sagged open. “The… the Scroll of the end?”
“Guess so. I thought he was crazy. Said he hid it on a small strip of land, that few folks know about. It’s called Lumenreach. An island of sorts, mostly hidden from view.”
“He hid the Scroll of the end there?”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
“What happened to the sailor?”
The farmer shrugged. “He just died from his wounds. Buried him nearby.”
Jonathan felt something stir deep within. The Scroll of the end was hidden on a small strip of land called Lumenreach… and he had the Scroll of the beginning.
Genesis.
Revelation.
The beginning… and the end. His breath caught.
This was no coincidence. The Maker of heaven and earth was at work.
“Can you sail out to Lumenreach?” he asked.
The farmer frowned. “And why would I do that?”
“I want to hide the Scroll of Genesis there as well. Right now, it’s too dangerous to have these Scrolls around, but times will change and then I can pick them up again.”
“It’s risky,” the farmer replied. “What do I gain from such madness?”
Jonathan hesitated. Promises of blessing would mean little to a man carrying such bitterness. He searched for something more practical.
“Gold?” he said. “I’ve got some at home in my lighthouse.”
The farmer shook his head. “These Scrolls will hinder the Council?”
Jonathan nodded. “The Council hate these Scrolls. That’s why they were chasing me.”
“In that case, I’ll help you,” the farmer replied. “Anything I can do to make the Council fail, will be my pleasure.”
For the first time there was a smile on his face. “I’ll fetch the boat,” he said. “If the tides favor us, we can reach Lumenreach by morning.”
Jonathan closed his eyes briefly and offered a silent prayer of thanks.
How good it was to see God at work.
***
The sun had only just climbed above the mountains when Marisa and Ronan left Grandfather’s farm behind them.
The goat fields glistened with morning dew, and the air was fresh and filled with the scent of grass. Just before they entered the forest, Marisa turned around one last time to look at Grandfather’s farm. Smoke curled into the air from the chimney. That meant Grandfather was busy preparing breakfast for the others.
“Are you alright?” Ronan asked.
She smiled at him. “Yes, I am. Just asked God to keep them all safe.”
The previous day had passed quietly after all that had happened. Marisa had spent long hours in prayer while Ronan helped Grandfather repair the leaking roof above the goat shed. Vorren, meanwhile, had gone into the hills with Bram to tend the goats, and Isola had scarcely left Tobin’s side.
At night, Grandfather had prepared a special treat; Thunderbelly Goat Stew with thick brown bread and onion rings. He had used far too many onions though and Bram had complained that there had been enough onions to kill a mule. They had all laughed, but because the meal had been Grandfather’s way of showing he cared, both she and Ronan had taken generous second servings. Hopefully, it wouldn’t give them stomach cramps on the way.
After the meal, Isola asked when they would be back. Marisa had simply shrugged her shoulders. She had no idea.
It had caused a tear to roll down Isola’s cheek but she wiped it away quickly, then put on the sort of brave face believers wear when their hearts are trembling.
Grandfather had behaved warmly toward them as always, but Marisa could still see the worry behind the calm expression he wore. He too put on the face of someone trying very hard to appear brave.
She would have loved to stay.
She truly would have, but she could not.
There was too much at stake now. The Scroll of Jude needed to be delivered to the hermit and she longed to know what had happened to Calen.
By now, they had disappeared completely into the forest. She glanced up at Ronan. “And you?” she asked softly. “How are you holding up?”
What she truly wanted to ask was, whether he was afraid to cross the Bridge of Echoes again. After all, he would have died if it hadn’t been for Calen, but perhaps that question was too direct.
As it turned out, she could just as well have asked him openly. Ronan seemed to know exactly what she meant.
“Calen crossed that bridge safely,” he said quietly. “And he came back for me.” He lowered his eyes. “You said everyone who loves the God of the Scrolls can cross safely, so… um… I suppose everything will be all right.”
Marisa pondered his words.
She herself had never seen the Bridge of Echoes. Everything she knew about it had come from her friends in Bramblebrook and, of course, from Sylvaine Vrax. But anything that traitor had said could hardly be trusted. With his sly little scheme to hand them over to Slink, perhaps he had counted on Calen falling off the bridge even if his trap had failed.
According to Ronan, there was indeed something deeply unsettling about the Bridge of Echoes. To be fair, she wasn’t looking forward to crossing it herself.
Yet Calen had made it across safely.
And surely, the hermit did it many times.
She pushed her anxious thoughts aside. Surely God would bring them safely through as well.
As they rode on, she noticed they had long passed the place where Tobin had fallen into the shaft. She had never been here before. The sandy trail, if it could even be called a trail, was overgrown with bushes and low hanging branches that clawed at them as they passed. Fortunately, the horses seemed far better at finding their way through the dense forest than their riders were.
It was very beautiful here.
For a while they passed a small gurgling stream that led to a waterfall. It felt as though civilization had never reached this place. Silence lay over the forest, broken only by birdsong and the murmur of water. Marisa saw flowers she had never seen before, strange knotted trees that resembled little men from other worlds, and at one point a wild boar crossed their path, followed by several piglets.
Ronan stopped and waited until they were gone.
“Wild boars with young are dangerous creatures,” he said, while he held his hand on his sword. “Better to wait.”
For a time, they traveled on in silence. After a good while, Ronan cleared his throat. “I think I’ve been here before,” he said. “If I am not mistaken, there’s a proper road nearby. An old trade route. It leads straight in the direction we need to go.”
Marisa was not quite sure how to respond.
Would it be safe?
The journey through the forest was exhausting, even for the horses, and their progress was painfully slow. Yet the larger roads carried dangers of their own. The chances of meeting the wrong sort of people there were far greater.
“It may be dangerous,” Marisa said.” She could hear the uncertainty in her own voice.
Ronan glanced at her uneasily. “You said we needed to make haste. If we keep struggling through this forest, I doubt we’ll reach the Bridge of Echoes before nightfall.” He hesitated for a moment before adding quietly, “And I would rather not cross that bridge in the dark.”
“What if we run into soldiers?” she asked.
Ronan nodded slowly. “I thought of that already.” He leaned forward on his horse and pulled a thick coil of rope from his saddlebag. “If we meet anyone, I’ll tie your hands and tell them I captured you. You are an unrepentant believer in the God of the Scrolls. I’ll say I’m taking you to Ömstead to stand trial for rejecting the Book of Order. They’ll believe that easily enough.”
Marisa looked at him in disbelief. “You have a strange way of comforting people,” she muttered. “Still… I agree I would rather not cross the Bridge of Echoes at night.”
“Then we do it,” Ronan said with surprising cheerfulness. “I’m sure it will be fine. And why would we suddenly run into soldiers out here?”
Marisa swallowed uneasily, yet decided to trust that Ronan knew what he was doing. Her companion seemed full of confidence again. He guided his horse straight through the undergrowth as though he knew exactly where they were going. Marisa followed obediently and indeed, only a few minutes later they emerged onto a broader dusty road that was winding through the forest.
A rough wooden signpost leaned beside the road. It was old and weathered and looked like it was about to fall over.
In it was carved: Bramblebrook — 10 Miles.
“We’re not going through Bramblebrook, are we?” Marisa asked. Ronan might be an experienced tracker, but after everything that had happened there, she had no desire to ever pass through that place again.
A wide grin spread across Ronan’s rugged face.
“Certainly not,” he replied. “That would be dangerous for me as well. A few miles from here comes a fork in the road. One path leads straight toward Ömstead. The Bridge of Echoes lies along that route.”
“Well then,” Marisa said softly. “Let’s do it.” She whispered a prayer for protection and followed Ronan in the dreaded direction of Bramblebrook.
She had to admit; he was right about their progress. The horses moved steadily now and the journey became far easier, now that they didn’t have to force their way through the wilderness.
At one point a family of deer crossed the road ahead of them. The stag, crowned with magnificent antlers, watched them warily while the smaller deer hurried carefully across the path.
Marisa smiled faintly at the sight.
That stag would do anything to protect his herd, just as God faithfully protected His children time and time again. Strange, how she needed to be reminded of that almost every day.
When the deer had disappeared into the forest, they moved on.
If only their entire journey would be this easy.
True to Ronan’s predictions, after some time they arrived at a crossroads.
Another marker stood there. Old and worn, half-covered in climbing vines, but still very readable. Ronan rode over and brushed the vines aside with his hand. “There,” he said in confident tones. “Told you so.”
Marisa looked and read the painted sign: Straight ahead: Bramblebrook — 5 Miles.
The other road: Ömstead — 25 Miles.
That was still a considerable distance, though they would leave the road long before, to reach the Bridge of Echoes.
Ronan flashed her a triumphant grin as though to say, See? Nothing to worry about.
But at that very moment Marisa heard the thunder of hooves behind them.
She turned sharply in the saddle.
A great cloud of dust was racing toward them.
Riders.
Soldiers?
It could hardly be anyone else. Farmers never rode in troops.
Perhaps they could still hide among the bushes…
Ronan seemed to read her thoughts immediately and shook his head.
“Too late,” he said while he narrowed his eyes. “They’ve already seen us. If we run off, we look suspicious.”
Without wasting another second, he pulled the rope from his saddlebag.
“Quick,” he said. “Let me bind your hands. Everything will be fine.”
But Marisa could see from the tension in his jaw that he did not truly believe his own words.
When Ronan had tied her wrists together and urged his horse forward with a hard expression on his face, Marisa looked back once more.
Soldiers indeed.
Their iron breastplates glittered brightly beneath the sun.
It was time to pray again.
_____
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
>