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Previously on Hidden Fragments

In the last chapter, we were given a flashback revealing how Jonathan, Magdalena’s husband, hid the Scroll of Genesis on the mysterious island of Lumenreach after learning that the Scroll of Revelation had already been hidden there years earlier. To keep the Scroll of Genesis safe from the prying eyes of the Council, he decided to hide it there as well.

Meanwhile, Marisa and Ronan are on their way to find the hermit and deliver the Scroll of Jude. Their journey is leading them toward the feared Bridge of Echoes, but before they can reach it, a group of soldiers suddenly appears on the road behind them.

Chapter 47

The Surprise

The seagulls swooped dangerously close as Calen approached the rotten trunk.

Why were those creatures making such a fuss?

He had not come here to steal seagull eggs. Yet the birds clearly did not trust him. With every step he took, their cries grew louder and more frantic. Before long he found himself waving his arms wildly to protect his face.

Another doubt flashed by. So far, his journey to Lumenreach had been anything but glorious. What was he even doing here, completely alone, surrounded by a hostile foaming sea on a lonely island in the middle of nowhere, trying not to get pecked to death by a handful of furious gulls?

It was the wrong line of thinking and he stopped himself. Of course, he knew why he was here. He could not afford to doubt now. Still, it was rather strange how his life had changed so fast and so unexpectedly.

For a moment his conversation with Angus Stonevale flashed through his mind. That was where it had all begun… Seemed like ages ago.

One of the gulls now swept so low over his head that he felt its feet brush through his hair.

This was becoming absurd.

Calen bent down, scooped up a handful of pebbles and hurled them as best he could toward the screaming birds. There were only three of them, but they made enough noise for ten.

“I’m not here for you!” he shouted.

The wind snatched his words away and carried them out over sea.

“Go away!”

To his surprise, it worked.

The gulls shot upward. Nevertheless, they continued circling overhead, sounding very much as though they were cursing him from the safety of the sky.

At last, he reached the trunk.

He ran his fingers over the half-rotted wood.

It felt damp and clammy beneath his touch. He could press his fingers into it with hardly any effort. A damp, earthy smell drifted from the hollow trunk, mingled with the scent of sea salt and rotting wood.

But what now?

He did not see a Scroll. Of course not. It was hidden.

His eyes wandered over the miserable remains of the tree. Nothing that suggested a hidden treasure.

But when he pushed against the trunk, he felt it shift. The entire thing seemed loose, he could probably topple it over.

Bracing himself, he began to push. It was awkward work. The wood had become so rotten that he nearly shoved his hands straight through it.

Then he understood why the seagulls had been screaming.

When he managed to tilt the trunk slightly forward, he saw two seagull eggs tucked safely inside the shelter of the hollow wood.

So that was it. That was why the birds had been so aggressive. 

Calen glanced upward.

“I’m not here for your eggs,” he cried, hoping to appease them. “You needn’t worry.”

Naturally, the gulls understood none of it and continued their furious protests.

But how to proceed? The simplest solution would be to push the trunk over completely. But that would expose the eggs to the wind and the weather. They were only seagulls, but still…

Then something caught his eye.

On the opposite side of the trunk, near the ground among the decayed roots, he spotted a dark opening. His heart quickened.

The hole was large enough to hide something.

Perhaps he would not need to disturb the eggs after all.

Biting his lip, he walked around the trunk for a closer look. Time and weather had clearly carved their way through the wood. The edges of the opening were jagged, surrounded by moss, algae, and the remains of old seashells that had once clung to the timber.

Should he put his hand inside?

One never knew what might be hiding in a hole like that.

Perhaps some enormous Boulder Crab had claimed it as its home. Calen had never actually seen one, but he had heard enough stories. Supposedly those creatures could snap off a finger without the slightest effort.

He had little choice though.

The seagulls were not going to retrieve the Scroll for him.

He knelt among the stones and rapped his knuckles against the trunk. If anything lived inside, perhaps it would come out now.

Nothing happened. Everything remained silent.

Carefully, Calen slid his hand into the opening and began feeling around, searching blindly for anything that might resemble a Scroll.

Nothing.

But he could not even reach the bottom.

At least it seemed there was no family of Boulder Crabs waiting in ambush.

Stretching himself out across the stones, he reached deeper into the hollow. Sharp rocks dug painfully into his legs as he extended his arm as far as it would go.

Then he felt something.

Something leathery.

His hand jerked back instinctively. He paused, trying to determine what it could be.

No.

It was certainly not a living creature.

Licking his lips, he reached in again. His heart began to pound. A bag? Or perhaps a pouch? Whatever it was, it had not been placed there by nature.

Carefully he wrapped his fingers around the leather and pulled.

It was not particularly heavy, but extracting it one-handed proved difficult.

Slowly, inch by inch, it emerged from the darkness. Through the opening he finally caught sight of it.

A watertight leather satchel.

Genesis.

Joy surged through him. There could be little doubt now. The Scroll of Genesis had to be hidden inside. Carefully he pulled the satchel through the opening. Pieces of rotten wood broke away from the trunk, but that hardly mattered.

And then it was in his hands.

Calen stared at it in silence. The opening had been securely tied shut with a leather cord. Magdalena’s husband had done his work well. He tried to pick apart the knot that sealed the satchel shut, but that was easier said than done. Years had tightened it into a stubborn lump that refused to yield.

But then he managed to jerk it loose and the satchel sprang open.

A strange scent drifted out. A mixture of old parchment and aged leather.

For a moment Calen hesitated. He almost dared not look inside.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and slipped his hand into the satchel without looking.

He felt it immediately.

A leather scroll case.

The kind, used to transport and protect precious Scrolls. A surge of joy shot through him as he pulled it free. Carelessly he tossed the satchel aside while holding the scroll case reverently in both hands.

The satchel struck the ground with a dull thump.

A strange thump. As though something still remained inside.

Calen frowned. What was that?

He laid the first scroll case aside and picked up the satchel again.

Then he looked inside and his breath caught.

Another scroll case. Buit what could that be? He already held Genesis in his hands. Still, there was another Scroll.

With trembling hands, he reached inside and pulled out the second leather case. He peered into the satchel once more to make certain.

Nothing else remained.

Just two nearly identical scroll cases. He knew these cases. During his years among the Silent Scribes he had used similar cases countless times to store copies of the Book of Order.

But why two?

He turned back to the first case. It was secured with a leather cord and a simple knot and opened easily.

With a pounding heart, Calen loosened the fastening and carefully withdrew the Scroll. He could not spend a lot of time here, studying it, but he had to know.

His eyes fell upon the opening words.

Genesis 1
In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth…

“Thank You, Lord,” he whispered.

Tears nearly filled his eyes.

Genesis.

At last.

But then what was in the second Scroll? Swallowing hard, he turned toward the remaining case.

For a moment he hesitated.

Then he opened it.

Inside rested another Scroll. It was almost identical to the first. Calen scarcely dared touch it. Yet curiosity soon overcame caution and he carefully withdrew the Scroll. His heart began to pound as he read the words:   

Revelation 1
The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave Him to show His servants, things which must shortly take place…

Revelation? Could it be true? Was this truly… the last Scroll? His fingers trembled and a wave of heat coursed through his body.

Elior had spoken of this book.

The final book. The last missing piece.

For a long moment he simply stared and a sacred hush seemed to settle over the island. His hands rested on the beginning and the end.

Genesis.

Revelation.

The Alpha and the Omega.

“Oh God,” he whispered. “How good You are.” The mystery of the how and the why hardly mattered. All that mattered was what he now clutched to his chest. His mission had succeeded. He had found the two Scrolls that had still been missing.

Then reality returned. He still had to get back to Alaric.

The seagulls seemed to have realized at last that he had not come for their eggs. They still circled overhead uneasily, but their cries had softened considerably.

Calen smiled up at them.

Jonathan had seen these same birds. That was why he had written:

Seagulls point the way to heaven’s light,
The door to eternal might.

Now it all made sense.

Carefully he returned both Scrolls to their cases and placed them back inside the satchel. Then he searched the shoreline.

There. He spotted the little boat. Somehow it seemed further away than before. Alaric was barely visible, standing out against the sea like a dark shadow.

Calen waved both arms and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“I found Genesis! And Revelation too!”

There was no reaction. Of course not.  Alaric could not hear a word.

He turned and saw dark clouds were gathering across the horizon. It was high time to return.  A storm was brewing and that was to be avoided at all costs.

Clutching the satchel tightly against his chest, Calen hurried back toward the place where he had first come ashore, making his way toward Alaric and the waiting boat as quickly as possible.

***

Ronan gritted his teeth, pretending to be unconcerned as he made his way toward Ömstead. Pretending, because his heart was hammering in his throat while he heard the riders closing in on them.

Marisa rode behind him, guided forward by the rope Ronan had tied around Whisperwind’s neck. Her hands were tightly bound now. She had grimaced and told him he was hurting her, but he had ignored it. It had to look real.

“Stop!” came the rough command of one of the soldiers.

Ronan reined in and turned.

The group was even larger than he had feared. At least ten soldiers, all in full armor. The one who had called out to him was their leader. A captain.

The man fixed him with venomous eyes. 

Ronan had never seen him before. That was good. The man didn’t know him. The captain, however, was extravagantly dressed, quite literally in full ceremonial armor, something that usually only happened on very special and particularly festive occasions.

He wore heavy armor and a silver helmet that gleamed in the sunlight. The red plume rising from it, clearly marked his rank. He also wore a red surcoat bearing the symbol of the Council of Twelve: a black crown encircled by twelve pairs of watching eyes, staring out with such malice that one would think these eyes were alive. 

The same emblem was painted on his shield.

Ronan knew the emblem well. He had once worn it with pride. Not anymore. Not since his life had changed and he found true peace.

The soldiers behind their leader watched him with open hostility. Ronan understood. Not so long ago he would have looked at such a scene in much the same way.

It was clear this unit came from another region. 

“Name?” the captain barked.

“Ron—Ann,” Ronan answered, slightly twisting his name. He could not be sure whether his name had been circulated among the army as a deserter. If there was one thing the Council of Twelve despised, it was weakness and men who fled their duty instead of dying for the greater cause.

“What regiment?” the captain hissed.

“The Iron Sun, Third Division of Bramblebrook,” Ronan replied obediently. He hoped Marisa was praying.

“And why are you alone with…” the captain’s eyes slid with contempt toward Marisa, slumped helplessly on Whisperwind’s back. “…that woman?”

Marisa’s small cross caught the sunlight and flashed brightly. Good. It would make his story more convincing.

“My regiment was involved in crushing several uprisings, Captain,” Ronan said. “We were granted a few days’ leave. I imagine my comrades spent it drinking in taverns, but I followed up on a lead I had received…”

He paused deliberately.

“Go on…” the captain demanded.

“A contact of mine, an informant, told me the whereabouts of a witch who clings to the treacherous teachings of the God of the Christians. I captured her and intend to bring her to prison in Ömstead, hoping to claim the reward.”

“A reward?” the captain snapped. “Since when does the Council of Twelve pay for such things?”

“Forgive me, Captain,” Ronan said quickly. “I was under the impression there are rewards for bringing such trash to justice. She had escaped custody and is still wanted.”

“You will return to your regiment,” the captain ordered coldly. “We will take this woman to Ömstead ourselves, for that is where we are heading.”

Ronan froze.

That was not what was supposed to happen. He had no idea what to say, but he cleared his throat and words suddenly slipped from his mouth.

“Perhaps you are not aware of her powers, Captain,” he said. “Have you not heard of the terrible curse she placed upon the honorable Captain Droskar in Bramblebrook? Boils and sores the size of swollen plums, spreading sickness to all around him.”

The captain visibly flinched, and the soldiers behind him took an involuntary step back.

“I… have heard something of that,” the captain admitted uncertainly. “And this… is that woman?”

Ronan nodded gravely. “She is extremely powerful. Extreme caution is advised.”

The captain swallowed. “Why are you not afraid of her?”

Ronan lowered his voice. “I was given a potion by a temple priest. It protects me. But only for a few days. That is why I must move quickly. You see, the effect wears off quickly and then I too will be afflicted.”

He shot Marisa a sharp glance and made a desperate gesture for emphasis. “It is dreadful, Captain, truly. I saw Captain Droskar myself. He was… unrecognizable.”

The captain leaned back slightly in his saddle. “My name is Captain Drenick,” he said. “I know Droskar. He’s a personal friend.” He lowered his gaze as if he were thinking. Then he asked, “And you are on your way to Ömstead?”

Ronan nodded.

“That will not be happening,” Drenick said firmly. “You will return to Bramblebrook. We cannot risk you or the witch reaching Ömstead.”

“But… um…” Ronan began. “There is a reward in Ömstead. I don’t know if I get a reward in Bramblebrook.”

“Out of the question,” Drenick cut him off. “Your duty is to the council. That is more than enough reward. You are not welcome in Ömstead. Safety goes above your reward.”

Ronan knew he should not contradict Captain Drenick. No soldier would do such a thing without serious retribution. But why could he not go to Ömstead? Captain Drenick showed a measuree of mercy and explained. “Have you not heard what is being prepared in Ömstead?”

Ronan blinked. “I’m afraid I’ve been on the road for many days. I don’t know, Captain.”

“The Council is gathering in Ömstead,” Drenick said with pride. “A great statue is to be unveiled in a few days. A glorious display of the Council’s unmatched power.”

“A statue?”

A hungry gleam appeared in Drenick’s eyes. “A grand festival. Music, dancing, barrels of Ogre Ale, and true worship of the statue.”

“Good heavens,” Ronan murmured, trying to sound impressed.

“Indeed,” Drenick continued. “All captains and nobles from across the land will attend. And those Christians will refuse to bow before it. That is how we will know exactly whom to arrest.”

“What a… magnificent idea,” Ronan stammered.

“Of course,” Drenick said. “If it succeeds, statues will be erected in every city. Captain Droskar himself has received an invitation.”

Ronan nodded again.

“You understand now why we cannot allow such a witch into Ömstead,” Drenick said coldly. “Imagine the damage she could do… Turn back. Return to Bramblebrook. There they can decide what to do with her.”

“Of course, Captain,” Ronan said obediently. “Your will is law.”

“That is what I like to hear,” Drenick boomed. “Now move, so we can be on our way.”

Ronan did not need to be told twice. He turned his horse sharply, growled at Marisa for effect, and urged the animal forward.

The soldiers watched Marisa with unease and kept their distance as they passed.

There was relief in Ronan’s heart. God had truly protected them…

Though that statue in Ömstead…  no, that was something none of them needed in their lives.

_____

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