Previously in Hidden Fragments:
Calen met Marisa, a spirited farm girl whose faith in Jesus shone through her words and smile. As they talked, she challenged his trust in The Book of Order and introduced him to The Scrolls of the Ages, the forbidden Word of God. For the first time, Calen began to sense that there might be truth beyond what he had been taught among the Silent Scribes. When he entrusted Marisa with Angus’s precious writings, her joy confirmed his growing hope.
But just as a bond of trust was forming, danger struck: Calen’s relentless pursuer appeared from the shadows and caught sight of everything.
Chapter 5
The Goat Gambit
When he looked again, the silhouette was gone.
Calen’s mind raced. The man must have seen him hand Angus’ text to Marisa.
Who was this stranger? Almost certainly a pawn of Drenick and his ilk.
Marisa noticed nothing. She was lost in reading, her thoughts soaring far above the present. Even Winston’s low growl slipped past her awareness.
“Marisa,” he whispered, his voice filled with urgency. “That … eh … bad guy is here.”
She looked at him, puzzled, her eyes aglow as her slender fingers lingered on the sacred script. “This is truly beautiful,” she said with quiet reverence. “It’s exactly what I just told you, remember … about the Shepherd who lays down His life for the sheep.” She rose and began to read aloud:
“I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture. The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. But I am the good shepherd who gives his life for the sheep.”
“Marisa,” Calen repeated. “Listen, the thief you are talking about … I think he’s here. We have to go!”
“W-What do you mean?” she asked, her voice suddenly unsteady. Then she heard Winston’s low growl as well. “Why is he growling?”
Calen’s knees felt weak. He pointed toward the rock where he’d spotted the pursuer. “I told you; I was being followed. That man … he was there. I saw him.”
Marisa was jolted from her reverie, slammed back into the present. Moments before, she had drifted in celestial realms, but now the reality of this present world called her back. Her radiant smile dissolved like morning mist, and shadows of unrest flickered softly in her eyes. “And …” she whispered, “did he see you give me these papers?”
“Absolutely,” Calen said, his voice trembling. “Drenick was convinced Angus gave me a part of the sacred writings, so he had me followed and now …” His words caught in his throat, heavy with dread, and Marisa finished the sentence for him: “And now they know you actually have something.” She rose and said, “We need to get to Grandfather right away.”
“No,” Calen said. “This doesn’t concern you. I’m leaving now. Give me the text back. I’ll copy it later for you.”
Marisa shook her head firmly. “No way. We’re going to Grandfather. Together.”
“No,” Calen insisted. “Drenick’s men are after me. You’re safe.”
“No, we’re not,” Marisa said. “You told me God showed Angus that you’re the one meant to bring The Scrolls of the Ages back together.”
“And?”
“We’ve got another piece of the Scroll at home. If you promise to make us a copy, you can take it with you.”
Calen stared, disbelief clear. “You have part of The Scrolls of the Ages at your home?”
She studied him. “Gathering all the different parts of the Scrolls is your mission, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Calen said with a nod, though without much conviction. The whole venture was beginning to feel dangerously reckless and that for a God he neither knew nor understood. One thing was crystal clear: he was done with the Book of Order. Any trust he might have had in the Council of Twelve, Drenick had adequately shattered it.
He swallowed once more, then said with firm resolve, “Yes, Marisa. It truly is my mission. I promised it to Angus, and I’ll do what he told me.”
“All right then,” she replied, a trace of impatience in her voice as she handed him back the texts he had copied. “We need to get to my home quickly. The goats will follow us.”
She called to Winston, telling him to herd the animals, then gestured for Calen to follow her.
Winston, clearly pleased to have something to do again, bounded up with renewed energy and darted away, barking as he chased the goats into a tidy group. And so, with the goats trotting along behind, they went on their way.
The path wound between low hills and scattered rocks, the afternoon light turning gold around them. After half an hour a small, welcoming cottage came into view, tucked snugly against the cliffside. A patch of green; a well-tended vegetable garden, thrived in front and beside it stood a sturdy stable, ready to shelter the goats for the night.
“A bit of heaven on earth,” Calen said sincerely. His own home on the edge of his village wasn’t bad either but here, completely surrounded by nothing but the overwhelming beauty of nature, it felt truly peaceful.
“Thank you,” Marisa replied as she walked up the sandy path that led to the stable. She lifted the metal bar from the door, which swung open with a creak. “Step aside,” she said kindly to Calen.
He stepped onto the grass beside the path and watched as Winston herded the bleating goats inside.
“And now, to Grandfather,” Marisa said, taking Calen by the arm and leading him toward the cottage. It was a neat little place with a freshly painted green front door, whitewashed walls and a thatched roof. The gravel path they followed was lined with lush petunias and rosebushes, their fragrance sweetening the air.
“If you can spare the time, you might want a hearty meal before you set off again,” Marisa said quietly as she opened the door. “Grandfather’s soup is worth it.” She stepped inside and called out, her voice warm and bright, “Grandfather, we have a hungry guest who—”
The rest of her sentence never came.
She stood frozen in the doorway. There, in Grandfather’s cherished rocking chair by the open hearth, sat a man she had never seen before. Grandfather had just handed him a cup of thistle tea and looked up at her with an almost childlike smile, as if nothing were amiss.
Calen followed her in, but Marisa stopped so suddenly that he bumped into her. His eyes followed hers … and locked onto the figure in the chair. A jolt went through him.
It was the man he’d seen behind the boulder.
The stranger rocked gently, at ease, the steaming mug steady in his hands, as though this had been his home for years.
“Another guest?” Grandfather’s voice held mild surprise. “We never have this many visitors in one day.”
Marisa’s grandfather, a kindly old gentleman with weathered features shaped by years in the mountains and movements stiffened by arthritis, cast a wary glance at the stranger before hesitantly beginning, “This is … uh …”
The stranger looked up, his eyes dark and gleaming. “Slink. Ebony Slink,” he said, cutting off Grandfather before he could finish. A wide, almost predatory grin spread across his face. “Glad to meet you.”
Calen pushed down a surge of panic and decided to play dumb as he studied the man with narrowed eyes.
Ebony Slink was thin, pale and wiry, and most of all … unpleasant. What was most unsettling were Ebony Slink’s eyes. They were like black holes, dark pits leading somewhere no one would ever want to go. Slink stared at him long and hard, piercing him with his gaze.
Calen turned to Marisa’s grandfather. “Good afternoon, sir. My name is Calen, and I met Marisa on the hill. Nice to meet you.”
Grandfather laughed. It was the same friendly laugh Marisa had, but that too was unsettling. That old man obviously had no idea who Ebony Slink was, and the realization made Calen uneasy. Marisa, sensing the tension, cleared her throat and asked, “What brings you here, Mister Slink? We’re rather busy.”
Slink rocked cheerfully and said softly, “I’ve heard that some shady types pass through here now and then. People involved in things other than the Book of Order.” He gave Calen a dirty look.
“Then you are completely mistaken,” Marisa replied sharply. “We’ve had no such visitors. Isn’t that right, Grandfather?” She glanced at Grandfather, who nodded in agreement.
Before Slink could make another remark, she walked over to the secretary desk, pulled open a drawer and with great reverence took out a large book. “Here,” she said with an indignant look, “is the Book of Order. We read it regularly.”
Slink stopped rocking and narrowed his eyes into thin slits. “That’s very nice,” he said slowly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are not.” He looked at Calen once more. “But I intend to find out what’s going on here.”
Now Grandfather too began to sense that something was wrong. His eyes hardened as he said, “Who exactly are you, Mister Slink? You knocked on the door a few minutes ago and asked to rest for a while. Now you’re sitting in my rocking chair and drinking my tea, but you don’t behave like a weary traveler at all.”
Slink growled maliciously. “That I will tell you,” he said, feigning politeness. He opened his black cloak and pulled out a scroll sealed with the red emblem of the Council of Twelve. “My papers. I am a direct representative of the Council of Twelve, charged with protecting the purity of the Book of Order in our land. I have good reason to believe that this so-called guest standing before us …” he pointed at Calen, “… is in possession of writings that undermine the safety of our country.” He could not hide a triumphant grin. “I would like to search your visitor and also subject your house to a thorough inspection.”
“My house?” Grandfather said angrily. “We have nothing to hide. We are good citizens.”
“In that case, I’m sure you won’t mind if I have a little look around,” Slink sneered. He stared long and hard at Calen, who met his gaze without flinching, trying to mask his unease behind a steely, poker-faced expression.
Slink didn’t seem very strong. He, Calen, might be able to overpower him if it came to that. At the same time, the stories about the ruthless fighting tactics of the Council of Twelve’s direct enforcers were no joke.
Slink seemed almost able to read his thoughts. Narrowing his eyes, he hissed, “Perhaps you think you can fight me. Don’t be mistaken. I hold the Black Sash of the Red River School, famous for its ruthless close-quarters combat.”
Slink turned back to Grandfather and said slowly, “But first, I want to see your cellar.”
“Our cellar?” Marisa exclaimed in shock. “There’s nothing there except our stock of jam for the winter.”
“I’ll decide that for myself,” Slink said with an irritating shrug. “Dark places where the light of the Book of Order doesn’t reach are favorite hiding spots for the followers of The Scrolls of the Ages.”
He placed his bony finger on Calen’s chest and said, “And you’re coming along. Don’t think I’ll leave you alone. You can help light the way with that lamp over there.” He pointed to an oil lamp on the kitchen table and ordered Marisa to light it. A flicker of shock crossed her face, and she turned pale.
Calen saw it but couldn’t understand why. Slink hadn’t noticed a thing. He basked in his own power, confident that everything was firmly under his control.
When the oil lamp was lit, Marisa handed it to Calen with trembling hands. “Be careful with the lamp, Calen,” she whispered, so only he could hear. “It’s very precious.”
Calen took it and nodded, unsure.
“Move,” Slink barked, pointing toward the door that led to the cellar. “Open it and go ahead of me.”
Calen did as he was told. The door creaked open and he carefully stepped onto the landing of the stairs leading down into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, a shock ran through him. The bright light from the oil lamp illuminated the dark stairs below, but the lamp’s handmade glass, decorated with flowers and doodles, cast intricate shadows and shapes on the walls. However, amid the floral patterns fragments of words appeared, clearly projected by the lamp’s glow. Calen’s heart stopped as he read: “God… faithful … to the end.”
Suddenly he understood what Marisa had meant. Somehow, Marisa and her grandfather had hidden their forbidden parts of the text of The Scrolls of the Ages inside the glass of the lamp.
What could he do now?
There wasn’t much time to think, as Slink gave him a rough shove and said, “Go on, but you’re going down first. And hold that lamp higher, or I won’t be able to see.”
With a pounding heart, Calen held the lamp a little higher as he descended. If he kept the lamp still, he could clearly read words between the projected flowers: “Heaven … Hell …”
Slink mustn’t see that, so Calen swung the lamp awkwardly and innocently around as he reached the cellar floor.
“Keep it still, man,” Slink growled, looking around tensely. “That flashing light hurts my eyes.”
“Sorry,” Calen lied, “I’m a little nervous.” He lowered the lamp somewhat and looked around. There wasn’t much to see except a wooden rack holding dozens of jars filled with jam and honey, just as Marisa had said.
Slink paced around, looking and touching the damp walls, checking for any loose stones that might lead to a secret passage. Finally, he glared at Calen and muttered, “Nothing special here. Let’s go back upstairs, and I’ll have a good look at you. I’m especially interested in those boots of yours.”
Calen sighed and climbed the stairs again, still carefully swinging the lamp back and forth.
Just as he reached the landing, a tremendous racket erupted in the living room. The front door burst open, and deafening bleats mixed with the clattering of little hooves spilled into the room beyond the door.
Goats?
Calen opened the cellar door and immediately bumped into a Billy goat. He could barely push the door open because several goats were pressed tightly against it. Somehow, the entire herd had gotten inside. Through a crack, he saw that some of the animals had climbed onto the table, others were occupying the chairs and still more were feasting on the dinner Grandfather had prepared in the kitchen. The bleating was deafening and it was almost impossible to enter the room. Finally, with a tremendous effort, Calen managed to step inside and stared wide-eyed at the strange scene, still holding the lamp protectively above his head.
Someone grabbed his hand and roughly pulled him away from the door. It was Marisa.
“Come on, Calen,” she shouted over the noise. “Run. Get out of here.”
For a moment, Calen looked at her, confused, but then he saw Winston and understood what had happened. While he and Slink were in the cellar, Marisa had opened the goat shed and ordered Winston to herd the animals inside.
“W-What’s going on here?” Slink’s angry voice sounded as he desperately tried to force the door open, while a couple of angry, bleating goats refused to be pushed back and wildly jabbed forward with their horns. Slink’s furious curses sounded like an unpleasant howl over the racket. He wasn’t getting through, despite all his skills from the Red River School.
Calen and Marisa waded through the herd of goats until they reached the still-open door.
“The lamp,” Marisa said anxiously as they stepped outside. “Take the lamp. What we have from the Scrolls is hidden in the glass.”
“I know,” Calen said. “I saw it.”
“Go quickly now,” Marisa said tensely. She pointed to the hill where the sun was just slipping behind the ridge. “There’s a mountain stream beyond that hill. If you follow it about five miles, you’ll come to a fork in the river. Take the right path into the forest there, and after about a hundred yards, you’ll find a cave. You can hide there tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll bring you some food.”
More commotion from inside. Slink had freed himself from the goats.
“Run,” Marisa whispered, her eyes wide.
The front door yawned open, a shadow spilling across the ground toward Calen.
He ran.
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