Previously in Hidden Fragments:
Calen’s worst fears were confirmed when the dark stranger he had spotted earlier revealed himself at Marisa’s home. Ebony Slink, an agent of the Council of Twelve, demanded to search the house, certain that Calen carried forbidden writings. In the cellar, the truth came to light: Marisa’s family had hidden fragments of the Scrolls inside the glass of an oil lamp. Just as Slink’s suspicion grew, Marisa used Winston to drive the goats into the cottage, creating chaos that allowed Calen to escape. With Slink on their heels, Marisa urged Calen to flee into the hills and hide in a cave with the precious lamp that contained motre scriptures.
Chapter 6
Tears in the Cave
Calen ran as fast as his legs could carry him, tightly clutching the lantern in his hand. The precious lamp made running more difficult, but it contained parts of the Scrolls and he could not run the risk of breaking it and losing the hidden documents. The terrain was rough. Tree roots, stones and gaping holes made running extra tough. But so it would be for Slink.
Calen had always prided himself of being in good shape, so if he ran fast enough he stood a good chance of outrunning the creep. There was no alternative, for if it came to a fight, he would certainly lose. The man had the black Sash of the Red River school …
From far behind came Slink’s desperate curses, hushed and fraying into the air. Apparently, Slink did not follow. He had given up the chase, at least for now.
After running at full speed for what seemed like half an hour, but had more likely been only ten minutes, Calen was forced to stop. Exhausted, he collapsed onto a grassy patch just beyond the hill, at the edge of a forest. He needed rest, just for a moment, nothing more. With Slink around, he could not rest for long. What if the evil man had found a horse? The sun would soon slip below the horizon, then darkness would blanket the land. If that happened, finding the cave Marisa had spoken of would be nearly impossible and he had to sleep outside, surrounded by wolves, bears and snakes.
“Onward and forward,” he muttered to himself and he pushed himself back to his feet. Cradling the precious lantern against his chest, he edged forward with care.
True to Marisa’s words, he spotted a silver river glinting in the evening sun. She had told him to follow it until he came to a fork in the river. Come on, Calen … Just one foot in front of the other and then repeat the whole thing over again.
One-two-three-four … One-two-three-four.
To his relief, following the river was not as difficult as he had feared. The foaming water snaked into the forest and while he had to climb many large rocks alongside the water, with every step his confidence seemed to grow. Even if Slink had found a horse, it would be useless on such rough terrain.
The final sun rays spilled an orange glow across the forest, turning every leaf and branch to fire. What glory, what beauty.
Just as he planted his foot on a fallen tree, using it to scale a large, smooth boulder, Angus’s words returned to him: “The One true God who made heaven and earth.”
Could it be true? Was there really a God who made it all?
The Book of Order taught that everything had come about by chance. Just a cosmic accident when the right molecules happened to collide. No designer. No creator. And therefore, no built-in purpose or goal. Life was only what you made of it: do the best you felt like doing and don’t bother asking questions. Obey the Book of Order, and you would be fine.
But here, surrounded by such beauty, it sounded ridiculous. Empty. Wrong all around.
Just then, a butterfly drifted past and came to rest on a nearby flower. Calen’s eyes followed it, and for the first time he truly noticed how fearfully delicate it was with its faint blood vessels threading through its nearly translucent, sacred-white wings. Such fragile beauty could hardly be the work of accident. He treasured the thought, but the urgency of the moment kept pulling at him. This was not the time for quiet reflection. Slink would not vanish quietly into the shadows; he would be hunting still. Calen forced his thoughts back to the present, slid from the boulder and pressed on, each step heavier than the last.
He pressed onward for another fifteen minutes until, to his relief, the river bent into a fork. Just as Marisa had promised, a half-overgrown trail disappeared into the forest. It wasn’t man-made, but more likely worn down by deer slipping through to drink at the water’s edge. Calen stepped onto it, brushing aside broad ferns and dripping leaves that clung to his face. He forced himself to stay alert. After all, Marisa had warned him the cave lay only a hundred yards ahead, and he couldn’t afford to miss it.
Step by step he moved forward until he came to a clearing and there, hidden behind thorn bushes he saw something that looked like the mouth of a cave.
Safe.
There he would be secure for the night and tomorrow, Marisa would come with food. His heart jumped for joy as he carefully pushed the thorny branches aside and made his way to the entrance of the cave. Just on time, as the sun had now completely disappeared.
The cave mouth was narrow, barely wide enough for one person at a time, with jagged rocks jutting out like teeth. Inside, it would be black as pitch.
No, he reminded himself, it wouldn’t. He had Marisa’s lantern, and a flint he carried with him. He lit the lantern, its glow pushing back the darkness, and stepped into the cave. He entered a narrow portal and saw two tunnels branching before him, the lantern’s light throwing large, twisting shadows against the walls. A chuckle escaped his throat as he saw Marisa’s words from the Scroll of Ages reflected on the harsh stones.
“God… shepherd… sheep.”
For some reason seeing the reflections brought him peace, almost as if he wasn’t alone anymore. He decided that, as soon as he had a chance, he would carefully take the hidden text out of the lantern and read it all for himself. But first he needed to find a safe spot for the night. Perhaps it was safest to go deeper into the cave, although there was no telling what he would find there.
Bears perhaps … could there be bears hiding here?
He inhaled, sniffing the humid, musty air. Nothing sharp or wild reached his senses.
Pausing, he listened intently. Nothing. Should he call out? Better to know now if something was hiding here. He cleared his throat and shouted: “Hello! Anybody here? I am armed …” he paused and added in a soft voice, “… with a lantern.”
Again, there was no sound. It seemed safe.
And so he proceeded, taking the nearest tunnel. He lifted the lantern high so he would have a good view and carefully made his way forward. Soon, he came to a dead end. The path narrowed down and just stopped. Before him loomed a solid granite wall. Would the other path lead deeper into the cave, or was this all?
He turned back and took the other passage.
This one widened gradually, opening into a larger chamber. Strange as it seemed, a faint light shimmered in the distance. What was that?
As he stepped further down, the air grew warmer. He raised the lantern as high as he could and stepped closer, breath catching. Before him lay a subterranean lake, perfectly still, its glassy surface glowing with a strange, otherworldly light. How could such a thing exist?
He moved to the water’s edge. An astonishing silence enveloped him, so complete that it felt almost alive. Here, his thoughts rang clear and sharp, as though he were in the presence of something infinitely greater, something far beyond himself.
He knelt and set the lantern on the ground, dipping his hand into the water just to feel it. He expected it to be cold but it was pleasantly warm, a slight tingle spreading through his fingers.
He withdrew his hand, picked up the lantern and held it over the water for a better look.
Expecting only dark water and perhaps the faint outline of his own reflection, he gasped as he looked down.
It seemed the lake was alive. Images rose up. Not dark and vague, but sharp, clear and disturbingly familiar. They were fragments of his own life. He blinked in consternation. Was he truly seeing this, or had he dozed off into a dream?
Shaking his head, he decided he was wide awake and he forced his gaze back to the strange visions in the water. There he was, a young boy again. He had long forgotten that day, but now that he saw the image again, he remembered it vividly. He was about to receive a spanking, and a well-deserved one too. He had lied and stolen candy from old Mrs. Warnsby’s store.
Yes, he had been a difficult child. Stealing, lying … always in trouble.
As he watched his father’s correction play out upon the water, the image dissolved and gave way to another: his mother, weeping. His breath caught. He remembered that day too. He had walked away from her when she needed him most. But he was too busy playing with his friends and was not about to give his friends the idea he was a momma’s boy. He had loudly mocked her and it must have really hurt his dear mother. He had always thought himself to be so brave and righteous, yet these memories mocked him. Not brave at all, rather, he had been a coward in the one place it mattered most.
The image switched again. Now it was a picture of him and Drenick. He remembered that scene too. It was awful. Why did he have to see all those horrible scenes of his youth? In this one, he and Drenick had been bullying young Steve Oldham. The boy was lame and Drenick had laughed at him, shoved him and mocked him. Calen had joined in too, afraid to oppose Drenick. A sick feeling welled in his stomach. He longed to turn away from the strange waters, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze from them.
And so he stared on, his breath breaking in ragged grunts, unable to pull himself free. It was absolutely horrible. And then, just when he was certain he wouldn’t be able to stand another moment of this painful horror, a new image appeared. The waters did not stop with his sins. They switched and revealed something far greater, beyond his own life.
There was a crowd. People were cursing and shouting. In their midst, a group of soldiers drove a man forward. He was bleeding, his tunic torn, blood streaming from his forehead. Worst of all, they forced him to carry a massive wooden cross, far too heavy for his broken body. He stumbled again and again, only to be shoved back to his feet by the cruel soldiers. At last they reached a hill where they hurled him to the dirt, indifferent to his suffering.
What in the world was this?
This hadn’t happened in his youth. He had nothing to do with this.
The soldiers grabbed the man, pulled his arms out on the cross he had been carrying and took up a large, rusty nail and hammered it into one of the man’s hands. The fellow, he wore a crown of thorns, screamed in pain, but nobody cared. They seized his other hand, driving the iron through flesh and wood. At last they turned to his feet, pinning him down with merciless blows.
A shudder ran through Calen at the sight, leaving him rooted in both fear and disbelief.
The soldiers lifted the cross, forcing him into the air. His body convulsed with agony and the wind lashed at the cross, making it sway and creak under his weight. Then he heard the man lisp the words, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
At last the man died. As he uttered his last breath he whispered: “It is finished. Father, into Thy hands do I commit my spirit.”
A crushing weight filled Calen’s chest as the images dissolved into darkness and no new vision emerged. Tears threatened to spill.
Tears?
He rarely cried, yet tears seemed the only proper response. And yet he resisted. Why was he being shown all his miserable deeds from long past? Why did the lake show him only the bad? He had done good things too. He had not always been a spineless liar. Had he not stood up to Drenick when the old prophet Angus was being beaten? And why did the lake refuse to reveal the countless acts of kindness he had done? What was the purpose of all this?
The lake still shimmered with the magnificent, gentle glow, but the visions had stopped. He sat up and gazed over the lake. The sight was breathtaking. No … more than that. It was holy.
Somehow, he was in the presence of something infinitely bigger than he was. It felt as if he were shrinking in size and a gentle presence around him grew and grew and held him in a warm embrace, overwhelmingly loving and understanding.
Now the tears came. There was no stopping them, neither did he want to stop them. With every tear, he admitted his failure to be a truly good man. Every sob spoke of a need he had long ignored, yet could no longer deny.
But as the tears rolled out, something else rolled in. A wonderful peace enveloped him.
Great peace. Deep peace. An inner stillness, incomparably beautiful, made him feel smaller than a single particle of dust in this cave. And that, too, felt right.
And so he sat in silent awe, staring over the waters, drinking in the stillness and the beauty, oblivious to everything else.
How long he sat there, he did not know, but eventually, he must have dozed off, for a sudden jolt brought him awake as he heard footsteps echoing from the cave entrance. He jumped to his feet. Had Slink found him? Was the enemy entering this sacred space?
Actually …. It did not matter. Even if it were Slink, nothing, at least for now, could shatter the peace that filled his heart. He rose, steadying himself, ready to face whoever came in.
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