Redemption of Eva

    Eva froze as her foot sank into the giant’s footprint, pressed deep into the earth.  It was far too large to be anything else.  Her body tensed before her mind could catch up—the two lions were already there, waiting, guarding the path.  They wanted to be seen.  For a brief moment, the thought of turning back flickered through her—but she pushed it aside.

    Perry studied the lions closely, as if they were a puzzle.  Then he stepped forward.  Not boldly—deliberately.  Eva moved with him.  Not behind, but at his side.

    As they approached, the lions lowered themselves, growling—muscles tensed and ready to pounce.  Eva felt the daggers hidden in her sleeves, waiting to be in her hands in an instant.

    A voice called out to them from the Palace.  “Keep to the path.”  It was the Porter.

    Perry stepped to the very center of the path and held out his arm.  He meant to go first.  There was no time to argue.  Eva stepped in behind him, every muscle taut, ready to spring into action.

    “The lions are chained,” said the Porter.  He did not raise his voice.  

    The lions lunged—claws swiping just inches away.  The chains were easy to miss, half-hidden in the dust and grass.

    After they passed the lions, Perry glanced back at her.

    “I still have the daggers,” she said.

    Perry laughed.  It was exactly what she needed.

–

    “Welcome to Palace Beautiful,” said the Porter.  “I am Watchful.”

     Something about him felt familiar, though Perry couldn’t say why.  His eyes were sharp.  His hair and beard were streaked in gray—nothing unusual in that.  And yet… he belonged here.  Guarding the threshold.  

   “I will call for the Virgins of this place,” he said, and rang a bell.

–

    Young women of radiant purity appeared at the doorway.  When they saw Eva, they began to whisper among themselves, excitement rising in their voices.  One voice drifted above the rest—“…Daughter of the Moon…”

    “Come in and eat,” said the first.  She was tall, grave, and beautiful.  “I am Discretion,” she said.

    “Stay with us,” said her sister.  Her gaze was measured and even, yet she was no less lovely.  “Prudence,” she said simply, “and my sisters—Piety and Charity.”

    “And rest,” said Piety.  She gave Eva a look of welcome, then lowered her gaze.

    Charity—perhaps the most beautiful of the sisters—stepped forward and held out her hand to Eva and led her inside the Palace.

    As they ate, Perry and Eva recounted all that had happened to them on their journey to Discretion, Prudence, Piety, and Charity.

    The sisters spoke of the King and of the Prince—how He had built Palace Beautiful and charged them to receive all pilgrims who traveled the Narrow Way.  They spoke, too, of the armory, where pilgrims were fitted with weapons and armor against the dangers ahead.

    When they had finished eating, Prudence turned to Perry.  “Follow me.  My sisters and I will instruct you in the way you understand.”  Then she led them up several flights of stairs until they stepped out onto the roof.

    The sky stretched wide above them, the world falling away below.  Music began to play—Perry couldn’t tell from where, but it didn’t matter.   Prudence held out her hand to him.

    Perry stepped, and she followed.  “You are not what you seem… and yet…”  He frowned slightly as she moved in perfect harmony with him.  “You wear no mask.”

    “I dwelt with Wisdom before the foundations of the earth were laid.  She reveals truth.  I determine how it is lived.”

    One step brought clarity, the next confusion.  He could feel the difference.  He was certain he was leading—yet every step felt measured, as though guided by her.

    “Do not ask, ‘What can I do?’ but rather, ‘What is fitting?’” 

    “And the Author,” she said. How did she know about the Author?  “He does not lack perception.  He sees many paths.  He understands meanings.  But he lacks restraint.”

    Perry stumbled at her words, but Prudence did not miss a step.  “I would teach him this:  Not every truth must be spoken.  Not every path must be explored.  Not every power must be used.”

    She smiled.  “He must learn to do the right thing, at the right time, for the right reason.”

    The music ended, and Prudence released his hand, leaving him standing beside Piety.  He blinked.  She had been leading him the whole time.

–

    A new song began, quiet and reverent, and Piety took Perry’s hand.  Prudence’s words had been precise, but Piety’s were still.

    “I am called Piety, but that word has been worn thin.  I am not ritual, or performance, or even the appearance of devotion.  I am orientation.”

    This was a different kind of dance—not heavy, but deep.

    “I don’t think the Author knows you,” he said.

    She smiled, but didn’t respond.

    “At dinner… you spoke of the Prince as though you know Him?”

    “Yes,” she said.  Her eyes met Perry’s—they were filled with deep devotion.  “Of all, I love Him most.”  Her eyes twinkled.  “And I am His favorite.”

    She slowed Perry’s steps.  A calm settled over him.

    “I am the beginning of Wisdom.  My sister orders your actions.”  She glanced toward Prudence.  “I order your allegiance.”

    When Piety spoke again, she no longer spoke to Perry.  “You do not know me well.  You seek clarity.  You seek meaning.  You seek alignment.  All good things.  But…” She let the moment hang in the air.  “You need a different posture.  Less analysis.  More reverence.”

–

    Perry’s mind reeled.  The Author was troubled.  The Virgins spoke truth—of that he had no doubt.  How he had come to be holding Discretion, he did not know.

    “I don’t understand,” Perry said.

    “Good,” Discretion said.  “That is the first step.  Prudence prepares the way—I walk it.  She orders the path—I place the foot.”

    “The Author walks with Prudence—but you are not there for his sake.”

     “No,” she said.  She left space.  Perry tried to fill it—she did not let him.  “If he walked with Prudence, he would find me there as well.  My sisters and I are not as separate as you think.”

    Perry struggled to keep step with her.  She kept shifting her rhythm.

    “The Author loves you,” Perry said, then added, “I love you too—and your sisters.  But we lack will.”

    “No,” she said.  “You do not lack will—you have many.  When you are quiet, at peace, there is space to choose.  Then my sisters will show what is right—the proper orientation, and the path.  And I will order your steps.  This is Wisdom.”

***

    Eva watched as Perry danced with Prudence, Piety, and Discretion.  Not since that night—when she had stood as Madame Wanton on the balcony overlooking the ballroom—had she watched him dance.  She could not make out the words, but she knew they were teaching him.  He adapted to them.  He harmonized with them.  Her heart swelled.

    Charity stood before her, hand outstretched.  Eva placed her hand in hers, and they began to sway slowly.

   Her eyes were gentle.  So pure.  She didn’t say a word, but Eva could feel her heart.  You are accepted.

    The music ended, but Eva didn’t let go.  She rested her head on Charity’s shoulder and let out a quiet breath.  Charity wrapped her arms around her, and they continued to sway in silence.

–

    When Eva finally let go, Charity took her hand in one of hers and Perry’s in the other.  She led them out into the garden below, then up to the highest point of the mountain, where the land stretched wide in every direction.  Beneath the shade of a broad sycamore, she placed Eva’s hand in Perry’s and slipped away without a word.

    Together they stood, watching the sun set at the top of the world.  There was nothing to gain, nothing to lose.  Only I and You.  For a moment, the world was right.

    Eva had taken no more than a dozen steps up the path before her breath came heavy.  They had stopped at the spring at the base of the mountain and drank deeply before beginning the climb.  Her body was fit and strong—but this was something altogether different, far steeper than anything she had ever known.

     Worse than the climb were her thoughts—spinning without rest.  What was she doing?  She glanced at Perry.  He seemed untouched by the climb—and untroubled by what had just passed.  What did she really know of him?

    Her lungs screamed.  She wanted to stop—to lean against one of the ragged trees lining the path.  But she kept pace with him.  If he didn’t rest, neither would she.

    Ahead, a large rock rose in the path—nearly to her chest.  She would have to pull herself up.  She bent over, hands braced on her knees, willing her heart to slow.  She drew a deep breath through her nose, then let it out slowly through her mouth.  Sweat dripped onto the stones below.

    Perry pulled himself up with ease, set his staff behind him, and turned, offering her his hand.  She straightened and glared at it.  When she looked up, his gaze was so tender it nearly undid her.  Eva reached out and placed her hand in his.  He pulled her firmly up beside him.

    “Let’s rest a moment, dearest,” he said gently, swinging his legs over the edge of the rock.  

    She stood there, looking at him for a long moment, then finally sat down beside him—farther away than she’d intended.

   “What was that all about?”  He had to know what that meant.

    He did.  “I was…” He paused, searching for the word.  Then: “warning her.”

    “Why—whatever were you warning her about, dearest?”  The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

    “She almost killed the Author.”

    Eva let out a short laugh.  “Her?”

    Perry nodded slowly.  “Yes.  She isn’t what she seems.”

    There was no deceit in his voice or expression.  It made sense now.  Eva remembered the look on the woman’s face—Perry had startled her.  No doubt of it.

    She rose slowly to her feet and held out her hand—and this time she didn’t let go.  Together they continued.  The top was just ahead.  But when they reached it, another rose beyond it.  And then another.  At least seven times—she’d counted.  Yet her breath had steadied, and a strange euphoria began to rise within her.  She felt as though she could climb forever.

    To their left, a pleasant Arbor came into view.  Perry glanced at her, a question in his eyes.  She shook her head.  They continued their climb.

    “Tell me more about the Author,” she said.  “Is he…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

    “No,” Perry said without hesitation.  “He is a person like us.  But he is the Seeker of Truth—the Dreamer of the Dream.”

    Eva’s mind drifted back to that strange feeling she’d had when she first met “Lord Peregrine Graycloak.”  She had remembered him.  She stopped.  “Wait,” she said.  “Are you…”

    Perry laughed.  It was… delightful.  She couldn’t remember ever hearing him laugh before.  “No—no more than you are.  We are in his Dream.”

    “No,” Eva said.  “I am not a character in a book—or in a dream.  I am a real person.  With real memories.  Real pain.  Real desires.”

    “Yes,” Perry said.  “You are.  And so am I.  I think the Author first realized that when I danced with Miss Inconsiderate.”  There was a quiet note of admiration in his eyes.  “But even more so… you.”

    “But why you?  Why not himself?” she asked.  A grin spread across her face as she began walking again.  “Fame mentioned Beautiful.  I have a feeling she’s the jealous type.”

    “No,” Perry said.  Then, more quickly, “Yes—but no.  The Author cannot enter the Dream himself.  So, he asked me… and I agreed.”

    “But you called him the Dreamer.”

    “Yes, he is the Dreamer—but not the Dreamer of this Dream.  Seeker is his Dream… and we are the Dream of the Seeker.  He is the Author of this Dream.”

     “You’re talking nonsense,” she said sharply.

    “Imagine a picture of a print gallery.  A young man stands with his hands behind his back, studying a painting.  In the corner of that painting, the same man appears—larger now—looking into a harbor scene.  And in that harbor city… is the gallery itself.  The young man is the Author, the Seeker, and the Dreamer.”

    Eva nodded.  “I’ve never seen it… but I remember it.”

    “Not only is the Author the young man in the picture—he is also the man holding the book, looking at it.  We are the two figures in the street within the picture.  He cannot be us.  In fact… we come before him.  He hasn’t even been born yet.  Not for another three hundred years.”

    Eva shook her head.  “My head hurts,” she said.  “What does the Author want?”

    “To learn to write.  He began reading a book, and the hostess—Anna—reminded him of you.  So, he asked me to go to your party.  To speak with the people there.  He told me I could say—or do—whatever I wished.  That when I returned, no one would remember.  But you… You weren’t supposed to remember.”

    “I didn’t,” Eva said.  “Not at first.  Not until I saw you.  All that day, I had this nagging feeling—I’d done this before.  And then you walked in… and I remembered.”

    “Yes, you did.”  His face colored slightly.

    “The next day, I remembered everything—from the day before, and the day before that—but no one else did.  Everything was exactly the same… until you walked through the door again.  How did you do that?”

    Perry shrugged.  “I don’t know.  But when I kept watch while you slept, the Author told me we could do the same—if we both agreed.  And we would remember.”  He hesitated.  “If the pain becomes too much… we can choose to forget.  But only once.”

    “No,” Eva said.  “I don’t want to forget.  Ever.  I don’t want to forget running away from home at sixteen.  I don’t want to forget the beatings in Carnal Policy—when I wouldn’t give them what they wanted.  Or…” She hadn’t spoken his name in a very long time.  “Mr. Brisk.  And his promises.  And the lies he spread when I left Carnal Policy.”

    They continued their climb in silence.  At last, she spoke again.  “I don’t want to forget the Prince… or the Cross.”  She stopped and took his other hand in hers.  “But most of all, I don’t want to forget you.  Not a single moment.”

    Perry squeezed her hands gently.  “No.  Let’s never forget.”

–

    When they reached the next summit, they were finally at the top.  In the distance rose a palace of red brick, with gleaming white trim and pillars.  Her foot sank into an indent in the soft ground—a footprint.  Her own, but tiny in comparison.  And between them and the palace, two lions paced back and forth.

    Eva had made up her mind.  She no longer carried him.   A rocky mountain rose before them, the climb steep and unyielding.  She would tell Perry more about herself.  It might make the journey easier—or more difficult.  She couldn’t yet say.  She had known him only two days—if she didn’t count the other three—but she no longer doubted she could trust him now.

    Along a side trail, workers streamed in and out of a curious treadwheel, carrying sacks to a nearby grain silo and loading them onto waiting carts.

    Two young women stood nearby.  One had long, wavy hair and wore a crimson dress that clung to her figure, showing every curve.  She drew the attention of all the men, and she knew it—and more than that, she reveled in it.  Eva hated her at once.

    The other was as different as night from day, yet no less striking.  Her dress was black, trimmed in gold, and her hair was drawn back neatly.  She carried herself with a quiet confidence—pride, even—as one accustomed to admiration from both men and women alike, yet so far above it that she scarcely seemed to notice.

   “Greetings, Lady Evadne,” she said, her gaze already fixed on Eva.

    Eva frowned.  “How do you know me?”  She was certain she had never seen her before.  Eva always remembered a face.

    The woman smiled.  “Many know you.  Many more will know you for centuries to come.”  Her gaze seemed to pass through Eva rather than rest on her.  “Or do you prefer Eva the Fearless?  Or perhaps ‘Eva the—’” She paused, studying her.  “No.  Not yet.”

    Eva started to speak, but the words failed her.

    “I am Fame,” the woman said simply, as though it explained everything.  “You are the Author’s favorite.”

    “What do you know of the Author?” Eva demanded.

    Fame ignored the question.  “He’s written many characters.  But you…  you surprise him.”

    “It was brilliant—what you did in Fall of Beelzebub.  It made people angry.  And that’s what caught my attention.”  Fame’s gaze drifted past Eva’s shoulder.  She turned.  No one was there.  A faint smile touched Fame’s lips.  “Ah… but you haven’t written that yet, have you?”

    “In the end, you will be with me.  It is your destiny.”  She cast a brief glance toward the other woman—something like contempt flickering there.  “But you needn’t worry.  Beautiful won’t mind.” She smiled slightly.  “I have both horns… and a halo.”

    Eva followed Fame’s gaze—and froze.  Perry stood with the other woman in his arms.  When he saw Eva, he pushed her away.

***

    The woman in black and gold glided toward Eva.  Something about her unsettled Perry.  Then he saw her—hips swaying as she walked, her hair stirring softly in the breeze.  Her green eyes found his—held him.  He started to turn back to Eva… but he couldn’t look away.

    As she drew near, the scent of clove and orange wrapped around him.  Then flashes.  Running.  Drowning.  Burning.  A cry torn from his throat.  Never forget.  His back ached from lashes he had never borne.

    She traced a finger along the golden embroidery at his neckline.  “Dressed like the King,” she said softly.

    He caught her by the shoulders and pulled her close—her eyes inches from his.  Her breath hitched.  She trembled in his arms.

    “I’m not that type of—” Her lips parted.  Her chin lifted.

    He leaned in, his voice low in her ear.  “I remember you…” Then, quieter still: “Daughter of Adam.”

    She went still—then pulled free from his grasp.  “Who are you?” she gasped.

    Eva strode toward him, lightning in her eyes.  “Come along, dearest,” she said.  Never had Perry heard the word dearest spoken so sharply—like a dagger.

    Eva walked beside Perry in silence—through the wheat fields, back onto the Narrow Way, past meadows and orchards.  The bleating of sheep faded behind them.  They crossed a small bridge over a stream running down from the western mountains.

    At last they came to a stretch of the Way bordered by an old stone wall—tall and solid.  The path rose gently ahead, as if inviting her upward.  Lilies grew wild along the slope.

    At the top of the hill stood an old, rugged Cross.  It was not beautiful.  The wood was rough, splintered in places and stained with blood—almost black now, sunk deep into the grain.  Some of the lilies, white and gold, leaned toward the Cross as if listening.

    Eva stopped halfway up the hill.  Everything she had been carrying—every mask, every wound, every story—suddenly felt small.  She had thought she had ruined herself.  But someone had carried that ruin long before she arrived.

    Perry walked ahead of her and knelt before the Cross.  There was no show in it.  He simply knelt.

    Eva walked the rest of the way up the hill slowly.  This is where my old life ends.  Then she knelt beside Perry.  Neither of them spoke.  A tear welled in her eye.  No—two tears.

    The Prince loves the lilies.   Her hand rose to the silver lily at her throat.  Then she reached behind her neck, unclasped the chain, and laid the necklace at the foot of the Cross.  It seemed the right place for it.

–

    Eva rose and made her way down into a garden of ancient olive trees, their trunks twisted with age.  The air changed as she descended.  It felt… sheltered.  A Tomb had been carved into the rock face of the hill.  The great stone had been rolled away, no longer sealing the entrance.  The Tomb was empty.  Quiet.

    Just beyond the Tomb, a rift split the rock where the earth had been torn in two.  Eva could not see the bottom.  She could barely make out the sides before the light faded.

    Perry’s eyes met hers.  In his hand was the oilskin she had given him.  Don’t give it back to me.  She knew what must be done.  She nodded once, then took it from him.

    She sat on the stone, her feet dangling above the darkness, the pouch resting on her lap.  It felt so heavy.  Then she opened it.

    Perry stood behind Eva—close enough that she could feel he was there, but not close enough to look over her shoulder.  When she glanced up at him, he pretended to study the olive trees.

    The letters lay on top, bound with a blue thread, faintly smelling of smoke from the night she had tried to burn them.  She had burned only half.

    She opened the top letter—the one she had once thought most important.  Her thumb rubbed across the ink.  She didn’t need to read it.  She knew every word by heart.

    When I return, everything will begin.

    She folded it and let it slip from her fingers.  It vanished into the rift.   For a moment the ground trembled—so faint she might have imagined it.  Then she dropped the bundle of letters without looking at them.

    “They all say the same thing,” she muttered.

    Her hand reached deeper into the pouch.  She drew out a ring—wide and gold, with a ruby set deep into the band.  She turned it slowly in her fingers.  The ruby held a small crack.  Funny she had never noticed it before.

    He had slipped it from his hand and said it would look better on hers.  Had he meant it as a joke?

     She flicked it into the rift.  It caught the light once before it disappeared.

    Perry came and sat beside her, swinging his legs over the edge.  Eva looked at him.  His eyes remained fixed on the far side of the garden.

    “Take your time, Eva.”  That was all he said.

    Next was a deed to a small house in Carnal Policy.  It wasn’t large, but it was respectable.  He had never signed the deed.  She smiled wryly when she saw her own signature.  She had wanted to see how her name looked beside the address.  She didn’t even watch it disappear.

    She reached in again and drew out a pale blue ribbon—the one she had stolen from her sister.  It was old and frayed.  She rubbed the cloth between her fingers and looked at it a long time.

   “No,” she said softly.  “This one I keep.”  The ribbon disappeared up her sleeve.

    She reached in, but her hand came out empty.  She turned the pouch inside out.  She started slightly as a small silver button fell free—plain and worn, from his coat.  It must have pulled loose that last time they argued.  She considered it for a moment, then flicked it into the rift.

   Then she tossed the pouch in.  She sat there a while longer, listening.  Nothing.  No echo.  No sound.

    Perry stood first.  Then he offered her his hand.  She took it.  Together they walked back toward the Tomb.  

    “Do you still have your daggers?” he asked.

     She glanced sideways at him, amused, a quiet laugh escaping her.  

    “Yes.”

    Perry examined the clothing laid out on the chair in the corner of the bathing room.  The trousers and boots were a deep shade of black, while the tunic gleamed in contrast—luminous white, embroidered in golden thread.

    The serving man, Great-Heart, had shown him to a small room with a bed and a writing table—not much different from the room Perry had occupied in the City of Destruction.  After leaving his satchel, Eva’s pouch, and his cloak and staff there, Perry followed Great-Heart to the bathing room, where steam rose from a wooden tub already filled with hot water.  Great-Heart had promised to return later to show him a few moves with the staff—and perhaps share a spar or two.

    The hot water eased the chill that had settled deep in his bones after the Slough, and he felt fresh again—invigorated.  The clothing was comfortable, though he couldn’t help wondering how his gray cloak would look over it.  He shrugged.

    He stepped out and closed the door behind him—then caught sight of Eva at the far end of the hallway.  He stared in wonder. For a moment he forgot how to breathe.  She was dressed in white and silver, her face radiant, with a seal set between her eyes.  When she saw him, she ran toward him, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek.

    She stepped back and giggled, her face coloring slightly.  “You clean up nicely, Peregrine!”

    Perry bowed to her in imitation of Prince Vasily.  “I am your faithful slave.”

    Eva laughed.  “You almost had me convinced this time.”

    Innocent appeared in the doorway.  “Dinner is ready,” she said.

    Perry held out his arm.  Eva slipped her hand around it, and he led her to the dining room.

    The dining room was spectacular.  Light streamed through tall windows, illuminating a long table laid with a feast.  The savory aroma of roasted lamb greeted them, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread.  A bowl of fruit sat nearby—shapes and colors Perry had never seen.

    Soft music drifted across the room from a group of musicians.  One drew his bow across a violin, setting the melody, while the other joined in harmony on a lute, a viola, and a recorder.

    The Interpreter took his seat at the head of the table.  Perry sat at the Interpreter’s right, while Eva took the seat across from him at the Interpreter’s left.

    Innocent curtsied and began to withdraw.

   “Stay,” Eva said.  “Eat with us.”

    Innocent turned and glanced at the Interpreter.

   “Yes,” the Interpreter said with a smile.  “Eat with us.”

   She smiled shyly, then took the seat beside Eva.

   Perry had expected serious talk—about things like grace and predestination—but instead the meal passed pleasantly, filled with light conversation.  The Author might find that interesting.

    After they finished eating, the music picked up its tempo.  Innocent leaned across the table.

   “Will you teach me to dance?” she asked Perry.

    He nodded and held out his hand.  Together they stepped onto the open floor.  Perry waited—but she didn’t move.  She simply watched him with those piercing blue eyes.

    “Lead,” she said flatly.

    Perry began to lead, and she followed—but slightly out of rhythm with him.  He stopped.

   She laughed softly.  “That’s not how I dance,” she said.  Then she laid her hand against his heart.  “You have to feel my heart.  Then you can lead me.”

    Perry felt her heartbeat through her fingertips.  It matched his own.  For a moment he thought he could feel her—truly feel her.  A deep, terrible ache.

    “Good,” she whispered.

    He took a step, and she followed.  Then another.  He began to see things—things he should not know.  Things that frightened him.

    But he kept dancing.  Warm light enveloped him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eva dancing with the Interpreter.  

   “This,” Innocent said, “is how you lead Eva.” With practiced ease she spun him around and placed his hand in Eva’s.

    He could feel Eva’s pulse in his hand.  He closed his eyes and simply felt.  She was… afraid?

    “Just dance, dearest,” he said, meeting her gray eyes.  This is how I lead Eva.  In the way she already knows to go.  That same warm light surrounded him.  Together they spun effortlessly—no push, no pull.  Perry leading Eva in the way she wanted to go.

    The music ended.  They stepped apart.  The Interpreter and Innocent stood off to the side.  She leaned close and whispered something in the Interpreter’s ear.  He nodded gravely.

***

    Eva gazed up at the Hunter from the parapet, tracing his belt and bow with a finger.  Then she stepped inside and closed the door gently.  Earlier she had watched Perry and Great-Heart practicing together, though she had kept her daggers hidden.

    She hung her dress on a peg along the wall and slipped into the night rail Innocent had left for her.  After blowing out the candle, she slid beneath the blanket and was soon fast asleep.

***

    The next morning, freshly baked bread and a crock of butter awaited them.  Perry ate together with Eva, and afterward they resolved to continue their journey.

    “Stay a few moments,” said the Interpreter.  “There is one more thing I would show you, and then you may be on your way.”

    He led them into a room where paintings hung along the wall.

    The first painting showed workers in a wheat field, half harvested, the grain already bound in sheaves.  Some rested in the shade of a tree; another carried a jug of water.  Among them stood a distinguished man, his face glistening with sweat.  At his feet, a young woman with a flowing scarf knelt to gather the grain the others had left behind.  Beneath it was written:  The Kinsman Redeemer.

     The next bore the inscription:  Jonathan and David.  It showed a striking young shepherd with blond curls and blue eyes—so much like the woman in the previous painting.  Before him stood a prince in royal robes, his eyes full of devotion, both hands extended as he offered a crown.

    At last they came to a painting of a young woman, heavy with child, riding a donkey through the night.  Her husband walked beside her, leading the animal by the reins.  Overhead a brilliant star blazed in the dark sky.  Her eyes were the same piercing blue as the others.

    “Many pilgrims arrive at my house alone,” said the Interpreter.  “But in the end, they always walk with someone else.  The very essence of God is found in the words: I and You.”

    “But isn’t this the very way of the world?” Eva asked.

    “No.”  The Interpreter shook his head slowly.  “The way of the world is to turn the You into an it—and when that happens, the divine is lost.  Such is the way of Mammon.  Everything can be bought and sold.  But in true love, the You is an end in itself.”  He gestured toward the paintings.  “In loving another, we encounter the very love of God.”

    Perry frowned, studying the painting of Jonathan and David.  The look between them seemed deeper than simple friendship.  “But didn’t Moses command…”

    “Yes,” said the Interpreter.  “Because of the hardness of men’s hearts.  But know this—between I and You, there is no sin.”

    “These paintings are meant to guide you.  If you have eyes to see, there is an apparent transgression in each one—and each carries a cost.  For Jonathan, it was the throne.  Yet he counted it nothing beside the great love he bore for David.”

–

    With that, the Interpreter blessed them, and Perry and Eva set out once more on their journey.

    Up ahead, the path dipped into a valley, flanked on either side by majestic mountains.  Perry noticed the change in Eva—her steps seemed lighter, her fingers barely resting in his, a quiet smile playing at her lips.

    Wheat fields stretched out on either side of the path.  On the right, ripe grain swayed gently behind sturdy fences.  But the left side had long been abandoned.  Thistles tangled through scattered wheat, the fences lay broken, and a wooden shed slumped inward, warped with rot and decay.

    On the far side of the wheat field, a wooded ravine traced the base of the mountains.  In the distance, waterfalls crashed into hidden pools below—their steady roar barely audible.  The water spilled into a stream that wound southward through the trees until it vanished into the forest.  The breeze carried its scent—fresh and clean, laced with damp earth, moss, and the faintest hint of fruit trees.

    Beside the ravine stood a palace—its roofs gleaming in the midday sun, towers rising above the treetops.

    “It’s not what I was expecting,” Eva said, nodding toward the Interpreter’s House.

    Perry nodded.  He hadn’t been sure what to expect either.

    “I imagined something more like a comfortable cottage,” she said.  “The Wicket Gate was so small, and…” She traced a shape in the air with her finger, searching for the word.  At last, “Plain.”  Her tone held no contempt.  “And the Prince was so humble.”

    “Yet you recognized Him at once,” said Perry.  

    “Yes,” she whispered.  “Nothing in His dress suggested royalty—not like the men I knew in the City of Destruction.  Or in Carnal Policy.  But His eyes…” Her voice softened.  “There was something I’d never seen before.  Confidence.”  She paused. “No.  Not confidence.  Authority.  I don’t doubt the wind and rain would obey his voice.”

    Perry felt the truth of it.  He’d looked more like a gardener than a gatekeeper—yet there was something unmistakable about Him.

    “And yet there was kindness in Him,” she said.  “Men rarely rise to such power without turning cruel.  I’ve seen it—again and again.”

    “No, not cruel—sorrowful,” Perry said.  “As if he carried the weight of the whole Valley of Destruction.  Grieving every soul lost in the Slough… or who turned away before reaching the Gate.”

    At last they reached the Interpreter’s House.  A narrow path cut through the wheat fields, leading to the entrance.  Its white walls, perhaps limestone, seemed to glow in the sunlight.  Windows of many colors lined the façade in careful rows, beneath steeply sloped roofs.  Two square towers blended into the ravine’s cliff face, one crowned with parapets.  A third, taller tower rose from the far side, topped with a small room—its pointed roof and windows on every side catching the light.

    Stairs led up to the entrance—a solid wooden door beneath a narrow balcony, supported on either side by statues of Shining Ones.

    On the left side of the House lay a garden filled with lovely trees and a wide variety of flowers—carnations, lilies and tulips—with benches nestled among rose bushes in full bloom.

    They climbed the stairs to the entryway and knocked—first Eva, then Perry.  He hadn’t meant to follow her knock, but he did. As if it mattered that his hand touched the door too.

    A young woman in a gray wool dress and apron opened the door.  Sunlight caught in her silver hair, and when she lifted her gaze, her eyes were a startling, impossible blue.  She looked at them—not past them.  At them.

    “Pray, what name may I give, that I may tell the Lord within?”

    “I am Eva.” She hesitated.  “I was known as Wanton.”  She swallowed.  “This is my companion, Perry.  The Prince bid us knock and inquire within.”

    The girl turned at once and hurried into the House, her voice carrying down the hall.  “Can you imagine who stands at the door?” she called, leaving it ajar.

    Eva’s face flushed, and she drew a sharp breath.  She smoothed her dress yet remained still.  Perry reached for the door—but she shook her head.  She inhaled once more, then lifted her chin.

    Then the door swung open, and the Interpreter stood before them.  His robes were plain, but on Him they seemed finer than any garment Perry had ever seen.  His eyes held the wisdom of ages, tempered by a gentleness unlike anything Perry had known.

    He extended both hands to Eva.  “Come in, dear heart,” He said, his face alight with joy.  “We were just speaking of you.”

    Men and women gathered about the Interpreter, their faces bright.  The young woman who had opened the door smiled serenely.

    The Interpreter turned to Perry.  “Welcome, Perry,” He said warmly.  He led them into a room and bade them sit and rest.  Men and women pressed in about them, smiling.  The men took Perry’s hand and clapped him on the back in good cheer.

    “Tell me, Eva,” the Interpreter said.  “What led you to set out on your journey?  We’ve waited for you many years.”

    Eva drew the invitation from the hidden pocket of her dress.  “I didn’t—couldn’t—believe it was truly for me.”  Her voice caught. “But when Perry came to… my party I decided I didn’t care anymore.  I couldn’t wait any longer.  Not an hour.  Not even a single minute.”

    “When word reached us of the midnight Pilgrims,” said the Interpreter, “there was great joy.  Our cook, Taste-that-which-is-Good has begun preparing a celebration.”

    The Interpreter gestured toward the young woman who had opened the door.  “Innocent will assist you in your preparations.”  

    Innocent curtsied.  “Please follow me, my Lady.”

***

    Perry watched as Innocent led Eva through the doorway and into the hall.  Something stirred in his memory—but when he reached for it, it slipped away.  The more he pressed, the further it retreated.

    He turned back to the Interpreter.

   “Follow me,” said the Interpreter.

    The Interpreter led him into a parlor that had recently been swept—the broom still resting against the wall.  He took his seat in an armchair beside a low table and motioned for Perry to sit opposite him.

    A serving man entered bearing a decanter of amber liquor and two tumblers banded in gold.  With metal tongs, he lifted pieces of ice from a wooden box and set them into each glass.

    Again—that familiar stirring.

    “Perry.”  The Interpreter took a measured sip, then set his glass upon the table.  “Peregrine Graycloak.  I have waited for you.”

    Perry lifted his glass and took a sip.  It was sweet as honey—and it burned as it went down.

    “Who are you?”  The Interpreter’s gaze did not waver.

    Perry exhaled.  “I hoped you would tell me.”

    The Interpreter’s gaze remained steady.  He did not answer.

    “I have been a seeker,” said Perry.  “I have been a dreamer.” He closed his eyes. “I remember things I ought not remember.  I know things I ought not know.  But myself…”  He opened his eyes again.  “That I do not know.”

   The Interpreter inclined his head.  “What do you want?”

   “I want to understand—”

   “No.”  The word was quiet, but final.  “The Author wants to understand.  What do you want?”

    Perry studied the amber in his glass.  Minutes stretched.  They drank in silence.  The Interpreter did not hurry him.

    “I want to be with her.”

    “Yes,” said the Interpreter.  “That was your choice.  Not the Author’s.”

    Perry nodded.

    “But was it your choice—or hers?”  The Interpreter regarded him steadily.  “I can tell you what you are, but only you can tell who you are.”  He lifted his glass, then set it down again.  “You’ve escaped the Law of Accident.  Now you live under the Law of Fate.  But that is not enough.” A pause.  “You must learn Will.”

    “How do I do that?” Perry asked.  He reached into his satchel and drew out the ring encircled in lapis lazuli.  For a moment, he turned it in his fingers.  Then he set it upon the table between them.

    “Do you know what this is?”  The Interpreter lifted the ring and held it to the light.  “It is the signet of the King—and the trust of the Author.”

    “The Author entrusted me with protecting her.”

    “No.”  The Interpreter’s voice was calm.  “He placed it in your hand because it belongs there.”  He turned the ring between his fingers.  “You are the dream the Dreamer dreamt—the answer the Seeker sought.”  A pause.  “She believes you were made to walk beside her.”  His gaze lifted to Perry’s.  “What she does not yet see… is that she was given to walk with you.”

    “And this?” Perry asked touching the ring lightly.  “Is this Will?”

    “Yes,” said the Interpreter.  “No.”  He turned the ring between his fingers.  “Will is born where Yes and No resist one another.”  He looked at Perry.  “The Prince is your pattern.  He possessed all authority—yet chose to lay it down.”

    “I understand,” Perry said quietly.  

    The Interpreter held his gaze.  “Are you willing to lay down everything for her, as the Prince did his Bride?”

    The room seemed very still.

    “Yes.”

    He did not look away.

    The Interpreter drained the last of his drink and rose.  “Come,” he said.  “Your new garments are ready.”

***

    Eva followed Innocent up a narrow spiral staircase that wound through one of the towers.  The steps curved tightly beneath her feet until at last they reached the third floor, where a small hallway stretched ahead, lined with several doors.

    Innocent led her to the last one and pushed it open.

    The room beyond was spacious, the ceilings higher than she expected.  Fine rugs softened the wooden floor.  A couch and a single chair sat near the window.  An oak-framed bed stood against the far wall, covered with a simple wool blanket.  On a small side table rested a hairbrush, and across from it a looking glass hung quietly on the wall.

    “Your room, Lady Evadne,” Innocent said softly.

    Before Eva could answer, a matron appeared in the doorway, hands folded neatly before her.

    “Have the girls fetch hot water,” Innocent said.  The matron curtsied and disappeared down the hall.

    The faintest flicker caught Eva’s eye.  In the corner a cobweb shimmered in the light, a spider poised at its center.  She smiled and lifted her hand, stopping just short of the delicate threads.  “I am in good company.”

    Innocent nodded.  “Yes.  She takes hold with her hands and is in kings’ palaces.”

–

    At the back of the room, a narrow door opened onto the top of the tower she had glimpsed as they approached the house.  Eva stepped out onto the parapet.  The ravine spread beneath her in breathtaking sweep.  Across the stream, in a broad clearing cut from the trees, stood a stately palace.  A great crowd had gathered before its gates.

    “What are they doing?”  Movement rippled through the crowd below.  Steel flashed.  A skirmish had broken out.

    “The Interpreter spares no expense,” Innocent said.  “Orchards.  Wheat fields.  Flowers and sheep.  Actors and musicians.  Rooms.”  A small smile touched her lips.  “And my favorite of them all.”  She pointed at the Stately Palace.  “He built it just to teach one lesson.  That you must fight for what you hold dear.”

   “Tell me, Lady Evadne—did you encounter any opposition on your way here?”

    “No.” Eva shook her head slowly.  The lie lay heavy on her tongue.

–

    When Eva stepped back into the room, she froze.  In the looking glass, Madame Wanton stared back at her.  The mask lowered.  Eyelashes fluttered.  Lips parted in a practiced pout.  A coy glance slipped sideways—an invitation.

    The mirror splintered.  Vee looked back at her.  Young.  Uncertain.  Practicing the expression she ought to have.  Eva squeezed her eyes shut.  When she opened them again, the glass was whole.  Only her own reflection remained.

    When Eva turned, she noticed steam drifting from a doorway on the other side of the room.  A serving girl stood there, kettle in hand.  “The bath is ready,” she told Innocent.  She curtsied and slipped away.

    A white dress lay across the bed, its silver embroidery catching the light.

    Innocent held out a crock in one hand and a bar of soap in the other.  “Choose.”

    Eva lifted the bar first and brought it to her nose.  Roses.  Sweet and familiar.  She closed her eyes for a moment.  She liked it. Then she set it aside and took the crock.  She lifted the lid.  Rosemary.  Clean.  Sharp.  Enduring.  Much better for the road.  “This one,” she said.

    “Let me help you out of your clothes,” Innocent said.

    Eva stepped back instead.  She reached into the hidden pocket of her dress and withdrew the King’s invitation.  Then the silver lily.  She laid them carefully on the bed beside the white gown.

    One by one she drew her dagger from her body—two from her sleeves, one from her boot, the smallest from her bodice.  Steel against linen.  She placed each beside the others.  

    She folded her scarf with deliberate care.  Untied her sash.  Then she turned her back to Innocent.  The buttons loosened.  The dress slipped from her shoulders and fell at her feet—patched cloth, stiff with dried mud from the Slough.  She did not look down at it.

    Innocent waited, eyes lowered, as Eva crossed the adjoining room.  The warmth of rugs gave way to cool slate beneath her bare feet.  Steam drifted upward from a waiting wooden tub.  She shed the last of her garments and stepped into the water.

    Innocent stepped into the steam and dipped a sponge into the rosemary soap.  The sharp scent rose with the heat as she began to wash Eva’s back—firm, steady strokes.

   Then she took Eva’s hand gently in her own and worked a small brush beneath her fingernails, loosening the last traces of the road.

    “I did encounter opposition on the way here.”  Eva swallowed.  “At the castle outside the Narrow Gate.”

    Innocent’s piercing blue eyes lifted to hers.  Under that steady gaze, Eva felt suddenly exposed.

    “I met Tisiphone, and Alecto.”  Vee’s eyes rose in her mind—hungry for approval.  And Mama’s back.  She could not remember Mama’s face.  Only the curve of her shoulders as she stirred the pot.  “I relived the day I left,” Eva said softly.  “The day I ran away from home.”

    Innocent said nothing.  She lifted a dipper and poured warm water over Eva’s head.  It ran down her face, over her shoulders, carrying the scent of rosemary with it.  Gentle fingers worked the lather into her hair.  

    For a long moment, there was only the sound of water.  Then Innocent spoke.  “Why did you choose rosemary?  Don’t you think Perry would have preferred the rose?”

    A sharp pang of regret pierced her.  “What does that have to do with—”

    “You made a choice,” Innocent said evenly.  “It seemed good at the moment.”

    “That’s different.”

    “Not at all.”  Innocent’s hands were steady in her hair.  “Every yes is also a no.  Sometimes to one thing.  Sometimes to a dozen.  There is no life without guilt.”

    She dipped the ladle again and poured the water slowly, rinsing the lather from Eva’s hair.

    “What do you know of guilt?”  The words struck harder than she intended.  Too hard.  Regret flared at once.

    “The Prince has accepted you.”  Innocent paused.  “I accept you.  Guilt cannot live in the presence of the King.”  She held out a towel.  Eva rose from the bath.  Cool air brushed her damp skin as Innocent wrapped the towel around her shoulders.

    The dress was of the finest cloth—dazzling white, silver thread worked in delicate patterns at the neckline, the cuffs, and along the hem.  It settled against her skin as though it had always belonged there.  Soft.  Light.  Perfectly fitted.  As if it had been made for her alone.  

   Her breath caught.  Leather holsters had been sewn into the sleeves.  A slow smile curved her lips.  She slid each dagger into place, feeling their familiar weight return to her arms.  Balanced.  Secure.

    She looked up at Innocent, satisfaction flickering in her eyes.

   “How did…”

    Innocent did not answer.  She took Eva’s hand and led her to the chair by the window.  Eva sat.  Innocent lifted the brush and drew it slowly through her hair.

   “One.”  The bristle tugged lightly at the damp strands.  “Two.”  She counted each stroke.

    “After that, Alecto—”

    “That is not what is troubling you.”  Innocent’s voice was gentle, but firm.  “If you had failed Tisiphone or Alecto, you would not be here now.”  Her hands never stopped their steady rhythm through Eva’s hair.  “Tell me, dear heart—what did Megaera show you?”

    Eva looked up sharply.  A tear slipped free before she could stop it.  “He…” Her throat tightened.  “Perry is going to die.”  The words felt solid in her mouth.  Heavy.  “It wasn’t a vision,” she whispered.  “It was real.”

    Pain flickered in Innocent’s blue eyes.  She did not deny it.  Did not soften it.  She leaned close, her voice barely more than breath.  “Love is stronger than death.”

    Innocent gathered Eva’s hair and tied it back with a narrow ribbon.  Then she picked up the lily pendant and turned it slowly in her fingers.  The silver caught the light.  She stepped behind Eva and fastened the clasp at her neck.  Cool metal settled against her skin.  

    “The Prince has always loved the lilies.”  Innocent stepped back and studied her for a long moment.  Then she smiled.  “There. Fair as the Moon.”

    Innocent slipped her hand into the folds of her dress and drew out a small mirror, its edge bound in worn brass.  She placed it gently in Eva’s palm and closed her fingers around it.

    “It’s my gift,” she said softly.  “To remind you.”

    Eva stared into the mirror.  For a moment, she did not recognize the woman looking back.

   Not Vee.  Not Vadna.  Not Madame Wanton.  Not even Lady Evadne.

   Just Eva—the beloved.

    The Narrow Way stretched to the horizon as Eva walked, her hand tucked in Perry’s.  A warm breeze stirred the air, carrying the earthy scent of ripened grain.  A nightingale sang nearby—a rich, fluid tapestry of gurgles, trills, and whistles.

    To her surprise, the lands of Beelzebub stretched beyond the Wicket Gate.  A stone wall flanked the path, dividing it from an orchard—but whether it was meant to keep pilgrims out, or to protect them, Eva couldn’t tell.

    Heavy boughs of small, pale, lustrous fruit spilled over the wall here and there.  She recognized it.  Nobles in Carnal Policy were fond of it—though she doubted any of them truly knew what it was.  The game was to see how much one could eat before falling ill.  Some of the stories she’d heard couldn’t possibly be true.  That much would surely kill a man.

    But she knew.  When she needed solitude—to think, to mourn a love that never was—she’d sit on the ferry landing, toes trailing in the River of Confusion, gazing at the ancient tree in the distance.  The Tree of Knowledge.  Its roots gripped the swirling waters, and it rose far above all others.  But the fruit was the same.

    She recognized it at once.  She’d read about it in one of the books she’d stolen from the chapel in the Dark-Lands.  Or was it from a wager she’d won with the vicar’s son?  It had been a long time ago.

    She reached toward the fruit—but her eyes caught Perry’s.  “The misery this fruit has brought into the world,” she murmured.

    Perry’s eyes flickered, and his jaw tightened—just slightly.  But he said nothing.  Made no move to stop her.

    She plucked the nearest fruit, her hand trembling slightly.  “Such a simple matter,” she murmured, turning it over in her hands.  “And yet…”

    She lifted her gaze and met Perry’s eyes.  Was he the man she believed him to be?  She held the fruit out.  “If I gave this to you… would you eat it?”

    “No,” he said, without glancing at the fruit—his gaze never leaving her.  His eyes told her he knew exactly what it was.

   “If I ate it?” she asked, raising it to her lips, which parted slightly.  “Would you follow me into ruin?”

   “No,” he repeated—calmly, but his expression flickered with pain.

    “He showed great love,” she said.  “Adam,” she clarified.  “He knew he was incomplete—and chose to be damned with her rather than left alone.”  

    Perry nodded slowly.  

    Eva let the fruit fall from her hand and exhaled.  “But you are not Adam,” She paused. “You’re something more.”  Bitterness curled in her chest.  Why had she tested him?

   “And I am not Eve,” she said quietly.  “I know what she didn’t—what she couldn’t.”  She swallowed hard.  

    “The pleasure that goes with it—but the guilt afterward.  Sweet, innocent Eve couldn’t have known.  That wasn’t love.”

    Eva forced herself to meet Perry’s gaze.  “I know because I’ve eaten the fruit.”  What will you do with me now?  The question stayed on her tongue, unspoken.

    Perry’s gaze was steady, warm.  “If the Prince doesn’t condemn you… how could I?”

   Then he extended his hand.  “Come, my dearest, the Interpreter’s House awaits.”

    Perry stopped before the small gate.  A wooden plaque hung above it, carved with the words:  Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.  Eva stepped forward and knocked—once, soft but sure.  The same knock she’d used on his door the night before.

    She stood silently before the gate, waiting—but didn’t knock again.  Not even a flicker of impatience touched her face.

    At last, the gatekeeper opened the door.  He wore the plain garb of a gardener.  His expression was grave, but not unkind.  “Who is it?” he asked.  “Where do you come from?  Why have you come?”

    Eva’s eyes burned with an intensity Perry had never seen.  “I am Evadne,” she said.  Then, more softly, her gaze met the gatekeeper’s.  “Eva.”

    “I come from the City of Destruction.  There, I was known as Madame Wanton.  But I was not made for that place.”

    She withdrew her invitation from her dress and placed it in the gatekeeper’s hands.  “I’ve kept it for years—wondering.”  Her voice trembled slightly.  “The seal was broken.  The writing, smudged.  But I intend to place it in His hands myself—and ask if it was truly meant for me.”

    The gatekeeper turned the invitation over in his hands, then returned it to her.  “There was never any doubt.”  He extended his hand.  “Welcome, Eva.”  She placed her hand in his.

   “You’ve brought someone with you,” he said, turning to Perry.  His eyes were bright.

   “Yes,” she said.  “This is Peregrine Graycloak.  He walks with me.”  A flicker of pain crossed her face.  “I don’t want to walk alone.”

    The gatekeeper led them through and shut the door behind them.  Ahead, a narrow path stretched straight to the horizon—neither veering left nor right.  “Not far now, and you’ll come to the Interpreter’s House,” he said.  “Inquire there, and He will instruct you.”

   “But first, Peregrine,” he said, “you are hungry.  Come and eat.”  He led them into a summer parlor, where cushions were laid out beside a low table, and the scent of fresh-baked bread filled the air.

    Perry glanced down at the mud caked on his cloak and trousers.

    “You’ve passed through the Slough,” the gatekeeper said, then waved them toward the cushions.  “Tell me—did you not see the stepping-stones?”

    “We did,” Perry said.  “But the stones were sunk in the mire, and mud trembled around them.  But she counted it but a small hazard.”  He glanced at Eva and smiled.  “She took off her shoes and stepped in.”

    “I’ve rarely seen such faith!” the gatekeeper exclaimed.

    He took the bread, gave thanks, broke it, and handed it to Perry.  Perry’s heart burned in him.  He blinked—then stared.  The hands.  Scarred.  The Prince.  And he hadn’t recognized Him.  But Eva had.  He remembered the look in her eyes.

    “Allow me, my lady,” said the Prince, turning to Eva.  He took a pitcher of water, a basin, and a towel—and knelt at her feet.

    “My Lord,” Eva whispered, “I am not worthy.”  Still, she removed her shoes and extended one foot into the basin.  The Prince poured water from the pitcher, washing away the mire of the Slough.  He dried it gently with the towel, then took her other foot in His hands.

    He looked up at Perry, gaze steady.  “Let this be an example,” He said.  “Love your bride, as I have loved the church.”

    Eva started.  Her eyes glistened, and her foot trembled in His hands.  When He finished, He met her eyes.  “You are clean, my daughter,” He said.

    After they had eaten together, the Prince blessed them and sent them on their way.

    Eva took Perry’s hand in hers and exhaled softly.  “I am clean.”

    Eva steadied her trembling hands as she stepped into Beelzebub’s throne room.  Perry’s boots struck the obsidian floor beside her—slow, even.  

    He will die.

    But he didn’t know.  He couldn’t.  He hadn’t seen what Megaera had shown her.  Megaera only showed truth.  That much she knew.  But she didn’t know what that truth meant.  You will walk alone.  The words haunted her.  Not yet. Not today, she pleaded.

    Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as they neared the throne.  It was carved from dark stone, etched with glowing silver script. Lamps of pale flame flickered in the alcoves, casting an otherworldly glow across the chamber—like moonlight with no sky.

    Perry stopped abruptly—just beyond the reach of the one seated on the throne.  Dread Lord Beelzebub.  Clad head to toe in black iron, spiked and etched with silver.  The opening of the helm showed nothing.  No eyes.  No face.  Just darkness.

    Beelzebub didn’t move.  He simply sat in silence, waiting.  Watching.  Eva could hear her own breathing, louder than she liked.  Ragged.

    Beelzebub rose.  There was no creak of armor.  Just silence, deafening in its weight.  Perry stepped forward, placing himself between them.

    “I am Peregrine Graycloak,” he said.  “Guardian to Lady Evadne.  Stand aside and let her pass.”

    Beelzebub’s helm tipped slightly.  “Guardian,” he said.  The words dragged.  “You?”  He stepped down from the throne.  Perry’s hand tightened on his staff.  “Mud on your boots.  Threadbare tunic clinging from the Slough.  Staff in hand, as if that means something.”  Another step down.

    Perry raised a fist.  “You should know better than to judge by appearances,” he said, voice calm, without a trace of anger.  He opened his hand.  The silver light caught the deep blue of the ring.

    “I hold the authority to summon Michael and bring this castle down stone by stone.  If a single hair on her head is harmed, nothing will remain standing.”

    Eva tensed.  He was telling the truth—but he’d added something.  She recognized the mask.  She’d seen it the first time they met.  Like a child playing with his father’s weapon, unaware of its true power.

    Beelzebub turned away from him and stepped toward her.  Perry’s grip tightened on his staff.  Her daggers called to her.  No. Not yet.

    Beelzebub reached into his armor, fingers closing around something unseen.  She froze.  Then forced herself upright, chin lifted the way she’d been trained.

   And then— he knelt.  The breath left her in a sharp gasp, the shock hitting harder than any blow ever could.

    Beelzebub lifted his head, the void of his helmet fixed on her.  Then he raised a hand.  In his iron gauntlet, he held a silver necklace—delicate and cold as moonlight.  A single blooming lily hung at its center, each petal etched with faint lines that shimmered like starlight caught in water.

    “You won’t understand yet.  But when the time comes, you’ll remember this moment.  Summon, and I will come.”

    Eva did not move at first.  She stared at the Dread Lord, still kneeling before her.  Her eyes caught the faintest etching of the same lily on his breastplate.  She glanced at Perry.  He nodded.  Then she stepped forward and took it from Beelzebub’s outstretched hand. 

    Beelzebub remained kneeling until Eva stepped back.  He said nothing more.

    The Wicket Gate lay just ahead.  Alecto led them back through the castle’s labyrinthine halls, returning to the place she had confronted them.

    Eva ran her thumb over the silver lily in her palm, as if weighing what it had cost—and what it still might.  Then she slipped it into the hidden pocket of her dress.

   She turned to Perry.  “Come, my dearest,” she whispered.

Commentary on Beelzebub

–

Dear Thoughtful—

    I was delighted to read in your letter that Perry and Eva’s encounter with Beelzebub took you by surprise.  That was exactly the effect I hoped to achieve.  I did leave a hint, though—on page 159 of the bound copy of Tears of the Elect I sent you, with a fuller explanation on page 352.

    This choice was not arbitrary.  It’s deeply rooted in the mythology I’ve built for the Dream-Lands.  This scene strikes at the very heart of who, or what, Beelzebub is supposed to represent in my stories.

    The first clue lies in Eva’s trials at the hands of the Furies.  I chose to portray Alecto not as the demonic force Bunyan describes, but to return to her roots in Greek mythology—as a pure force of justice.

    Tisiphone’s trial represents the inescapability of guilt—where no excuse, cause or reason can absolve it.  Alecto embodies the unforgiving weight of wounds inflicted by others.  Megaera tests loyalty, no matter the cost.  This should prompt the question: is Beelzebub truly evil?  The answer is no.

    The closest analogy—though not a perfect one—is Destruction from Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman.  When you first introduced me to the series, I was struck by how closely its themes align with my own.  I suspect Gaiman has read a fair amount of French philosophy, especially Michel Foucault.

    Eva’s story takes place just before Christiana begins her journey with her sons—placing it around 1684.  Destruction, from what I can tell, abandons his post around 1689, for the same reason Beelzebub does.

    Michel Foucault identifies this period as the beginning of what he calls a new “episteme”—one that ushered in the Enlightenment, the French and American Revolutions, and the rise of modern thought, including democracy and capitalism.  In this new order, the overt oppression of Beelzebub is replaced by subtler forms of coercion.  Mammon.

    Destruction recognizes this shift and chooses to step away, while Dream resists—and dies.  In The Sandman, Dream embodies myth and narrative, which cannot survive the dissection of postmodern thought.

    Tears of the Elect parallels this perfectly.  It is the story of how I became disillusioned with the “old books”—the expectations and disappointments of the abandoned castle, the open gate, and the missing Cross.  The ruined Interpreter’s House symbolizes the loss of meaning in life, and the crumbling House Beautiful represents the modern church.  In other words, the death of the Dream.

    But Gaiman, like me, doesn’t fall into the nihilism of postmodern thought.  Instead, he moves forward into what some call post-postmodernism—or metamodernism.  One of the key ideas in metamodern thought is “ironic sincerity,” popularized by writers such as David Foster Wallace.  Hence, the rebirth of Dream.  The return of meaning in the face of modern life.  In my case, this is reflected in the Interpreter and Sophia in Vanity.

    I’ve tried to write a layered story—though perhaps not very well.  None of what I’ve explained should be necessary for the average reader to understand.  Tears of the Elect can simply be read as the story of how I learned to be faithful to Beautiful and my family.  And Redemption of Eva as a story about a love willing to descend into Hell and rise to the heights of Heaven.  Perhaps it’s a modern retelling of Dante and Beatrice.

    There is more mystery about Beelzebub that I haven’t revealed—though I’ve left several clues, both in this scene and in Tears of the Elect.  I hope this eventual reveal is just as unexpected as this one was!

Sincerely,

Seeker

Dear Thoughtful—

    I sit in my study now, looking out over the River of Life, beginning to write the story of my life—how I left Uncertain, and everything that followed.  As you know Stephen King once wrote:

Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art.  The water is free.  So drink.

Drink and be filled up.

    I was once told that my writing style most closely resembles Tolstoy—but when I first opened War and Peace, I was immediately humbled.  My work felt amateurish and childish by comparison, especially when it came to dialogue.

    So I came up with a plan: I would rewrite War and Peace as a practice exercise—set in the Dream-Lands I love and call home.

   War and Peace opens with a party scene.  One phrase kept echoing in my mind: Party at Wanton’s.  I thumbed through the book Beautiful gave me and found the passage: 

Then Miss Light-Mind added as follows: ‘Come, put this kind of talk away. I was yesterday at Madame Wanton’s, where we were as merry as the maids. For who do you think should be there, but I, and Mrs. Love-the-Flesh, and three or four more, with Mr. Lechery, Mrs. Filth, and some others. So there we had music and dancing, and what else was meet to fill up the pleasure. And I dare say, my lady herself is an admirably well-bred gentlewoman, and Mr. Lechery is as pretty a fellow.’

    Madame Wanton fit the profile of Anna Pavlovna perfectly.  I would attend her party and speak with each guest, beginning with Miss Light-Mind, recording every conversation.  But even Dreams have rules—and they were only characters in my Book.

    So I created a Dream within a Dream—and a character to represent me:  Perry.  He had no backstory, no defined personality.  And yet, he chose his own name.  I can’t explain it.  As an act of pure mischief, I modeled his appearance on Faithful—the one Madame Wanton once tried to seduce at the Hill of Difficulty.

    My instructions to him were simple:  he would speak to one character per scene.  He could say or do anything he wished—free of consequence.  After recording each encounter, I would reset the Dream, and he could begin again.  Over and over, until he—or rather I—had learned to capture character and craft dialogue perfectly.  No one would remember anything—except him.

    His first attempt was a disaster.  He quoted Prince Vasily from War and Peace verbatim—but delivered it so poorly that Madame Wanton mocked him.  Miss Light-Mind only wanted to dance.  When he tried to pull her over for a quiet conversation, she immediately lost interest.  

    He seemed almost panicked by the experience.  I reassured him he could try again—this time, to capture Prince Vasily’s insincerity and simply dance with Miss Light-Mind.  But something strange happened.  Madame Wanton remembered.  And as he approached Miss Light-Mind again, Miss Inconsiderate bumped into him.

    Miss Inconsiderate’s personality completely took me by surprise—she was nothing like I imagined.  Her clumsiness and insecurity were so endearing that I felt a pang of heartbreak when I reset the Dream for Perry.

    Then Madame Wanton remembered again.  Their dance struck me as particularly strange—more a duel than a waltz.  And her name… Evadne.  Where had that come from?

    I was just about to reset the Dream again when she knocked on Perry’s door.  Her simple dress—and the name Eva—caught me off guard.  I watched, curious, as she led him outside the City and began to tell her story in the moonlight.

    But something didn’t make sense.  Perry could feel it too.  Why had she dragged him into the night just to tell him about herself?  Surely she knew she would remember again?

    It’s no exaggeration to say I was dumbstruck when she announced she wanted to go to the Celestial City and place her invitation in the King’s hand.  So much for my plans about dialogue writing and War and Peace.

    Eva has proven a particularly stubborn character to write.  She refuses to do anything she doesn’t want to.  I’ve discovered this more than once—especially when she chose to endure the mud of the Slough rather than ever set foot in Carnal Policy again to take the bridge there.

    For now, she waits patiently at the Wicket Gate.  Good-Will has washed her feet, and she seems perfectly content to remain there with Perry while I write my own story.

    So I pick up my pen and begin to write—about how Mom and Dad abandoned me in Uncertain.  When I finish, I’ll bind and send you a copy.  Then, I’ll return to Eva and Perry’s story.

Sincerely,

Seeker