Archives for June 2025

    Seeker continued his trek northward, crossing a bridge over a small stream until he reached a place where the mountains narrowed, and the way was fenced in.  Wall of Salvation.   But it was crumbling, broken in places.  The path climbed gently up a hill, with an opening off to the side.  Hill of Deliverance.  But no Cross. 

    This unsettled him.  Surely this was the place.  He scanned the hilltop.  A sweet fragrance drifted in the air.  The summit lay empty, marked only by lilies swaying in the wind.  Birds sang, light and lilting yet strangely solemn, in harmony with the rustling petals.  As if remembering.

    He descended into the Tomb.  The stone was cool to the touch, smooth and lifeless beneath his fingers.  His footsteps echoed under him.  Empty.  But of course, it’s empty.  It’s supposed to be empty.

   He stepped out.  The mountains cast long shadows across the path.  The clean mountain air held both a sense of peace and a strange, aching absence.  He scanned the horizon.  No sign of the Cross.  This must be the place.  And it was gone.  He didn’t know how to carry that knowledge. 

    He scanned the horizon again, searching.  Still no sign of the Cross.  In the distance, across the ravine, a quaint village lay nestled in the mountains.  A side path led to it, crossing the ravine by an arched stone bridge, proud and enduring.  On this side rose a majestic grain silo and beside it a massive treadwheel, its gleaming form turning in steady, ceaseless motion.

    He knelt and gently brushed a lily’s white petal.  So fragile, so soft.  Nothing like the rugged cross he had expected.  Unease filled his heart.  He turned and left quietly, deep in thought.

***

    Bewilderment swept through the Dreamer as he watched Seeker-for-Truth.  There might be reasons—Good-Will’s disappearance, Beelzebub’s Castle abandoned, even the Interpreter’s House in ruins.  Hadn’t the Interpreter brought him here to show him all that?  But this?  This was beyond reason.  The Cross was the center of his Dream Lands—perhaps even the axis the world turned upon.  And it was gone.  In the hundreds of times he had visited, it had always been there.  Always.

    And the treadwheel?  The grain silo?  A distant hum rose from the machine—steady, almost mechanical in its precision.  He had never seen this before.  Not the grain silo.  Not the treadwheel.  He blinked—suddenly he was standing beside it.  And what he saw disturbed him.  The device was not fitted for horses, but for men.

    This was no tool of labor.  It was an instrument of cruelty.

    When Seeker left the Interpreter’s Study, he secured the door behind him with practiced ease—holding the latch up with his clasp-knife, pulling the door shut, and slipping the knife free from between the door and the jamb.  The latch clicked into place.  He walked away, steady in the knowledge that his treasures lay safe within.

    He left the ruins behind, passed through the wheat fields, and returned to the Narrow Way.  Beyond the Interpreter’s House, lush pastures spread wide, their grass swaying gently in the breeze.  Sheep grazed in the open, lifting their heads now and then to offer soft bleats.  The morning sun warmed his back as a breeze tugged at his tunic, carrying the earthy scent of pasture—tinged with wool and the faint sweetness of distant wildflowers.

    Dark canvas tents, weathered by sun and wind, lay scattered across the fields—the homes, he supposed, of shepherds tending their flocks.  A voice rose across the open land, deep and unwavering.  A strong man stood tall against the vast sky, his crook planted firmly in the earth.  Around him, travelers and pilgrims had gathered, some standing, others seated on grass and smooth stones, all listening intently to his words.

    “…in conclusion, my friends, always remember ‘beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing.’”  A soft chorus of assent rose from the crowd as he finished speaking.

    As he drew closer, Seeker spotted Companion among the crowd.  Companion turned at once, his face lighting up.  “Seeker!”  He gave him a quick once-over, grinning.  “You look rested—and much cleaner.  Come on, I’ll introduce you to Stern.”

    A man with chestnut hair, a prominent nose, and piercing eyes stood speaking with Stern.  He was short, though it was easy to miss—he carried himself with such presence, such effortless command.  At his side stood a lovely, slender woman, with long black hair flowing down to her waist, her hand resting on his arm.  She was half a head shorter, gazing up at him with eyes full of quiet admiration.

   Companion slowed his step and lowered his voice.  “That’s Steadfast and Gracious.  Don’t be put off by them.  He can be… well, a bit abrupt sometimes.  He chuckled searching for the right words, “They are kind of… old fashioned.”  The way he said it hinted toward weird.  “But when it comes to love, you won’t find a better example.”

    “Stern, this is my friend Seeker.  He comes from Uncertain.”

    Stern extended his hand.  It was calloused from hard work, his grip firm without being harsh.  His eyes were gentle, his smile warm—a striking contrast to the broad shoulders and powerful arms that framed him.

    “Seeker, great to meet you.”  Steadfast spoke before Stern could get a word in, then rolled right back into the conversation, now looping Seeker in.   “Definitely wolves in sheep’s clothing.  You have to pay attention, Seeker.  Times have changed.  This realm used to be a haven for pilgrims.  But now?  The cottage lets anyone in.  Wolves walk freely.  They may look fair on the outside—but you can tell.  By the little things they say.  By glances.”

    Seeker nodded as Steadfast spoke on.  But his thoughts drifted to Faint-Resolve’s secretive glances at Miss Fair-Glance.  Was that who Steadfast meant?  Unease stirred within him.  The words felt edged, a little too quick to judge.  Stern’s face gave nothing away.  He simply nodded again.

    Companion stepped in.  “Well, I’ve got to head back to the Slough.  You’re in good hands with Stern—and all of the shepherds, really.  I’ll see you when my shift’s over.”

   Gracious gave Seeker a warm smile, then turned to Steadfast. “Honey, let’s have him over for dinner.”

    Steadfast agreed with a hearty nod.  “Throw another bean or two in the pot!” 

    Warmth spread through him.  First Companion.  Then Miss Cheerful, Faint-Resolve, and Miss Fair-Glance.  A new life, with new friends.  But first things first.  The Cross still waited.  He thanked them with a smile and promised dinner next time, cheerfully.

    Seeker woke, fully rested.  The warmth of morning sunlight filtered through the diamond-paned window, casting streaks of gold across the room.

    His clothes, clean and folded, waited on a chair just outside the door—still faintly warm from the hearth.  He changed out of Companion’s clothes, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and descended the stairs to the common room.  On the table sat a basket of bread, a crock of fresh butter, and knives for cutting and spreading. 

    The morning was still, with only faint sounds drifting in from outside.  There was no one in the common room, not even Miss Cheerful, so he sat down at the table alone.  

    He cut off a thick slice of bread and spread it with golden butter.  The crust was crisp and the butter melting as he bit in.  He sighed in satisfaction.  Then he poured water from the pitcher into his tin cup, the sound gently breaking the silence.

    Companion and Faint-Resolve must have returned to their work mending the Slough, which left him alone to explore the realm.  He’d go to the stream.  No, first the Cross.  But before either, he would uncover the mystery of the Interpreter’s ruined house.  During last night’s conversation, he’d learned that the Interpreter’s presence was only temporary.  Or so everyone believed.

    By the time he finished his breakfast, his mind was made up—he would find out what was inside the tower.  A floorboard creaked as he crossed to the door.  A gentle breeze greeted him as he stepped outside, fresh and earthy, carrying the melody of a songbird.

    The ruins looked just as they had the night before—crumbling walls, scattered stones, and the lone tower still standing, drawing his gaze, almost calling to him.  He took a slow breath, then stepped forward.

***

   Seeker ascended the worn steps leading to the Interpreter’s House, where a floor of broad flagstones, cracked and weathered by sun and rain, rested atop the rough-cut stones of the foundation.  The entryway had no door.  The roofs were gone.  And the ashlar walls, once proud and smooth, had crumbled, leaving behind piles of moss-covered rubble.

    His steps left footprints in the thick dust coating the floor.  Dusty Parlor, indeed, he thought wryly.  Stairways climbed to open air.  On the far side of the room, a doorway was completely blocked by fallen stones.  A wall had crumbled to half its height.  If he stood on his toes, he could just make out the other side.

   It was a long room, most likely a dining area, though no tables or chairs remained.  At the back, a remnant of the second floor still stood—wide oak planks supported by large timber joists—and just beyond it rose the tower.  He reached up, grasped the rough stones, and hoisted himself to the other side.  

   He crossed the room, loose stones crunching under his feet, and entered a long hallway.  At the far end he saw the blocked entrance near where he’d climbed the wall.  The hallway led deeper into the house, ending in a small room with a stairwell of wooden steps.

    As he climbed, a stair creaked under his weight.  He stopped and stood very still.  Wind moved through the ruins, creating faint echoes.  But the wood did not break or crack.  He continued until he reached the second floor and stepped out cautiously.  The floor held firm.

   In front of him rose the lone tower, with a door set in the side.  His palms were sweating.  Dropping all caution, he strode across the wooden floor until he reached it.  His eyes widened.  The granite was untouched by age, and the door stood solid, with only a hint of tarnish on the iron banding and the handle.

    He pulled on the handle, then pushed.  The door didn’t give.  He stood looking at it for a long moment.  He knew what to do—but should he?  He examined the knob, then the jamb, and hesitated.  Then he reached into his satchel, pulled out his clasp-knife, and opened it with a satisfying click.  Carefully, he slid it between the door and jamb, avoiding any damage to the wood or the iron.  A soft pop, and the door swung open.  He smiled in silent satisfaction.

***

    A narrow stairwell of marble stairs led upwards for four floors, if his count was correct, with shafts of sunlight pouring through small windows, lighting the way.

    When he reached the top, he gasped in delight.  This was beyond his wildest dreams—he stood in a study.  An ornate rug spread over the wood floor.  On one side stood a couch, on the other a desk and a sturdy chair.  Bookshelves leaned, heavy with time.  Yet not a speck of dust touched the room.

    On the desk were a quill, ink, and a stack of paper.  But what truly caught his attention were the books.  There were ancient tomes in unfamiliar languages, dictionaries, and references.  Three titles stood out from the rest:  The Hidden Well, The Measure of a Man, and The Yoke and the Plow.   Truly, this was a treasure he could never have imagined.

    Windows were set in each of the four walls.  He crossed and peered through the warped glass of the one facing north.  The entire valley spread out before him—cascades and waterfalls tumbling from the mountains into the ravine.  In the pastures below, sheep grazed, and shepherds moved in the distance.  He stood quietly, imagining their voices and the soft bleating of the flock.  Beyond them were orchards—perhaps apple trees—and a thin stream that traced through the rolling hills.  He searched for the Hill of Deliverance, strained his eyes for the Cross.  But it was too far.  He would walk there.

    As he turned to take another look at the books before leaving, he noticed something he hadn’t seen in his earlier enthusiasm.  A small, purple, velvet case, sat on the desk.  He picked it up, and beneath it lay a note written in elegant penmanship:

Seek and you will find.

-I

    Inside was a gold band set with seven brilliant diamonds, catching the light and shimmering with an intensity unlike anything he had ever seen.  It was small—too small to fit any of his fingers except his pinky, and even there it only reached the knuckle.

    The note was for him—he could feel it deep inside.  And the ring, even if it didn’t fit, had been waiting for him.  Seek and you will find.  And the books were for him, too.  He picked up the black leather volume with seven raised bands on the spine, with unfamiliar letters.  He would return, learn to read it, and uncover its secrets.  He slid the book back into place and tucked the velvet case into his satchel.

    Then he turned and left.

    The Dreamer was puzzled.  The tower stood just as he’d seen it from the waterfalls with the Interpreter—but His House was in ruins.  This was where he’d heard the Beautiful song.  He was sure of it.  Things had changed since he’d been here as a child—a lot.  Beelzebub’s Castle, abandoned.  The Interpreter’s House, broken.  And where was Good-Will?  Something felt vaguely familiar.  He watched intently as Seeker-for-Truth disappeared into the cottage.

***

    A fire roared in the fireplace of the common room as Seeker entered the cottage, its light flickering across plaster walls and wooden beams.  A pot of stew hung over the flames, the scent rich and comforting.  Bowls and wooden spoons were laid out on a long table with benches, and baskets of fresh-baked bread were set nearby.

    A young woman not much older than Seeker met him, her hair wild—curls sticking out in every direction. “Companion! You rescued another one.”  She rushed toward Seeker with arms outstretched, to welcome him, then stopped short, wrinkling her nose.  “You smell disgusting!”

    Companion chuckled.  “Seeker, this is Miss Cheerful.”

    “Seeker?  You look hungry.  Let’s get some food in you.”  She stopped and wrinkled her nose again.  “Not smelling like that you don’t.  Follow me, Seeker-of-Baths.”  She threw her head back and laughed boisterously, the sound echoing through the room.   

    She started toward a doorway on the far side of the room but stopped, crossed to the fireplace, and used her apron to lift a large kettle.  Then she turned to Companion.  “You have a spare set of clothes while I wash those?”  She pointed to Seeker’s muddy outfit, wrinkling her nose again.  “They should fit for now—though they might be a bit loose across the chest.”  She giggled. 

   Companion laughed.  “I guess the stream’s going to have to wait.”

***

    Miss Cheerful led Seeker to a small room with a stone floor, a drain trough, and a wooden tub bound in iron hoops.  On a wooden bench sat a neatly folded towel, a worn linen cloth, and a small crock of rosemary-scented soap.  She handed him a bucket and pointed to the door.

    “There’s a barrel of fresh water outside,” she said.

    She emptied the kettle into the tub.  When he returned with the bucket full, she refilled it.  “Another!”

    Companion entered with a bundle of clothes.  She snatched them from his hands, set them on the bench, and handed him the kettle.  “On the hearth.  Shoo!”

    After a flurry of bustle and shouted orders, Seeker found himself standing before the steaming tub.

    “Be quick, supper’s waiting.  Leave your clothes on the floor.  Don’t even think about putting them on the bench.”  She shut the door behind her, then called through it.  “Take your time!  Make sure you get nice and clean!”

    The warm water soothed the aches of the road as he scrubbed every bit of the Slough mire from his skin.  He left his clothes on the floor, just as Miss Cheerful had told him.

***

   When he returned to the common room, they were all waiting.  Companion introduced him to Faint-Resolve, a tall slender man with gray streaks in his mustache and a perpetual cross expression.  And to Miss Fair-Glance—pretty in a plain sort of way, with long, straight black hair.  Miss Cheerful sat next to her, beaming at him.

    Companion bowed his head and gave thanks to the King for the food.

    “And thank you for sending us Seeker,” Miss Cheerful added.  A mischievous grin crossed her face.  “And that he smells like rosemary now!”

    The stew was plain but hearty, warming him deep into his bones.  He bit into the bread—simple but satisfying, soft inside and crisp at the edges.  Filling his tin cup from the pitcher, he drank deeply.  There is nothing like cool water to the thirsty.

   They spoke of Seeker’s journey.  Of Companion and Faint-Resolve’s work at the Slough under the orders of the King, how they missed their wives, and when their service would end so they could return to them.

   Several times Faint-Resolve looked at Miss Fair-Glance out of the corner of his eyes.  No, it was probably his imagination.  Companion didn’t seem to notice—but she did.  Each time, she looked away and blushed faintly.  He pushed the thought aside.  It had to be his imagination.

    “Well, I’m off to bed now,” Companion said with a yawn.  “It’s a long walk back to the Slough.”

    Faint-Resolve stood and followed, and soon after, Miss Fair-Glance took her leave as well.  With everyone gone, Miss Cheerful rose and led him to his room.

    “Sleep well, Seeker,” she said and left him alone.

    The room was small but welcoming.  Wooden walls, darkened with age, held the lingering warmth of the cottage.  A single window let in the cool night air.  Its half-closed shutters creaked softly, stirred by the breeze.  

  The bed, a simple wooden frame, held a straw-filled mattress and a thick wool blanket.  On a small table, a single candle flickered.  He placed his book there gently and set down his satchel.

   He blew out the candle, and within moments of lying down, he was fast asleep.   

    Seeker knelt in front of the ruins for a long time, head in hands, mind reeling.  When he finally looked up, Companion stood there, patient, waiting, casual in his stance, unshaken by the ruins.

   “Come on, Seeker.” His smile was easy.  “You can explore later.  Supper’s waiting.”

    Then he saw it.  Beyond the ruins stood a cottage, candlelight warm and inviting in the windows.  Slowly, he rose to his feet, the tension draining from his shoulders.  It wasn’t the stately palace he’d imagined from his Book, but it looked wonderful.

    The door creaked softly as Companion opened it.  The faint scent of stew and warm bread drifted over the smell of dust and old stones.  He looked back once, briefly, drawn by the mystery of the ruins—broken and empty, the wind whispering as if it carried secrets from the past.  Disappointment faded, replaced by curiosity.  Companion stood in the door frame, beckoning.

    Then he knew.  

    He was home.

    The tower inched closer as Seeker and Companion walked, until at last it felt near enough to touch.  A side path appeared between the wheat fields, fences lining either side.  The sun was sinking behind the mountains, casting golden beams over the shimmering wheat.

    Seeker’s heart pounded as Companion turned down the path toward the ravine—and the tower.  This was the moment he’d been waiting for.  Just a little further, beyond the clump of trees, and he’d finally be at the Interpreter’s House.  He wanted to run.  But he stayed beside Companion.

    When the Interpreter’s House came into view, he froze.  What was this?  The roofs were gone, the walls crumbling, stones scattered.  Only a single tower still stood, stark against the sky—a remnant of what once was.

    The wind moved through the ruins, stirring up the dry scent of old, broken stone and dust, filling his mouth with bitterness, while the lingering freshness from the stream mocked him.  Somewhere in the distance, a bird cawed.

    The weight of his journey dragged him down.  He was exhausted.  Nothing made sense—the abandoned castle, the empty gate, and the ruined house.  He dropped to his knees.  He wanted to cry, but no tears came.  What did this all mean? 

    The path opened into a hidden valley, nestled among the mountains. The air felt clearer here, the light softer.  The wind whispered in reverence, carrying the sweet, fresh scent of fruit blossoms.  A cool breeze swept through the valley like a gentle welcome.

    Wheat fields shimmered in the light, neatly enclosed by strong fences.  In stark contrast, on the other side of the path, the fields lay abandoned.  Golden stalks rustled softly, brushing against each other as they swayed.

    In the distance, a solitary tower caught his eye.  It rose above the treetops, standing clear against the sky.  He turned to Companion and pointed.

    “Yes, that is where we’re going,” Companion said.

     Seeker’s tension eased, and a sudden lightness filled his chest. Something about this place felt familiar—like he had finally arrived somewhere he belonged.

    A wooded ravine cut through the valley, and a stream peeked through the trees, winding southward through the shadows.  From the distant mountains, cascades poured down in ribbons of white, waterfalls crashing into pools below with a low, steady roar.  Mist rose where the water met rock, softening the air.

   The gurgle of the stream mingled with the distant thunder of the falls.  A cool breeze rose from the ravine, stirring the wheat fields and carrying the scent of water—fresh, clean, crisp.  Beneath it lingered a trace of damp earth and moss, the breath of the valley itself.

    As if he could read Seeker’s thoughts, Companion said, “I agree, you definitely could use a wash.”

    The sun was warm, and the stale smell of his sweat mixed with the lingering decay of the Slough, still clinging to his skin and clothes.  The water below looked cool, inviting.

    But the way down into the ravine was steep and perilous.  More than that, it was off the path.  

   “But… are we…?”  He hesitated, then shook his head.  “No, I won’t leave the Way.”

    Companion laughed.  “No, not that way.  There are steps down near the Interpreter’s House.  It’s steep, but it’s worth the climb.”  He gestured toward the ravine.  “There’s a palace built by the Interpreter long ago.  The water is good to drink, and there are pools for swimming.”

    He paused and added with a quiet smile, “This whole realm is filled with things to see.  And it’s one of the few places on the Narrow Way where exploration isn’t just allowed but encouraged.”

    The tower seemed much closer now.  Seeker picked up his pace.

    As they left the Wicket Gate behind, a wall rose alongside the Narrow Way, fencing it in.  From the other side, branches heavy with fruit reached over the top, growing from fruit trees in a garden just beyond the wall.

    Seeker paused beside the wall to study the small, round fruit, their pale skins slightly lustrous.  His finger hovered just short of touching one.  “I recognize these.”

    “I wouldn’t eat those,” Companion said.  “Not unless you’re looking for a bad stomachache.”  He pointed toward the looming ruins of Beelzebub’s Castle, dark and imposing beyond the wall. “It’s his garden.  Or at least it was.”

    “In the Valley of Destruction, there’s a tree beside a river.”  He held up his staff.  “I cut this from its branches.  The fruit is the same.  But the tree is larger and older.  Much older.  Ancient.”

    Companion looked at the trees as if seeing them for the first time. “Lignum Scientiae,” he said.  Then he grinned.  “That’s a fancy word for ‘Tree of Knowledge.’  I’ve never seen it myself. Mine comes from the Lignum Vitae.” He held out his staff.

    “Tree of Knowledge?” Seeker ran his fingers along the rough, gnarled wood of the staff in his hands.  “But why would Beelzebub…”

    Companion shrugged. “It’s not evil, you know.  Just… dangerous. Eat a bite and you’ll be fine.  Eat a few and you won’t feel so good. More than that, well… the effects can be pretty bad.”  (like Brazil nuts, lol)

    “Well, let’s not find out. I’d hate for you to have to carry me the rest of the way.” He laughed, turned, and continued down the Narrow Way.