Archives for March 2026

    Eva woke in a chamber called Peace, its great window opening east to the rising sun.  She had stayed out with Perry until the stars appeared—the Bear before them, the Hunter behind.

    After a light breakfast, she and Perry set out, with Prudence, Piety, Discretion, and Charity seeing them to the edge of the plateau of Difficulty.  The way down was hard.  She wasn’t sure it was any easier than the climb up, though it demanded a different kind of effort.

    She slipped on the loose gravel, and Perry reached out before she fell—but she didn’t mind.  She’d already caught him twice in the last hour.

     They both breathed a sigh of relief when the ground leveled out.  The air was sweet, heavy with the fragrance of lilies, and birds sang softly.  They stopped to drink deeply from a brook that crossed the path, then continued over a small footbridge.

    Little by little, the lush grass of the valley gave way to dead reeds, jutting at crooked angles, and broken timbers rising from the mire—splintered posts and collapsed fencing, the remnants of something built long ago, now fallen into ruin.

    The trees stood thin and black, their branches stripped bare—charred fingers reaching upward.  No leaves stirred.  No birds broke the silence.  Even the wind seemed to have forgotten this place.

    The air carried a faint chill that settled into Eva’s bones, dampness clinging to her skin and clothes.  There was a smell, too—wet earth and rot, with something faintly acrid beneath it.  As if the ground had been scorched and never quite recovered.

    The sky was a dim, colorless blue—almost gray.  What little light remained reached the valley thin and diffused, casting no shadows.  As they walked, the mist thickened until the path ahead nearly vanished.

    Eva stepped carefully over fragments of broken iron darts littering the path—large enough that, in her hands, they would have been javelins.  Some had been driven deep into the stone, splitting it apart.

    Perry’s hand tightened around his staff.  Eva held his other hand just as tightly.  Some of the rocks were stained a dull black.

    Flames flashed past her face.  A thud.  Perry’s hand wrenched from hers.  His staff clattered against the rock.  He tried to rise, his hand clutching his shoulder, crimson spreading beneath his fingers.  The color drained from his face, and he collapsed in a heap.  A glowing iron dart lay at his side.

    Her daggers were already in her hands.  She drove forward, putting her full weight behind the strike at the vague shape in the mist.  The blow landed solidly—but glanced off, the impact jarring her wrist.  That much force should have felled anything… human.

    Whatever it was… it towered over her.  Clouds of sulfur billowed around it, choking her.  She ducked as wings swept overhead.  Sparks and flame swirled, blinding her.

    “Eva, run.” Perry’s voice was feeble.  No.  Not like this.

    She thrust her dagger again, but the creature’s tail lashed across her chest like a whip, and she went down, one dagger slipping from her grasp.

    Her free hand caught fur—its foot.  She flipped the dagger in her grip and drove it down as hard as she could.  The angle was wrong—but the blade struck something.

    A massive roar—and a sweeping force that drove the breath from her chest.  She slammed into a rock, her head exploding with pain.  Her vision blurred at the edges.

    She struggled to stay awake—to keep her eyes open.  Then she saw him.  The face of a lion—eyes blazing with pure evil, wings spread wide.  Apollyon.  She had passed his statue a thousand times in the City.  He towered over Perry and lifted his limp body as if he were nothing.  Despair flooded her.

    The world tilted around Eva.  Her ears rang, her vision blurred.  She wheezed, one hand pressed to the pain in her ribs.  What had just happened?  Her thoughts scattered.  Her head throbbed.

    Perry.  Panic surged through her.  She tried to stand but fell back to her knees.  She crawled to where he had been—or where she thought he had been.  Nothing.

    She searched desperately.  Her hand found a wet rock.  She brought it to her nose—the iron scent unmistakable.  Fresh blood.  Perry’s blood.

    A trail of blood led north into the darkness.  She followed it.  She was forgetting something.  Her daggers.

    She found one where she had dropped it, the other ten feet away beside the rock she had slammed into.  She didn’t return them to her sleeves.  No time.  She followed the trail of blood as fast as she could, ready to strike at anything in her way.

    A groaning filled the air—deep, terrible groans of dying men.  Lamentations rose on every side, thick with torment.  She kept walking.

    She stopped short, nearly pitching forward.  The ground dropped away into a bottomless abyss, its sides flickering in the darkness with the fires of Hell.

    She sank to her knees at the edge of the abyss, trembling, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.  There was no bottom—and no way down.

    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.”