Archives for July 2026

    Eva sat cross-legged on the barren ground, her dress tucked beneath her, wiping her blade the way Great-Heart had shown her.  It barely needed cleaning—she wasn’t even sure she’d drawn blood—but the task gave her time to think.

    She would seek help this time, but she wouldn’t retrace her steps to Palace Beautiful.  Discretion had already given her all the help she could.  The armor and shield had given her the edge she needed.

    Great-Heart couldn’t be far ahead.  If she hurried, she could catch up to him.  But his path lay with Christiana… and James.  And Samuel, Joseph, Matthew and Mercy.  No.  Even if she reached him, he would not be swayed from his mission.  My Lord has entrusted their safety to me.  She would not ask for his help.

    She couldn’t be sure Alecto was waiting for her in Vanity this time.  Memories surged of their fight against Cerberus.  And the stake and fire in Vanity.  It wasn’t a memory she wished to relive.  Perhaps, with her armor, it would go differently.  But she didn’t want to find out.

    She would go to the satyr.  She searched the holes in her memory for his name, but found only emptiness.

    Perry’s hand rested in her lap.  She would not—could not—bear the thought of leaving it behind.  It felt as though her tears would never end.  No matter.  She never wanted them to.

    She gently slipped the ring from his finger and threaded it onto the silver chain beside her lily pendant.  The gold and lapis lazuli seemed made to rest among the silver lilies.  She slipped the necklace over her head once more, letting it settle against her heart.

    Then she wrapped Perry’s hand in the cloth and tucked it into her secret pocket alongside the King’s invitation and Innocent’s mirror.  She remembered the cloth in Perry’s hand at the Palace as he had placed it into hers, and her tears began to flow all over again.   She wasn’t even sure where he had found it.

    She rose, picked up her shield, and followed the Narrow Way onward.  She recognized the flutes of the satyrs, their melody eerily entwined with the moans of the specters.  The air hung heavy with the stench of brimstone rising from the bog on her left.  She almost didn’t notice it anymore.  Almost.

    The other side plunged into the Abyss.  She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.  Looking into the depths gave her vertigo.  Like a hand trying to pull her downward.

    The Valley of the Shadow of Death.  That was what Discretion had called it.  She couldn’t think of a more fitting name.

    “Patience,” she murmured to the hand tugging at her.  “Your time will come soon enough.”

    Step by step, she advanced until she reached the other side.  It hadn’t been half as bad this time.  Ahead lay the pits, snares, and traps.  Without the glow of the Abyss, the way was even darker here.  Almost pitch-black.  Her sight was useless, so she trusted her boots.  Their guidance was faint, almost imperceptible.  But if she quieted her thoughts and listened—really listened—she could feel the path beneath her.

    Her sword began to glow, casting silver light across the valley.  She froze.  Then she dropped into a fighting stance, searching the darkness ahead.  The giant.  She’d forgotten about the giant.

    He leaped toward her, his mighty club raised overhead.  It crashed against her shield.  The impact should have hurled her backward.  But her boots held firm.

    “Little Pilgrim,” he snarled.  “Tonight, I will pick your bones clean for supper.”   He lurched from side to side, his movements jerky and chaotic.

    She mirrored his movements, keeping the Shield of Faith squarely between them.  It gave her the space to hold him a sword’s length away.  Yet she still couldn’t attack.  His reach was longer than hers.

    He swung wildly.  She blocked.  He swung again.  This time she slipped aside and brought her sword down.  His skin was like stone—but nowhere near as hard as Apollyon’s scales.  She felt the blade bite into flesh.  The giant roared and spun toward her, swinging.  Her shield was already there.

    She had only driven him into a frenzy.  Swing.  Block.  Swing.  Block.  He raised his club high overhead and brought it crashing down.  She stepped aside, letting it slam into the ground.

    He lunged.  She sprang back.  Back and forth they went.  He tried to drive her into the traps, but she avoided them.  Barely.

    She started as her back struck the rock face.  The giant’s face twisted in glee.  

    “I have you now,” he gloated, bringing his club down in a two-handed slam.

    She slid between his legs.  The club crashed down.  It wedged fast in a fissure in the rock face.  She unleashed a flurry of blows against his backside.  He howled in fury and wrenched at the club, trying to tear it free.

    Eva didn’t hesitate.  She dashed forward and leaped into the air.  With both hands on the hilt, she brought her sword down with the full weight of her body against his arm.  The blade sliced through skin and muscle, then severed the bone.  The arm struck the ground with a heavy thud.  Blood spurted from the stump, spraying in every direction as the giant howled and thrashed.

    He swung his remaining fist at her.  She parried and thrust.  The blade sank halfway into his belly.  He backhanded her.  She hit the ground hard.

    She sprang to her feet, her ears ringing from the blow.  Half her instincts urged her to finish him now.  The other half whispered patience.

    The giant’s voice echoed across the valley.  A cry of anger.  A howl of rage.  A scream of agony.

   “My children!” he bellowed.  “Avenge Giant Chaos’s arm!”

    Formless shapes stirred in the shadows.  An eye gleamed in the darkness.  Then a goblin stepped into the light.  And another. And another.  She lost count.  They gathered around Chaos… then swarmed her.  She held her shield against two—perhaps three.  Her sword flashed, catching one behind her.  Pain exploded across her back as claws dug deep into her flesh.

    The goblins surrounded her.  Too many.  Run… or stand and fight?

    The giant charged.

    Once again, Eva and Perry picked their way through the dead reeds and broken timbers jutting from the mire until they reached the charred trees.  Eva carried her sword ready in one hand and her shield in the other.  Perry gripped his staff firmly with both hands.

    Eva walked ahead with her shield before her.  Perry made no attempt to stop her.  The mist thickened, nearly obscuring the iron darts littering the ground.

    Perhaps Apollyon wouldn’t be waiting for them this time.  Then she and Perry could continue on through Vanity.  With any luck, they’d reach the shepherds in the Delectable Mountains before nightfall.

    No sooner had the blood-stained rocks come into view than flames hurtled toward her.  A loud clang of iron against steel rang across the valley.

    “Not this time,” she growled.

    Eva could barely make out Apollyon’s flaming silhouette through the mist.  With a single bound, he cleared the valley, landing only a few feet before them.

    The ground shook beneath his landing, and billows of dust swept over them.  Eva braced behind her shield, her boots holding firm against the torrent.

    When the dust settled, Apollyon stood before them, towering, simply watching.  Her sword shone with a brilliant silver light, casting its radiance across the valley.

    “Bold Pilgrim.”  His blazing eyes bored into her.  “I swear by my infernal dwelling, you will go no further.”  He sprang into the air and brought both claws crashing down.  Eva leaped back and they slammed into the ground where she had stood.

    As he straightened, Eva swung her sword with all her might, a trail of light following in its wake.  It struck his scales with a solid blow, but to no more effect than her daggers had the last time.  He slashed with his right claws.  She dodged—but his left caught her shield.  The impact shuddered up her arm.

    She swung again.  Apollyon leaped back—then staggered as the crack of Perry’s staff rang through the valley.

    “Eva, his foot!”

    She brought her sword down on his foot.  Apollyon crashed to one knee.  Perry’s staff struck again.  Smoke and sparks poured from his sides.  Eva threw up her shield against the shower.

    Apollyon rose slowly to his feet, strode to a dead tree, studied it for a moment, then tore it from the ground with a single tug.

    “Well, you are of passing skill.”  He rested the charred trunk across his chest.  “Perhaps it is true what they say about you.”  He backhanded it into her shield.  Her arm went numb.

    He raised the makeshift club high overhead and held it there for what seemed an eternity.  She rolled as he brought it crashing down.  Not fast enough.  His reach was too long.  The blow glanced off her helmet, sending her sprawling.

    She scrambled to her feet, raising her shield before her.  Darts hammered against it in quick succession.

    Must close the distance.  Keeping back was just as dangerous—perhaps more so—than fighting at close quarters.  Besides, she’d lost sight of Perry.  She couldn’t leave him to fight Apollyon alone.   Apollyon stood waiting, wings spread wide as she advanced.  Once again, Perry’s staff struck. 

    Apollyon spun toward Perry, his tail slamming into Eva’s breastplate before the tip lashed against her face.  Her teeth rattled from the blow.

    Eva smiled grimly as memories of Cerberus’s tail flashed through her mind.  Eva the Dragon-Slayer, indeed.  She seized Apollyon’s tail and brought her sword down.

    He swung the tree in a slow arc toward her.  Time seemed to slow.  Too far to jump away.  Too heavy to take another hit.  This time she rolled toward him, beneath the tree, and out to his side.

    She slashed at the fur before her.  He spun faster than she would have thought possible and struck with his claws.  Her breastplate absorbed the first blow, but the second caught her before she could recover.  She went flying.

    She reached for her shield.  For her sword.  Gone.  Apollyon strode toward her, the ground trembling beneath each step.  His jaws hung open, lava dripping from wicked fangs.

    Perry stepped between Eva and Apollyon.  He did not flinch.  Apollyon came to a halt before him.  Then he laughed—a deep rumbling sound.

    “Perry, no,” she gasped.  She sprang to her feet, her eyes darting wildly for her sword.

    Golden light blazed from Perry’s upraised fist.  His ring!  Could that be fear in Apollyon’s eyes?  Hope surged through her.

    Something flashed in Apollyon’s grip, and he struck in a heartbeat.  The golden light flickered out, and a scream of unbearable agony tore from Perry.  He dropped to his knees clutching his arm.  Then he collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.

    Eva’s dagger was in her hand.  She dashed toward Perry.  Apollyon bent, scooped him up, slung him over his shoulder, and turned away.

    She threw herself at Apollyon, heedless of the sparks and smoke.  

    “No, damn it!” she screamed.  “Face me, you coward!”

    Again and again, she thrust her dagger at him.  Apollyon kept walking.

    She reached as high as she could, slid her dagger between his scales, and drove her palm against the hilt.  Apollyon roared and tore himself free.  She fell to the ground.  With a single bound, Apollyon vanished into the Abyss below.

    Eva fell to her knees.  No.  Not again.  She thought of the Cross.  Willed time to reset.  Nothing.

    “Think of the Cross, Perry!” she cried into the void.  Only the moans of the damned answered.  She stared helplessly into the flames below.

    No.  No time for despair.  She would descend again.  This time she would succeed.  This time she would rescue him.

    She retraced her steps to where they had fought.  She found her shield and stooped to pick it up.  A plan was already taking shape.  Perry told her, were their places reversed, he would ask for help.  That’s exactly what she would do.

    A few steps away lay her sword.  Beside it…

    The color drained from Eva’s face.  Tears spilled down her cheeks.  Her hands began to shake.  Her lips trembled.  A low wail escaped her.

    She reached down and tenderly picked up Perry’s severed hand.  The golden ring of lapis lazuli still rested upon his finger.

    She pressed it to her cheek, then lifted it to her lips, kissing it again and again.

    “Oh, Perry… my love,” she sobbed.  “Oh Perry…  Oh Perry.  What have they done to you?”

    Eva woke the third day in a different room.  Charity had mentioned that Christiana wished to sleep in the room where her husband had stayed, and Eva had been more than happy to oblige.

    Discretion had told her about the armor Christian had donned in his victory over Apollyon and promised to show it to her today.

    She remembered the broken, burdened man who had left the City of Destruction, and couldn’t quite picture him as the brave warrior that Discretion had described.

    Discretion was as good as her word.  She led Eva and Perry to the armory, where the King had furnished pilgrims with swords and shields, helmets and breastplates.

    On display were the instruments with which the heroes of old had wrought mighty deeds.

    There was Moses’s rod, used to call down plagues upon Egypt and part the Red Sea.

    “It’s cut from the same tree as mine,” Perry said.  “Lignum Vitae.”

    Beside it lay another staff in full bloom, with tender leaves and pink petals.

    “A sign from the King that He had chosen Aaron for His holy priesthood,” Discretion explained.

    There was the hammer and spike Jael had driven through the temple of Sisera.  There were the pitchers, trumpets, and lamps Gideon had given to his three hundred men to rout the armies of Midian.  Nearby stood the ox-goad with which Shamgar slew six hundred men, the jawbone of an ass Samson used to fight the Philistines, and the sling and smooth stone with which David had brought low Goliath of Gath.

    Suspended in midair above a pedestal floated a blade of terrible beauty, glistening like crystal.

    “It is the Prince’s own sword.  One day He will return to take it and wield it in the Last Battle,” Discretion explained.

    The Prince’s own sword!  Eva couldn’t take her eyes from it.  No other blade could compare to it—save perhaps Excalibur of legend.

    “Take upon you the whole armor of God,” Discretion said.  “That you might be able to resist the evil day.”

    “This is Truth,” Discretion said, handing Eva a slim steel belt with curved, riveted edge flanges.  Eva fastened it around her hips and adjusted the leather straps.

    “Righteousness.”  A young man handed her a padded under-layer, then brought out a breastplate of steel inlaid with intricate silver swirls and lilies.

    “The narrow part goes around your waist,” he said.  “The weight should rest on your hips.”  He demonstrated how to hold the breastplate against her chest with her left hand, lean to the right, reach behind her back for the cross strap, and buckle it beneath her arm.

    She practiced several times, etching the movements into her memory until she was sure she could do it by heart.  The metal was surprisingly light, and it fit her as though it had been custom-smithed for her.

    Next, Discretion passed her a matching helmet of steel inlaid with silver, crowned with a flowing white feather.

    Eva placed it on her head, lowered the visor, then raised it again.  She shot Perry a satisfied look.

    “Peace,” Discretion said, handing Eva a pair of supple leather boots with silver greaves.  “They will keep you from slipping, give you strength when you are weary, and protect you from all manner of treacherous ground.”

    “Most importantly, Faith.”  She handed Eva a large round shield of steel.  “This will stop even Apollyon’s fiery darts.”

    Eva nodded in satisfaction.

    Another young man entered, bowed low to Discretion, then turned to Eva and presented her with a sword.  It was exquisitely crafted.  

   “It was specially forged for you, my Lady,” he said.

    “Wisdom,” Discretion added.  “It brings light to the darkest depths.  It can pierce the strongest defenses.  It severs joints and marrow.  If you are quiet, you will hear my voice—and the words of my sisters.  It will guide your hand, if you let it.”

    Eva turned it over in her hands.  Never had she seen a weapon so beautiful, so elegant.  It caught the golden light of the Prince’s blade and reflected it in a luminous silver glow, the two mingling in a dazzling aurora.

***

    “My queen!” James squealed when he saw Eva.  “You are prepared for battle.”

    Eva reached down and tousled his hair.  “You recognized me,” she said.

    Great-Heart approached from behind James, sweat glistening on his brow.

   “Wow,” he said.  “Now there’s a sight you don’t see every day.”  He crossed to Perry, punched him lightly on the shoulder, leaned in and said something Eva couldn’t hear. 

    Perry nodded, a grin spreading across his face.

    “Come, my Lady.  My Lord has given me leave to escort Christiana and her family to Beulah.  But today, we train!”  He turned to James.  “Run along, lad.  We have many sessions ahead.”

    “Don’t forget me, my Lady,” said James.  “I will train hard, and one day be worthy of your service!”

    “How could I forget my brave knight?  We will meet again one day in Beulah.  But for now, our paths lie apart.”

***

   “Keep your shield up!” barked Great-Heart.  He swung his sword at her.  She barely got her shield up in time to catch the blow. 

    He lowered his sword and drew a deep breath.  “What is the purpose of your shield?” he asked, as if in idle conversation.

   “To protect?”

    “No.”  Without warning, he swung again.  Once again, she had lowered her guard.  “To stand,” he said.

    She staggered backward as Great-Heart’s sword struck her squarely.  “Never let down your guard,” he said.

    They circled one another.  She could feel the space the shield gave her.  It let her control the tempo of the… dance?

    “Good,” he said.  “No.  Too close.  Use the length of your sword.”

    He swung.  She blocked.  He swung again.  This time she parried and counterattacked.

   “Very good, my Lady!”

    On and on they sparred as the sun climbed higher in the sky.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught that rascal James watching in rapt attention.  And somewhere beyond him, she could feel Perry’s quiet approval.

    Great-Heart swung, and she blocked.  Her shield fell to the ground, and she charged him.

   “Too reckless, Eva,” he said, his sword resting at her throat.

    She glanced down and grinned.  She held her dagger just shy of his groin.  

   “It’d be a shame to lose that deep voice of yours.”

   “I concede, my Lady,” he said, chuckling.

    “She’s a natural,” said Great-Heart, turning to Perry and wiping the sweat from his brow.  “I wouldn’t make her angry,” he said with a laugh.  “You don’t stand a chance.”  Then he added hastily, “My Lord.”

***

    The next day, Perry and Eva watched the Virgins lead Christiana, Mercy, and Christiana’s four sons down the side of the mountain.  

   They sat beneath a tree with Eva’s armor leaning against its trunk, eating the meal Charity had prepared for them.  Before they departed, she had embraced Eva and given her blessing.

    “You are ready for the road ahead,” Charity said.  “And remember, I will always be with you.”

    They sat in silence, enjoying the birdsong and the cool breeze.  At last, Perry turned to her.  “It’s time for us to continue our journey, dearest.”

    Eva nodded solemnly and strapped on the breastplate the way the young man had shown her.  She fastened the scabbard to her belt and slung the shield across her back.

    She took one last look at the Palace.  Then she turned to Perry.

   “From now on, I will be your knight.  I will keep you safe.  Where you go, I will go, my Lord!”

    Perry smiled warmly at her.  “Never has a man had such a beautiful knight!”

    Her heart fluttered.  She was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

    That evening Eva and Perry rested at the top of the world, just the two of them.  He leaned against an ancient tree, and she leaned against him.  She wished the moment could last forever.

   The air was remarkably clear tonight, and they could see for miles ahead.  Past the Abyss, even past Vanity, to the far blue mountains beyond.  Her mind was still in fragments, but piece by piece her memories snapped into place.  Perry taken by Apollyon.  The satyr.  Vanity trying to burn her at the stake.

    She wished she could stay here, lost in this moment for the rest of time.  Piece by piece, every gap in her memories would be filled.

    She pointed toward a crooked mountain on the horizon.  “That’s where I descended.”

    Perry stood, extending both hands to her.  She place her hands in his, and he held them gently as he gazed into her eyes.  The sun had sunk behind the mountains to the west.  He leaned toward her.

    “Eva, I…”

    She closed her eyes.  Waited.  Opened them.  “Yes?”

    “That was a brave thing you did for me.”  He smiled.  “Thank you.” 

    Her mouth tasted of ashes.  Had she been wrong to want more?  She smiled at him anyway.  “You would have done the same thing for me, dearest.”

    Eva watched Great-Heart leave with James at his side.  She had truly been surprised when James laid her dagger at her feet.  It hadn’t even crossed her mind that she’d left it behind.  She would never touch it again—not after holding it to Perry’s throat.  It had found a new owner, and that made her happy.

    Perhaps she’d been even more surprised that someone had sworn fealty to her, as though she were a queen.  Well, he was very young after all.

    “That was sweet of you,” said Perry.

    “It was the least I could do.”  She smiled faintly.  “The poor boy.  He probably doesn’t even remember his father.  He was just a baby when his father died.”

    “You know… his mother?”

    “Only of her.  Unkind never came to any of my parties.  Not even once.”  She paused.   “Ah, but he called her Christiana.”

    “You can hardly expect the mother of a young child like James—”

    “Not just James,” she said.  “He has…”  She frowned, searching her memory.  “Three brothers.  But she was always… different.  She never seemed to get along well with anyone, except her sister Ruth.”

    “For only knowing of her, you seem to know much about her.”

    “Remember, dearest.  Knowing is what I did in the City of Destruction.  What I do.”

    Perry nodded.  “How did his father die?”

    “Well, first, the madness took him.  Or so we all thought.”  She looked toward the Narrow Way.  “He disappeared through the Wicket Gate.  Several tried to stop him, but he was convinced the City would burn.  Mr. Worldly Wiseman once told me he tried to persuade him to go to Morality.  He never would have fit Carnal Policy.  It was probably for the better… he would have ended up in Stupidity.”

    Eva shook her head.   “She didn’t follow him.  The poor dear.  She tried to pretend she didn’t care, but anyone could tell she was devastated.  He was everything to her.  When I first moved to the City, he carried her water every day.  Then one day they just got married.”

     Perry chuckled.  “It happens.”

     “Yeah, the rumors were he kissed her.  The sweet dear probably thought it meant they had to get married.”

    “I think that’s sweet,” said Perry.

    “Me too, Perry,” Eva whispered.  “Me too.”

    Great-Heart carefully wiped the giant’s blood from his sword with a piece of wool cloth tucked into his belt.  He would clean it thoroughly when he returned to the Interpreter’s House.  It was a fine Jerusalem blade, and it deserved his full care, but for now this would have to do.

    Christiana and Mercy, the women entrusted to his care, trembled.  Christiana’s sons were pale.  Matthew was doing his best to be brave, but Samuel and Joseph made no attempt to hide their distress.  A glimmer of excitement peeked through James’s fear.  Not long before, he had been crying.  The lad couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old.  Perhaps ten.

    “Please, Mr. Great-Heart, can you teach me how to use this?”  He held up a dagger with an ivory-inlaid handle he’d found halfway up the Hill of Difficulty.  “Someday I want to slay giants like you!”

    Great-Heart said nothing.  He merely glanced toward Christiana.  She nodded.

    “I must return to my Lord tonight,” he said.  “But—”

    “Who is there?”  Watchful’s voice rang out from the gate of Palace Beautiful. 

   “It is I,” called Great-Heart.  The gate swung open wide.  He’d been here many times before, and Watchful recognized his voice.

    “How now, Mr. Great-Heart?  You are here later than usual.”

    “I’ve brought pilgrims here by my Lord’s command for them to lodge.  I would have been here earlier had I not been delayed by Giant Grim.”

    “I heard the commotion,” Watchful replied.  “You look none the worse for wear.”  He looked Great-Heart over thoughtfully.

    “It was a long and tedious affair,” said Great-Heart, “but I cut off his arm, and then his head.”  Great-Heart smiled wryly.  “And I’ve brought the pilgrims here safely.”

    “It’s getting late.  Won’t you come in and stay till morning?”

    “No, I will return to my Lord…”  Great-Heart’s brow furrowed.  He could have sworn he had already said that.  Well, he had—but that wasn’t it.

    “Oh, sir!” exclaimed Christiana.  “I don’t know what we would have done without you.  What would have happened if you hadn’t been there to fight for us?”

    Mercy joined in.  “I wish you could stay with us until the journey’s end.”

   “Please, sir,” said James.

    Watchful leaned in and lowered his voice.  “Lord Greycloak and Lady Evadne are here.”

    “Very well.”  He turned to James, who had been eavesdropping.  “Come along, lad.  A few moves won’t hurt.”  He shrugged.  “It won’t be the first time I’ve walked through the night.”

    Ahead, Great-Heart glimpsed Perry and Eva.  Eva glowed in her white and silver dress with a radiance rivaled only by Christiana and Mercy together.  James gasped.

   “Is she…” James’s eyes widened.  He stepped forward, strode up to Eva, and knelt on one knee.

    “I pledge fealty to my Lady, to be thy knight until my Lady releases me, or death.”  He laid his dagger at her feet.

    Eva gave a brief start as her gaze fell on the dagger.  She studied the boy for a long moment, then her composure returned.  She smiled sweetly.  “What is your name, brave knight?”

    “James, son of Christiana, my Lady.”

    She withdrew the matching dagger from her sleeve and tapped it lightly against his shoulder.  “I accept your service.  I dub thee Sir James the Brave.”

    James scooped up the dagger, leaped to his feet, and dashed toward the Palace.

    “Mama!  Mama!” he called.  “You’ll never guess…”

    Perry broke into a deep-chested laugh.  Eva giggled, blushing.

    “You’re a good sport, my Lady,” said Great-Heart.

    “Oh, stop it!” Eva exclaimed.

    Great-Heart’s hard face softened.  He gazed into the distance.

    “I’m so glad you’re here,” Eva said.  “I need your help.  We need your help.”

    “I must return—” This was the third time he had said it.  A very strange feeling settled over him.  “But tarry here a day or two.  If my Lord wills, I will return.  I will teach you what I can, but my journey lies with Sir James and his family.”

   A grin lit up his face.  Then he bowed slightly and turned away.