K. Blackthorn

    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.

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