Unlike Bright, Wonderful was a fussy baby. She wailed for every reason—and for none at all—her piercing cries echoing through the cave.
Bright filled the days playing with her, talking to her as if she understood every word. She surprised them all when she pulled herself upright, stumbled into her first steps, and soon found her voice.
“Wonderful, look!” Bright called.
“No!” Wonderful shot back, her favorite word as sharp as her cry.
When Seeker ventured from the cave, he found the giant gone. The camp lay deserted, as if it hadn’t been touched in days—perhaps weeks. He searched the rocky slope, even walked down to the Arbor, but there was no trace. Giant Wrath had vanished.
When Seeker told Beautiful, she let out a long sigh of relief. “It’s so boring here. I’d give anything for a bowl of Miss Cheerful’s stew again.” She chuckled, the sound soft but genuine.
Seeker checked again and again over the next few days. Only when he and Beautiful were certain that Wrath was truly gone did they resolve to continue the climb to Palace Beautiful, gathering up their few belongings to set out once more.
Seeker hefted the burden onto his back and gripped his staff. Beautiful cradled Wonderful in her arms, while Comfort took Bright by the hand.
“Walk!” demanded Wonderful, wriggling in Beautiful’s arms. “Walk!”
With a small shrug, Beautiful set her down. Wonderful darted up the trail, then stopped to scoop up a pebble, staring it in wide-eyed wonder.
Beautiful reached for her hand.
“No!” Wonderful yanked free and scampered a few steps ahead. She bent to snatch up another pebble and held it high. “Look, Bright!”
“Wonderful.” Beautiful let out a sigh, half tired, half amused. “If you’re going to walk, then walk—don’t stop for every pretty rock along the way.”
Wonderful darted ahead and stopped again. From a crack in the stone a daisy grew, small and stubborn. She plucked it and lifted it high. “Here, Mama!”
Soon Wonderful grew weary and stretched out her arms. Beautiful gathered her onto her hip. “Will this hill never end?” she muttered.
Seeker swiped the sweat from his brow and nodded toward the rise ahead. “I think that’s the top.”
“You said that the last time,” Beautiful shot back.
Bright stuck out his bottom lip, while Wonderful had already slipped into sleep against her mother’s shoulder.
To pass the time, Seeker told Bright about Palace Beautiful from his Book. Other than the Delectable Mountains, it was the loveliest place in the land. He spoke of the lions, too, cautioning, “Remember—they’re chained. They’re only there to test how brave you are.”
“I’m brave, Daddy!” Bright exclaimed.
Seeker nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, Bright. Yes, you are.”
Gradually tufts of grass broke through the stones, and the path began to level. Beautiful’s face lit up. “We did it!” she gasped between ragged breaths.
To the left of the way stood a small thicket of trees and a low wall of rough-hewn stone enclosing a narrow plot of land. Seeker set down his burden, and Beautiful eased herself to the ground, leaning back against a tree with Wonderful nestled in her lap. Bright sank beside her, pressing close.
Seeker pushed open the wrought-iron gate and stepped inside. Five headstones. Five names. His heart sank—he didn’t need to read them to know. He knelt at the first stone. Watchful. He swallowed hard. Discretion. Prudence. Piety. Charity.
He rose slowly, gave the stones one last lingering look, then turned away. Back at the gate, he trudged to his burden and heaved it onto his back. Bright had dozed off; Comfort gathered him gently into her arms.
“What is it?” Beautiful asked, shifting Wonderful higher on her shoulder as she stood.
Seeker only shook his head. He could not bring himself to speak.
When they reached the clearing, Palace Beautiful rose before them. Its red-brick walls and pale cornerstones stood weathered and crumbling. Stairs climbed to an arched entry, where white stone columns still held beneath the weight of centuries—edges worn but unbroken. Above, the roof had long since fallen, leaving jagged teeth of masonry biting into the sky.
“Of course,” Seeker said. “Everything changes. No Watchful. No Charity.”
Beautiful only stared.
“Come, my love,” he murmured. “There may be a cottage nearby.”
Seeker was right. Just around the bend stood a timber-framed cottage, much like the one they had stayed in near the Interpreter’s house. But no smoke curled from the chimney, and no voices drifted from within. Seeker strode to the door and rapped his knuckles against the wood. Then he knocked again, harder.
A well-dressed man opened the door. His face was kind, framed by graying hair, his build still strong though softened with age. There was a trace of swagger in the way he carried himself.
Beautiful lifted her eyes to him and smiled. “We are pilgrims on the Narrow Way,” she said. “We’re looking for a place to stay for a season.”
He looked kindly at Beautiful, Bright, and Wonderful. Then Seeker felt the man’s gaze rake over him—his shabby, sweat-drenched clothes, torn and patched. The heavy burden dragging at his shoulders. At last, the man’s eyes fixed on the dark bruise that still marred Seeker’s forehead after more than a year. Fear flickered across his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his glance darting back at Seeker, “I can spare provisions, but there’s no room here.”
They lingered a few minutes more, but when the door finally shut, lightning flashed in Beautiful’s eyes. “No room,” she scoffed. “Half the house is empty. No room!” She huffed, sharp and indignant.
Seeker set his burden down and sank onto the Palace steps. From the satchel he drew his pipe. He had to think. He needed a plan. But he was tired—so tired. And beneath the weariness, the old ire was beginning to stir.
Seeker’s thoughts swarmed, relentless as flies. Watchful gone. Palace Beautiful in ruins. He had considered the possibility. But he had been sure there would be a cottage. And there was—only they had been turned away. Because of him.
He pulled out his pouch, idly filled the pipe’s bowl, and tamped it down with his thumb. Flint struck steel, sparks catching until the tobacco smoldered, a thin curl of smoke rising.
The ruins were no place for a baby—least of all Wonderful. And it was far too late to start down the other side. And there was no guarantee anyone would take them in at the bottom. He wanted to march back and tell the man at the cottage exactly what he thought of him.
Beautiful scoffed. “Smoking again, Seeker?”
“I have to think,” he said.
“When are you going to quit?”
“Not now, Beautiful,” he growled, pipe clenched tight between his teeth.
“Daddy, what you doing?” Bright asked.
“You’re being a bad influence on Bright,” she snapped.
“All right!” he snapped. He drew hard on the pipe, then banged it twice against the stair, scattering ash and tobacco across the stone. A jolt shot through him—he froze. “Beautiful!”
Lightning flashed in her eyes. “What?” she demanded. Behind her, Giant Wrath loomed. Seeker lunged for his staff. Beautiful whirled, terror breaking across her face. Wrath struck—one shove, and she went sprawling. She hit the ground hard and lay motionless.
Seeker charged and swung his staff with all his strength. The blow landed solid—but Wrath didn’t even flinch. It was nothing to him. The giant’s fist came down like a hammer, slamming Seeker’s chest. His breath vanished in a rush, and the world spun as he was hurled backward, crashing to the ground.
Red bled at the edges of his vision. He rolled to his side, fighting for air. The old bruise flared, pounding in rhythm with his heartbeat. Wonderful’s wail split the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Comfort snatched Wonderful and darted into the ruined Palace.
The giant fixed him with a stare, contempt burning in his eyes. Then he turned away, lumbering toward Beautiful. Bright planted his feet, Seeker’s staff gripped in both hands, barring the way.
“You,” the giant sneered. “You think you can protect her?” With a flick of his massive hand, he swatted Bright aside as though he were nothing. The boy hit the ground hard and burst into sobs.
Seeker lunged, driving his fist into the giant’s leg with all his weight behind it. Pain shot through his hand, white-hot. The giant’s flesh was harder than the mill’s stone wall.
Giant Wrath seized him and lifted him high. Seeker thrashed, straining to break free, but the giant only bounded toward the palace. With a brutal swing, he slammed Seeker against a stone pillar. Blinding pain ripped through his arm as the pillar cracked—and his bone snapped with it.
Giant Wrath howled in glee and hurled Seeker to the ground. He struggled to rise, but the giant’s club smashed into his side, a rib giving way with a crack. Another blow followed, then another. Seeker curled tight, arms over his head, as the strikes rained down. Darkness swallowed him.
***
Beautiful pushed up onto her elbow, heart pounding. Helpless, she watched as Giant Wrath’s blows rained down on Seeker, each one thudding through her chest as if she’d been struck herself. At last, the giant grunted in grim satisfaction. His eyes cut to her—a mocking, lingering glance—before he turned and lumbered off.
“Seeker?” Her cry broke from her throat as she stumbled forward, pain lancing up her back. She dropped to her knees beside him. His eyes were shut, his body slack. “Seeker!” The word came out as a gasp. She bent low, pressing her ear to his lips. A whisper of breath touched her skin—slow, faint, but there.
Panic surged through her. Wonderful? Bright? Her gaze darted wildly in the fading light until she found him—Bright, sprawled on the ground, Seeker’s staff clutched tight in his small hands. She rushed to his side.
Bright pushed himself upright, wincing. “Mama… my foot hurts.”
Beautiful caught him up in her arms, clutching him tight. “Oh, Bright. Oh, my Bright.” Her voice broke into sobs.
Comfort appeared on the stairs with Wonderful in her arms—somehow, she had soothed her cries. Beautiful’s gaze darted from Bright to Comfort.
“Go,” Comfort urged. She bent toward Bright. “Come into the palace with your sister. You’ll be safe there.”
Beautiful dropped to her knees beside Seeker, resting a trembling hand on his chest. She breathed a prayer to the King. “Please keep him safe. Keep him alive.” Then she rose and sprinted toward the cottage with all the strength left in her.
A faint light flickered in the window. She pounded on the door. No answer. She struck it again, harder. Still silence. Her hand seized the latch—locked. She hammered with all her strength, voice breaking in her chest. Please… please, answer.
At last, a woman’s voice drifted through the door. “We can’t help you. Go away.”
“Please,” Beautiful cried, “Seeker needs help!”
The light inside flickered—and went dark. She was left in silence, in shadow. Her knees buckled. She crumpled to the ground, tears spilling hot down her cheeks. “Oh, Almighty King,” she whispered, broken. “I beg You—please… help us.”
Seeker woke aching from head to heel. His eyes were puffed near shut, his skull pounding with every heartbeat. His right wrist was bound in a crude splint—two sticks strapped tight with bandages; the bone set beneath.
He pushed himself upright on the straw mattress, a wheeze tearing from his chest, ribs protesting. The musty air of the ruined palace closed in around him. Two walls leaned half-crumbled, the roof long gone. Yet enough of the ceiling clung stubbornly overhead to offer a scrap of shelter, should the rain come.
Bright perched beside the bed, a storybook open in his lap. His head shot up. “Daddy!” he cried. “Daddy’s awake!”
“Daddy!” Wonderful echoed from across the room, her little voice bright.
Beautiful stepped through the doorway, eyes shining. She swept her hand wide. “Welcome to House Beautiful,” she said.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Seeker groaned, pressing a hand to his ribs. Yet a chuckle slipped out anyway. “How long… how long have I been out?”
“You had us worried,” Beautiful said, a faint crease between her brows. “Three days. It’s a miracle you’re still alive after what Wrath did to you.”
“How… how did you manage?” Seeker stammered.
“I went to the cottage, but they turned me away.” She drew a slow breath. “So, I did what I could.”
Seeker groaned, bracing as he pushed himself upright. Pain flared in his ribs. Beautiful’s hand came down on his shoulder, steady but firm. She shook her head.
“You need to rest. I’ll bring you something—” her mouth twitched “—well something you can eat.”
Seeker ate the bread Beautiful set before him, then pushed to his feet and swung his satchel over his shoulder.
“Seeker—” she began, protest sharp in her tone.
He cut her off, voice firm. “We have to be ready if he comes back.”
Bright walked beside him with a slight limp, and together they explored the palace.
“I’m sorry, Bright,” Seeker said. “Did the giant hurt you badly?”
“Bright put on a brave face but nodded. “He hurt my foot.”
“We have to find the armory, Bright. My staff—the Staff of Opinions—has no effect on him. With armor and a sword, we might stand a chance.”
Together they picked their way through the rubble, weeds pushing through the cracks, nettles choking the corners, birds nesting in the hollowed niches. Time had not been kind to Palace Beautiful.
As they searched, Seeker told Bright how Christian had once been outfitted with sword and shield, breastplate and helmet—how he’d fought Apollyon for days and, in the end, sent him fleeing.
They moved down what remained of the main hall. Near the entrance, the doorway to a side room was blocked with rubble. Seeker set to work, slowly clearing the way through.
Bright tugged at his sleeve. “Daddy, can I have a sword, too?”
Seeker gave a faint smile. “We’ll see, Bright. We’ll see.”
With the way cleared, Seeker stepped inside, Bright scrambling behind him. His guess had been right—this had been the armory. But only ghosts remained where racks once held weapons and mannequins bore armor. Worm-ridden fragments of wood littered the ground, and scattered pieces lay strewn across the floor.
A sword jutted half-buried in the rubble. Seeker flexed his fingers—thankful the giant it was his off-hand the giant had broken. He gripped the hilt and pulled it free. The blade’s surface was mottled with a coat of brown-red.
The hilt felt firm in his hand. He swung it in a sharp downward cut. The blade, brittle after centuries of neglect, sheared off mid-swing. Bright flinched. Seeker stared at the jagged stump, stunned.
A shield lay on the floor, faint etchings of a cross still visible. Seeker nudged it with his boot; it rang hollow. But when he set his weight on it, the shield crumbled to dust.
This had been the armory. Now it was the graveyard of one.
“We’ll have to find another way, Bright.”
Bright only nodded.
***
Seeker sat beneath a tree on the bluff, staring out over the Forest of Danger. The woods stretched below him, dark and endless, their canopy rolling like a sea of green until it dissolved into shadow.
He took out his pipe, turning it over in his hands, but left it empty. Closing his eyes, he breathed a prayer to the King.
“Keep my Beautiful, Bright, and Wonderful safe from Giant Wrath,” he whispered. “I have no weapon to stand against him, and we have no place to hide.”
Fatigue pressed down on him until his head began to nod. Drowsiness blurred the edges of his thoughts, and he slipped into a waking dream.
In the dream, a Shining One descended from the heavens—head and shoulders taller than any man. His robes of green and gold rippled like living light. Four mighty wings arched from his back, shimmering in hues of green, gold, and white.
In his hands he bore a staff, a serpent coiled around its length, two wings outspread at the top. His face was gentle, radiant with compassion, framed by flowing auburn hair. His eyes shone like emerald fire.
“Greetings, Seeker-for-Truth,” he said. His voice rang deep and resonant, like a great bell borne on the wind. Each word fell clear and deliberate, flowing with the ease of water over polished stone.
Seeker trembled, the brilliance searing his eyes. He dropped to the ground, face pressed to the earth, as if struck lifeless. Then a hand, firm yet tender touched his own. Power surged through him, steadying his knees as the Shining One lifted him upright.
“Do not fear,” the voice rang—deep, clear, carrying like music on the wind. “Your prayer has been heard. I am sent to help you.”
“My lord,” Seeker pleaded, his voice raw, “will you stand with me against Wrath? I have no sword, no armor. My body is bruised and broken, and the staff I carry is worthless in my hand.”
The Shining One answered, each word ringing with measured weight: “Hear the words of the King: steel and shield are but vanity before Wrath. Only forgiveness has the power to undo him.”
“Teach me this forgiveness,” Seeker whispered, his voice trembling—yet laced with a fragile thread of hope.
“Day by day, you have fed Wrath’s strength. When Beautiful yawned at your wedding. When Jabal twisted his terms—each moment gave him ground. And when Wrath rises, no weapon of yours can strike him down.”
“But I don’t know how,” Seeker whispered. His throat tightened. “There are wounds I cannot forgive.”
“It is not you who forgives—but you must yield to it. If you strike Wrath, he will only swell in power. But if you release forgiveness with tears, he will flee.”
The Shining One placed a small phial in Seeker’s hands. His voice rang clear: “Not one tear of yours has fallen in vain. The King has gathered them all, and here they are kept—every drop held in this vessel.”
The Shining One clasped Seeker’s hand. A warmth coursed through him, loosening the ache in his body, steadying the beat of his heart. “Peace be upon you, and upon your house,” the angel said, each word resonant as a bell toll. Then the light faded, and he was gone.
Seeker woke with a start. What a curious dream. Yet in his hand lay the crystal phial. He lifted it, and at the bottom two—perhaps three—teardrops glimmered. His hand went to his ribs. No pain. Carefully he unwound the splint and flexed his fingers. Whole. Healed.
***
Beautiful leaned against Seeker as the firelight flickered across his face. Bright played on the floor with Wonderful, their laughter carrying softly through the chamber. Somehow, Seeker’s bones had mended—yet he offered her no explanation. She didn’t press him. Her eyes lingered on the bruise still dark across his forehead—horrible, stubborn, ugly, refusing to fade.
From the darkness beyond the ruins, heavy footsteps thundered through the night.
“He can’t get in,” she whispered, though a shiver still raced down her spine.
The footsteps drew closer—then a thunderous slam shook the walls. Another crash, and the stone crumbled. Giant Wrath forced his way inside. Bright screamed. Wonderful wailed. Beautiful froze where she stood, her body shrinking back, powerless before him.
Seeker rose to his feet and walked straight toward Giant Wrath, every step measured, unhurried. A flicker of confusion crossed the giant’s face.
“You have no power here,” Seeker said, his voice calm.
Wrath barked a contemptuous laugh and hefted his club high. “Funny man,” he sneered.
Seeker reached into his jacket and drew out the phial, lifting it high. A brilliant light burst forth, flooding the ruins brighter than day. Wrath staggered back, his club clattering from his hand as he crashed to the ground, hands thrown over his eyes.
Seeker stepped forward.
“No…” Wrath gasped.
“Go—and never return,” Seeker said, raising the phial high.
The giant reeled to his feet, howling in agony, then turned and fled, vanishing into the night.
***
Now I saw in my dream that Seeker and his family dwelt for a season in Palace Beautiful, and in those years Bright and Wonderful grew. During that time Giant Wrath made no attempt to trouble them.
Wonderful tugged at Beautiful’s dress, eyes wide with pleading. “I want a guinea pig, Mama. Can I have a guinea pig?”
“Mm-hmm,” Beautiful murmured, distracted. Then the words sank in. “Go ask your daddy.” A guinea pig? Where in the world did she think they’d find a guinea pig here? And how did she even know about guinea pigs, anyway?
Wonderful burst into the next room, hair flying. “Daddy! Daddy! Mama said I can have a guinea pig. Can I? Can I, please?”
“What would you even do with a guinea pig, Wonderful?” Seeker asked.
Beautiful peeked in through the doorway as Wonderful scrambled onto his lap and wrapped her arms tight around his neck.
“I’m gonna take him on walks! And feed him! And give him baths!”
“Can you even do that with…” Seeker wrinkled his nose “guinea pigs?”
Wonderful tossed her head back, giggling. “Daddy, do you even know what guinea pigs are?”
Seeker laughed with her. “You got me, Wonderful.”
Beautiful couldn’t help but smile.
“And just where are you going to find a guinea pig?”
“Just believe, Daddy.” She slid off his lap and bolted toward the palace entrance.
An hour slipped by with no sign of Wonderful. Too quiet—that always meant trouble. Beautiful sighed and rose, heading out to look for her.
Just outside the palace, Wonderful stood holding up a puppy, proudly displaying him to Bright. His eyes went wide.
“That’s not a guinea pig, Wonderful!” he exclaimed.
The puppy was small and impossibly cute, his brown fur offset by a black muzzle and nose. But it was his ears that caught Beautiful’s breath—huge, upright, and far too large for his tiny body.
Beautiful hurried over, reaching Wonderful just as Seeker leaned out the palace doorway. “Where did you find that puppy?” she asked.
“Not telling.” She lifted her chin, nose tilted high. “It’s a secret. And his name is Prince William Faithful Great-Heart.”
“Ridiculous,” scoffed Beautiful.
But Wonderful plopped the puppy into her hands. His soft brown eyes lifted to hers, and a tiny pink tongue darted out to lick her finger. Beautiful’s lips curved despite herself. Her heart was lost.
“We’ll call him Merry.”
Wonderful stomped her foot. “I didn’t want a Merry—I wanted a guinea pig!”
Laughter burst from them all, and Merry only wagged his tail harder.
When Bright woke, Mama and Wonderful were still fast asleep, Merry curled in a ball at their side. Daddy was already off to work. That was fine—Wonderful had been too annoying to play with lately, anyway.
He’d searched through the ruins of the armory but hadn’t found a thing worth playing with. A dagger would’ve been perfect—something to practice fighting with. Daddy always walked the opposite way of the rising sun, past the cottage. He never said what he did out there, and Mama never asked. Bright had never explored that side of the mountain either. Today seemed as good a day as any to find out.
He quickened his pace as the cottage came into view. The kids in Delight had been mean—but here, they were twice as bad. He let out a breath of relief when no one came out to bother him.
Ahead stretched an orchard of strange fruit. They looked like small, unripe plums—only they seemed to glow, pale and tempting. His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten before slipping out of the palace, and the sight of them made his mouth water.
If Daddy worked here—and Bright was sure he did—then the fruit had to be good. Why else would anyone keep an orchard of them? They wouldn’t miss just one. He reached up to a low branch and plucked one free.
He rubbed the fruit on his tunic and took a bite. It hit his tongue sharp and sweet at once—strange but wonderful. A tingle shot down his spine, warmth spreading through his head. Maybe just one more. He plucked another, then another, until he lost count.
When his belly was full, he started back toward the palace. Maybe he’d eaten one too many. A dull ache throbbed in his gut. And unless it was his imagination, the ankle he twisted when Giant Wrath had hurled him down was beginning to throb again.
***
Seeker’s work for the day was done. In the morning, he had pruned the trees. Afterward, he filled the small crates and hauled them to the cottage, dropping them off before returning with the empties. Most bore the same ornate M stamped on the wood. Now and then he noticed another mark—the curved smile of Delight.
It wasn’t the work he would have chosen, but it earned just enough to keep food on the table. He hadn’t hidden it from Beautiful—exactly. The chance to explain had simply never come. And she had never asked.
The man from the cottage who’d hired him said nobles in Vanity paid dearly for a single fruit. It had become a kind of sport—a dare to see how many one could eat before the sickness set in. He never touched them himself, and other people’s folly was none of his concern. Besides, Companion had said the fruit wasn’t evil in itself.
He always handed his wages to Beautiful, who bought provisions from the peddler that passed every week or so. Now and then the haulers slipped him a tip, and that kept his pipe pouch from running empty.
–
When he came home, Beautiful was pacing, worry etched across her face. “Bright’s had a terrible stomachache all day.”
“Did you try—” He cut himself off. No need to finish. Of course, no one at the cottage would have helped.
Inside, Bright lay sprawled on the bed, moaning. His face was ashen, foam gathering at his lips, fingers clutching tight into the blanket. Beautiful gasped, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Seeker pressed his palm to Bright’s forehead—it burned like fire. He clasped his son’s hand, and something slipped loose, rolling onto the blanket. His breath caught. A small, luminous fruit.
“Oh no.”
“What is it?” Beautiful asked.
“We have to make him vomit—now.” His voice came out harsh.
“What?” she said again, eyes wide.
“It’s the fruit,” he choked out. “From Beelzebub’s garden.”
“I don’t have anything,” Beautiful said, her voice sharp with panic. “Let me see if Comfort has anything.”
Seeker’s tears spilled unchecked, pattering onto Bright’s skin. Bitterness welled up in his chest, choking him. This was his fault—if only he had stopped to think.
After what felt like hours, Beautiful reappeared. “She has bitter herbs.” She rested a hand on Bright’s chest. “Hold on, my Bright.”
The moments dragged, heavy and endless, until Comfort burst in, a cup clutched in her hand, steam curling bitter and sharp from its rim. She pressed it into Beautiful’s waiting grasp.
Seeker lifted Bright carefully, cradling him upright. Beautiful pressed the cup to his lips, tilting it with trembling hands.
Wonderful padded in, clutching Merry to her chest, “Daddy, why does Bright’s tummy hurt?”
Seeker lifted the small, glowing fruit in his hand. “Because of these. They made him sick. Never eat them, Wonderful.”
She shook her head hard. “I don’t want a tummy ache.”
Comfort slipped in, gently took her by the shoulder and guided her back out.
Bright lurched upright, his body heaving. Seeker scooped him from the bed and set him on the floor, steadying him with a hand on his back. The retching came hard and fast—sour, dark bile spilling out, laced with a sickly-sweet stench that turned Seeker’s stomach.
Almost at once, color crept back into Bright’s cheeks. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “My leg hurts,” he murmured, easing himself upright. He limped toward the bed, dragging his foot with each step.
Comfort reappeared with another cup. “Here, Bright,” she said gently. “Drink this warm salt water—it will help you feel better.”
They cleaned the floor, wiped Bright’s brow with a damp cloth, and tucked him back into bed. “Sleep now, Bright,” Beautiful whispered.
Merry bounded into the room, tail wagging, and leapt onto the bed. He licked Bright’s face until the boy laughed weakly and pulled him close. With a happy sigh, Merry curled against him.
–
Beautiful’s eyes burned into him. He’d known this was coming.
“Where did he get that fruit?”
Seeker swallowed. “From the orchard—past the cottage. That’s where I’ve been working.”
“And you never thought to tell me? To tell us?” Her voice shook, anger and hurt tangled together. “What’s happening to you, Seeker? I thought you had changed.”
“I never hid it from you, Beautiful. You never asked. How else was I supposed to buy our food? Besides—it wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“Not hurting anyone?” Beautiful’s scoff cut sharp. “Not hurting anyone. Ridiculous.”
Fire flashed in her eyes. “This is your fault. You did this to my son.” She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room.
Seeker felt the old ire stirring—the same fury that had once summoned Giant Wrath. The Shining One’s words came back to him. He muttered under his breath, “I don’t know how to forgive… or even if I deserve to. But I allow it.” A single tear slipped down his cheek.
***
The next morning Bright was up and moving, though his limp was plain to see. Merry bounded at his heels, tail wagging furiously. Beautiful’s eyes flickered toward Seeker, sharp with unspoken blame.
Seeker gripped his staff and stepped to Bright. “Son,” he said quietly, “I’ve carried this from the beginning of my journey.” He placed it in Bright’s hands. “It’s yours now. Lean on it when you walk.”
Bright turned it over, testing the weight. Then he crossed the floor, leaning on it with each step. A smile broke across his face. “Thank you, Dad.”
–
Seeker took Beautiful’s hand. She gave a faint tug to pull away, but he held fast.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said at last.
She only nodded, silent.
“I think…” he drew a breath, steadying himself, “we’ve stayed here long enough. It’s time to continue our journey.”
Her eyes softened. She nodded again. “Yes. Let’s continue our journey.”