Chapter

   Bright began to nod as dawn crept over the valley.  As usual, he had kept watch through the night, guarding the flock from coyotes, and slept during the day.  Most nights his presence alone was enough to keep the predators away, but now and again he had to drive them off with his staff.

    A sickening stench of rot and bile rolled through the air, so strong it turned his stomach.  Bright jolted upright.  The dawn silence shattered—low, animal growls, ragged wheezing, and piercing shrieks echoed across the pasture.  The sounds weren’t coming from the dark mountains.

    He snatched up his staff and rose to his feet, squinting toward the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  The morning glare burned his eyes, but then—he saw it.  It was like nothing he had ever seen before.

    It was a skeletal monstrosity draped in blood-soaked cloth that clung to its decaying frame.  Its flesh was pale and leathery, stretched tight over bone so that every rib and sinew showed beneath.  Long, spindly limbs ended in claws like razors.  Its head was shaped almost like a coyote’s—but twisted, grotesque—its gaping maw lined with jagged teeth that dripped fresh blood.

    Its body was shaped like a man’s, yet it crawled on all fours with a jerking, convulsive gait—as though forcing itself into a feral posture its bones could scarcely endure.

    It lurched toward the flock in a sudden burst of speed.  Bright froze in horror as it reared on its hind legs—taller even than Giant Wrath—and slashed at a ewe.  One swipe, and the creature’s claws tore her down.  Then it dropped back to its crawling, spasmodic stance.  But it didn’t feed.  It didn’t drag its kill away.  Instead, it flung itself among the others, striking at them in a frenzy of mindless violence.

    The flock scattered in panic, but the beast was faster.  It pounced on one sheep, then another, rending them apart with its teeth and claws.

    Bright shouted, but the creature didn’t even flinch.  He ran toward it, his heart pounding like a hammer in his chest.  The stench of rot and blood gagged him.  He swung his staff, striking the beast square across the back.  It didn’t turn.  It only kept tearing through the flock.

    A foul poison seeped from the beast’s wounds, hissing where it touched the ground.  From the place his staff had struck, a sickly miasma rose, curling through the air.  The stench clawed at Bright’s throat, and he fell to his knees, coughing as the fumes closed around him.

    The beast swung a claw at him, but Bright rolled aside just in time.  It wheeled with a snarl and lunged after the fleeing sheep.

    It was over before he even knew it had begun.  The flock had scattered, and the beast was gone—but the carnage remained.  Sheep lay strewn across the grass, bleeding, choking, gasping out their last breaths.

    Bright fell to his knees beside the nearest sheep, bitterness twisting his gut.  She lay still, unnaturally quiet, her wide, pleading eyes fixed on him.

    Bright slammed his fist into the earth and cried out—a long, broken sound that tore through the valley.

***

    Seeker had seemed unsettled when he came home from work the night before.

   “There’s talk of a new giant roaming the Valley,” he’d said quietly.  “Plague.  They say it rose out of Doubting—something unlike anything anyone’s seen before.”

    Beautiful’s mind raced.  Would Seeker be safe crossing the Valley to work?  Would any of them be safe here?  She’d seen Wrath punch through the walls of Palace Beautiful as if they were paper.  These walls would never stand against that.  Could the Phial keep Plague away as it had Giant Wrath?

    And Bright—he insisted on staying out with his sheep all night.  The coyotes and bears were bad enough.  But now this?  She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him.

–

    Seeker kissed her and was halfway to the door when a scuffle broke out outside.  Bright burst in—wild-eyed, hair in disarray.

    “It didn’t even eat them!” he gasped, face flushed.  “Just senseless slaughter.”

    “Slow down, Bright,” Seeker said, stepping toward him.  “What happened?”

    “A beast attacked—but it didn’t come from the mountains,” Bright said, his voice trembling.  “It came out of the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  Huge—and nothing like anything you’ve ever seen.”

     “Plague,” Beautiful whispered, swallowing hard.

    Bright closed his eyes, shuddering at the memory.  “That’s right,” he whispered.  “When I struck it, sickness oozed out—like the air itself turned foul.  There’s no fighting something like that.  Even from behind I was taking harm.  I can’t imagine standing before its claws and fangs.

    Cold fingers of dread crept around Beautiful’s heart.

    “It was fast—so fast that even Giant Wrath seemed slow and lumbering by comparison.

    “We have to go,” Beautiful said.

    “Go?  Where?” Seeker asked, shaking his head.

   “Forward,” she whispered.  “Even if we wanted to climb the Hill of Difficulty again, there’s nothing for us behind.”

    “I can’t leave my flock,” Bright protested.

   “I can’t lose you either,” Beautiful said, her voice breaking.  “We have to go.”

    Seeker’s face drained of color.  “The Valley of the Shadow of Death…”

    “We’ll have to face it sooner or later,” Beautiful snapped.

    A soft knock sounded at the door, and Comfort peeked inside.

   “Come in, Comfort,” Beautiful said.

    “Have you heard?” Comfort asked quietly.  “About Plague?”

    “We have to leave,” Beautiful replied, her voice firm but breaking.

    “If we travel light, we can reach Vanity by nightfall,” Comfort said.

    “I’m not leaving my books,” Seeker replied.  “And what if we don’t make it?  We’ll be without food.” 

    “You’ll carry your books—and our things,” Beautiful said sharply.  “The rest of us will take as much food as we can manage.”  Her eyes flicked to Bright.  “You too.”

    Wonderful burst into the room, eyes bright.  “I’m not little anymore.  I can carry as much as Bright!”

    All eyes turned to Seeker.  He drew a slow breath.  “All right.  We leave in an hour.”

***

    The Dream blinked and I stood within the Celestial City.  For all the times I had wandered the Dream, never once had I passed through its gates.  The streets shone like burnished gold, and the walls glimmered with every kind of precious stone.

    A river, clear as crystal, flowed through the city.  I knew it at once—the waters of Beulah, the same River of Life that had wound before the Delectable Mountains and through the Interpreter’s ravine in the valley below.

    As I followed the river’s course, faces seemed to glimmer beneath the light—familiar, beloved.  I was certain I saw Christian and Christiana walking arm in arm, their laughter carried faintly on the air.  Yet I did not stop until I reached the river’s source.

    It flowed from a throne of lapis lazuli, gleaming like the heart of heaven.  The One who sat upon it shone with a brilliance too great to behold.  Before the throne burned seven mighty lamps, and a rainbow encircled it like living light.  Lightning flashed across the sky, and the sound of thunder rolled through the heavens.

    Six-winged dragons of breathtaking beauty circled above, crying out, “Holy, holy, holy!”  Strange beings with four wings and faces of an ox, man, a lion, and an eagle lifted harps in their hands.  Beneath them turned living wheels—wheels within wheels—rimmed with eyes that watch in every direction.

    Before the throne knelt Michael the Archangel.

    A voice like the sound of many rushing waters flowed from the throne.  “Set a watch upon the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  My son and daughter have suffered enough at the hands of that place;  not a single hair shall fall to the ground.”

    Michael bowed his head.  “As you command, Your Majesty.”

    Then I saw Michael gather a legion of Shining Ones.  He lifted his hand and commanded them to descend into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, to stand guard and suffer no harm to come to Seeker, Beautiful, or their house.  And he charged them to keep silent and remain unseen.

    And Sariel his brother went before them, shining a light upon their path, that their feet should not stumble.

***

    Seeker shivered as they stepped into the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  The air was unnervingly still—almost peaceful.  The siren’s songs were hushed; no wings beat above, no fiends howled below.  Yet the silence felt watchful, as if the darkness itself were holding its breath.  Before them, a soft light glimmered, marking the way, and Seeker raised the Phial to strengthen the glow, its radiance joining the light before them.

    Seeker frowned in quiet wonder.  What was that light?  Were there other pilgrims ahead?  Yet each time they paused—to rest, to tighten a strap—the glow halted just beyond them.  And when they moved again, it moved with them.

    To their right yawned the great abyss—the pit that led down to Hell itself.  As they walked, Seeker spoke softly of how Apollyon had risen against Perry and Eva, and how he had dragged Perry into the depths.  And how Eva, returning to the Palace Beautiful, had clad herself in armor, taken up sword and shield, and followed her love into Hell—striking down countless fiends as she descended.

    Of the sulphureous bog that fumed on their left, Seeker said nothing.

 – 

    Step by step they kept to the Narrow Way until at last they reached the far side.  The going had been easier—much easier—than they expected, but none of them wished to linger.

   Seeker turned to them.  “Be vigilant.  We’re coming to the dangerous stretch—pits and snares.  We stay together.”

   Merry squirmed in Wonderful’s arms.  “No, Merry,” she said, holding him fast.

–

    They were not prepared for what lay before them.  The ground ahead was buried in mangled corpses, heaped in rotting, putrid mounds—Plague’s handiwork laid bare.  The pits were long since filled and spilling over.  In the few places where bodies did not cover the earth, pools of blackened blood had gathered, glistening faintly in the ghostly light.

    Bright doubled over and vomited.  Wonderful stood trembling, eyes wide with terror.  Beautiful swayed, and Seeker caught her before she could fall.

    The light ahead flickered, then went out.  Seeker’s Phial flared brighter in the darkness, its glow trembling in his hands.

   “There’s no way forward,” he said quietly.

   “And we can’t go back,” Beautiful’s voice broke, thin with panic.

    “That leaves one choice,” Seeker said, his voice steadier than he felt.  “Giant Pagan’s cave.  It should be close—abandoned long ago.”

    They picked their way carefully over the bodies until they reached the foot of the mountains, where the dark mouth of a cave yawned before them—much larger than the one on the Hill of Difficulty.  A rough palisade of splintered beams and broken spears half-blocked the entrance.  With effort, it could be dragged into place to bar the way and give them some measure of safety inside.

    Ash and dried blood clung to the wood.  The air was thick with iron and decay.  Seeker ran his fingers along one of the shattered shafts.  

    “People fought here,” he murmured.

    Beautiful traced the splintered ends, the blackened tips. 

    “And died,” she whispered.

    Seeker and Bright dragged the palisade into place, wedging it across the cave’s mouth.  “That should hold,” Seeker said—but the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him.

    Seeker raised the Phial, its light spilling into the darkness.  The ceiling arched high above him like the nave of some forgotten cathedral.  Pillars of limestone loomed out of the shadows—natural yet shaped as if by purpose—some carved in the likeness of forgotten gods.

    The floor was smooth—worn by centuries of passing feet—and somewhere in the darkness, a thin trickle of water echoed, steady and patient, like a clock marking eternity.

    Along one wall, stone shelves jutted from the rock itself—half buried, half formed—lined with scrolls and codices, papyrus and parchment, even clay tablets impressed with ancient script.  They bore the tongues of forgotten ages:  Greek, Coptic, Aramaic—and others marked with runes no one alive could read.  Dust lay thick on them, though not a single cobweb clung.

    Seeker lifted a cracked volume from the shelf.  “Odysseia,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across the faded letters.  “Song of the Wanderer.”

    “Who would’ve thought a giant could read?” Bright quipped.

   “Like Daddy,” said Wonderful, her face bright with pride.

    As they moved deeper into the cave, the walls came alive with bioluminescent moss, while threads of light filtered through cracks above. The air carried the soft fragrance of myrrh and old incense.  Candles rested in shallow alcoves along the stone.  Seeker struck his clasp-knife against flint, and one by one the flames flickered to life, filling the chamber with a steady glow.

    On a stone arch was carved the words:  Sapientia per lumen naturae.  Beneath it, scrawled in a rough, trembling hand, were the words: Quaesivi veritatem et perdidi pacem.

    On the far wall, a cracked relief of a human face was carved in stone—split clean down the middle.  Beneath it, the words were etched: ΓΝΩΘΙ ΣΕΑΥΤΟΝ.  

     Bright pointed at it.  “What’s that one say?”

   “Know yourself,” Seeker answered quietly.

    Merry darted ahead, panting with excitement, stopping every few steps to sniff this and that.

    Along one wall stood an altar carved from black basalt—smooth and cold, its grooves worn deep where blood once ran.  Symbols were etched along its sides:  the sun, serpents, constellations.  Scattered nearby lay ancient offering bowls, cracked and rimmed with soot.

    “We can use it to cook.”  He crouched beside it, gathering stones and kindling a small fire to chase away the cave’s chill.

–

    Near the back of the cave lay a hollow in the cave—a vast depression worn smooth by Giant Pagan’s weight.  Scattered around it were fragments: broken chains, rusted armor, splintered bones, and the remains of an idol.  The rock still held a chill, as if it remembered him.

    “I’m not sleeping there,” Beautiful exclaimed.  Instead, she and Comfort began to unroll their bedrolls around the fire Seeker had lit on the altar.

***

    Days passed, then weeks.  Each morning Seeker pushed the palisade aside just enough to slip through and look outside.  The heaps of corpses grew higher with each passing day, all bearing the same marks—Plague’s work.  When it became clear they would be trapped longer than a few days, they began to ration their food, eating only what was necessary to endure.

    Seeker spent his days poring over the books—those written in the tongues he knew, and those whose symbols taunted him with meaning just beyond reach.  But the bruise on his forehead throbbed with a dull, relentless ache that clouded his thoughts.  At times the pain blurred his vision, forcing him to lean against the wall, eyes closed, breathing through the dizziness until it passed. 

    At night his sleep was broken and thin, haunted by the treadwheel, by Giant Wrath, and by Charm’s deceit.  He tried to still his thoughts, but the weight of the dead beyond the cave pressed against his heart, as though their silence reached even his dreams.

    Months passed.  Outside, the bodies no longer rose in heaps.  Flies thickened in clouds over the decay, and the flesh wasted into bone.  Inside, their rations dwindled day by day until at last there was nothing left—not a fragment, not a crumb.

    Seeker stepped out of the cave as he did every day.  The sun shone strangely bright through the gloom of the Valley, casting long, sharp shadows across the ground.  In the distance, he saw a lone figure walking the Narrow Way, moving slowly through the haze.

   “Hail!” Seeker called.

    As the stranger drew nearer, Seeker saw the guarded way he moved—his eyes scanning the shadows, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

   “What news of Plague?”  Seeker called. 

   The stranger’s shoulders eased, though his eyes were hollow.  “Horrible, horrible,” he said.  “Millions have died.  In Coveting, the mayor refused to close the silver mine.  ‘There is no Plague,’ he told them.  ‘The King Himself has blessed our labor.’”   The man gestured toward the bones.  “And this is their reward.”

    “We hid in the cave,” Seeker said quietly, “Too afraid to go on.”

    The stranger smiled at Seeker.  “Rest easy, my friend,” he said.  “A band of true warriors rose up and struck Plague a mortal blow.  They nearly finished him—but he escaped north into the lands of Doubting.”

    Seeker and Good-Confidence—for so he introduced himself—spoke for some time.  When at last Good-Confidence took his leave, Seeker wished him Godspeed and returned to the cave, eager to share the good news.

–

    Seeker gathered his pack, adding to it a few of the books from the cave—for even in this place, there were fragments of truth to be found.  Their provisions were gone, so there was little else to carry.

    As they prepared to depart, Bright said, “I will return to the Valley of Humility.”

    “No,” Beautiful replied softly but firmly.  “Our way lies forward.  We do not go back.”     

    “I will go back,” he insisted.  “If any of the flock yet live, I’ll seek them—and tend their wounds.”

    Beautiful pleaded with him, but it was no use.  Seeker recognized that stubborn set of the jaw, that unyielding fire in his eyes—he’d seen both a thousand times before, in her.  There was no arguing with it.  Bright had made up his mind.

    At the edge of the Narrow Way, Seeker drew Bright into an embrace and pressed the Phial into his hands.

   “This will keep the fiends at bay,” he said softly.  “Don’t linger—don’t stop for anything.  The horrors of the Valley of the Shadow of Death are beyond words.  The sooner you reach Humility, the safer you’ll be.”

    “Bright,” Beautiful whispered, pulling him close and holding on as if she could keep him there by sheer will.  Tears streamed down her cheeks.  “My Bright…”

    Bright eased back from the embrace.  “It’s all right, Mama,” he said softly.  “I’ll be fine.”

    He turned and started down the Narrow Way toward the south—staff in one hand, the Phial raised in the other—his voice fading into the distance as he sang.

    They watched until Bright’s light was swallowed by the darkness.  Beautiful sank to her knees, her body shaking with sobs she could no longer hold back. 

    Wonderful knelt beside her and wrapped her arms around her mother.  Her voice trembled but carried a quiet conviction.  “Don’t cry, Mama,” she whispered.  “Bright will be fine.  He’s stronger than you think.”

–

    Seeker, Beautiful, Wonderful, and Comfort turned northward, stepping carefully over bones and watching for hidden snares.  They passed through a narrow gap in the mountains that bordered the Valley of the Shadow of Death and came out upon a gentle knoll.  The air felt lighter here, touched with the scent of grass instead of decay.  Above them, clouds drifted across a pale blue sky.  

    Seeker reached for Beautiful’s hand.  Wonderful set Merry down gently, and he bounded forward, tail wagging, barking in the wind.  Far ahead, the bright tents of Vanity Fair shimmered in the sunlight, their banners fluttering gaily in the breeze.

   Seeker hoisted his burden onto his shoulders.  Strangely, it felt lighter than it should have.  He wore new clothes—Beautiful’s handiwork, stitched with her own hands to replace his worn-out rags.  He tucked the Book and his phial close to his heart.  Then they set out.  Beautiful walked at one side, Bright on the other, staff in hand, while Merry bounded ahead with Wonderful chasing after.   
    Comfort had taken her leave to visit her father and promised to meet them farther along the Way.
    The way down the other side of the mountain was steep—perhaps steeper than the climb up—so they stepped carefully, mindful not to slip.
    “Is it called the Valley of Humiliation—or the Valley of Humility?” Bright asked.
    “In my Book it’s Humiliation,” Seeker said.  “That’s where Christian fought Apollyon.  But in your mother’s Book, it’s called Humility. Christiana and her sons had a far better time than Christian did—they even stayed at Prince Emmanuel’s country house.  That’s where we’re going.”
    “No,” Beautiful said, shaking her head.  “They didn’t stay there—it’s only mentioned.  And in my Book, it’s definitely Humiliation too.”
    “Then why do you call it Humility, Dad?” Bright pressed, looking up at him.
   Seeker shrugged.  “Maybe it was Redemption of Eva.  She didn’t just face Apollyon—she went after the Dragon too, chasing him down into the depths of Hell itself.”
    Wonderful darted up, clutching a lily high for Beautiful.
    Beautiful’s smile softened.  “Thank you, Wonderful.”
   Seeker nodded at the bloom.  “The Prince’s favorite.  They grow wild all through the Valley.  He loves the place so dearly that He gives an allowance to keep a house there—so pilgrims may always find welcome.
    Bright’s grin broke wide.  “I hope it’s nicer than Mama’s Palace.”
    They reached the bottom without a slip.  Seeker and Bright looked around, searching.  No scarred earth, no gashes in the ground, no blood-stained stones—no monument at all to mark some great battle with monsters or dragons.
    Seeker only shrugged.  “It’s been a very long time.”
    At last, they reached a narrow footbridge over a stream winding calm and clear across the valley.  Seeker breathed deep—the air was sweet, the soil smelled rich.  Fields stretched lush and green before them, lilies scattered across the grass, their white petals dipping and swaying in the breeze.
    They followed the stream into the heart of the Valley, where its waters gathered into a deep, still pond, the surface mirroring the sky.  Sheep grazed along the banks, pausing now and then to lower their heads and drink, their movements unhurried, untroubled.
    There it stood—a country house, modest yet stately.  Its whitewashed walls gleamed in the sun; their brightness softened by ivy curling in gentle green along the stone.  A golden thatched roof sloped low, as though bowing toward the meadows.  Windows latticed with leaded glass caught the light and scattered it across the grass.  Fruit trees bordered the garden, branches heavy with apples and pears, while roses clung to the fence, sweetening the air with fragrance.
    A wide oak door, darkened with age and polished by countless hands, stood before them.  Across its face were carved the words:  Welcome, weary pilgrims.
    “I think we’re home,” Seeker said.
   Beautiful gave a quiet nod.  Bright’s grin spread wide.  Wonderful bounced on her toes, and Merry answered with a sharp, joyous yelp.

   Wooden steps rose in a straight flight along the entry hall, and just off to one side lay a study.  The air within seemed different—quiet, set apart, as though the world outside had never touched it.  Dark oak paneled the walls, polished smooth by years of care.  A single tall window admitted the light, its clear glass framing a view of the fields beyond, where sheep grazed in peace.

   Seeker set his burden beside a narrow bookshelf.  The few volumes it held were a mismatched collection, their spines worn and frayed—tokens, perhaps, left behind by pilgrims who had passed this way before.  On the lower shelf there was space enough for his own books, waiting for his hand.

    A desk stood ready with a neat stack of paper, a quill, and an inkpot beside it.  Seeker placed his Book upon the desk but kept the Phial pressed close to his heart.  By the hearth waited a great chair—worn yet dignified, its leather softened by generations of pilgrims who had found rest within its arms.  He sank into it, a long breath slipping from his chest—a mingling of relief and gratitude.

    Beautiful stepped into the room, her eyes shining.  “There are three bedrooms—one for us, one for Bright, and one for Wonderful.”

    From down the hall came Bright’s jubilant shout, “Yay!”  His voice rang against the walls, Wonderful’s own cheer rising right after, full of laughter.

    Seeker rose, the warm scent of fresh bread guiding down the hall to the back of the country house.  In the kitchen, a great hearth dominated the room with a wide stone arch.  A small iron door covered the oven.  Near the back door, cords of firewood were stacked neatly, and linen-draped baskets rested in tidy rows.

    Beyond the kitchen, a dining room opened to the side.  Beautiful slipped in beside him, her fingers catching his hand in a playful tug.  “Upstairs, honey.”

    Seeker’s fingers slid along the smooth, time-darkened banister as Beautiful guided him up the narrow stair.  At the top, he stepped into a broad chamber where light streamed through tall windows set on either side.  The ceiling dipped low with the slope of the roof, yet the room felt airy, filled with brightness.

    A long wooden table commanded the center of the room, its surface scarred with age yet worn smooth by countless hands.  Benches flanked either side, their edges rounded by use.  Against the wall stood a basin on a simple stand, a folded cloth laid neatly beside it.

    Along the wall stood three doors, each opening into a bedroom.  One was larger, set with a bed wide enough for two.  The other two were smaller, each holding a single bed.

    Beautiful’s breath caught, her voice dropping to a whisper.  “It’s almost as if this place was built for us.”

***

  The kitchen smelled of smoke and bread so warm it made Wonderful’s tummy grumble, even though she’d already eaten.  The hearth yawned wide—so wide she thought she could almost crawl inside.  Flames leapt and licked the black stones above, alive and playful.  Beside it, a little arched door hid in the wall like a secret cave.  That was where the loaves went in, Mama said, to bake until golden.

    A stack of logs towered taller than she was, and when one popped into the fire she jumped—then giggled.  Dusty flour drifted in the air and settled on the table, where a lump of dough waited beneath a white cloth, rising as if it were breathing.

   Wonderful rose on her tiptoes to peek, fingers itching to press the soft dough, to knead it, to bake bread like Mama.  She was sure she could do better.  She stuck out her tongue at Mama’s back and stifled a giggle.

    Out back lay a small garden.  Mama said each plant meant something.  The sharp smelling sage for wisdom.  Rosemary for remembering.  Basil was sweet, so it must be love.  And parsley for cleansing.  Another way to say “tastes funny,” she decided.  Wonderful didn’t care so much about that.  She just liked leaning close, breathing in their smells.

    Mama chopped carrots and parsley for the stew.  A piece of carrot slipped from the board and spun across the floor.  Merry pounced, snatching it up.  

     “Merry, no!”  Wonderful cried, hands on her hips.

    Bright leaned in the doorway, smirking.  “Puppies can eat carrots.”

   Merry crunched happily, tail thumping, then plopped down with his paws lifted, eyes wide, waiting for the next treasure to fall.

***

    With Seeker and Bright gone to explore, and Wonderful still asleep, Beautiful stood in the garden, the morning sun warm upon her face.

    Tucked just beyond the garden stood a smaller house, simpler but well kept.  Its whitewashed walls had weathered softer beneath years of sun and rain.  Vines curled along the corners, while wildflowers gathered at its base where stone met earth.  The thatched roof dipped lower, humbler than the main house.  Its golden reeds had weathered to straw.  A narrow path, worn smooth, led from the kitchen door to its plain wooden threshold, where the house seemed to wait in quiet welcome.

    A faint whiff of clove drifted past.  Her.  The pain had dulled to an almost imperceptible ache, but it was not gone.  A wave of dizziness swept over her—she nearly sank to the ground.  Then, just as suddenly, it was gone, as if it had never been.

    No—it was cinnamon.  Comfort had returned.  She came across the meadow, waving as she neared.

    “I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” Beautiful said.

    Comfort’s smile widened.  “I brought you something.”  She slipped a hand into her bag and drew out a small parcel, pressing it gently into Beautiful’s hands.

    Beautiful unwrapped the parcel carefully, and the smoky-sweet aroma drifted up.  She gasped, eyes wide.  “Octopus jerky?  I haven’t had this since Bright-Harbor!  The scent alone brings it back!”  She glanced toward the guest house and smiled.  “Are you staying a while?  It’s humble, but you are welcome.”

    They stepped inside together.  The little house held only a single room—plain and spare.  A rough-hewn table stood in the center, and a narrow bed was pressed against the wall.  By the door, a few wooden pegs waited for cloaks or bags, and one small window opened onto the garden outside.

    Comfort’s smile softened as she looked around.  “It’s perfect.”

***

   Bright walked toward the pond, leaning on his staff.  Sheep grazed quietly along the water’s edge, their noses dipping now and then into the ripples.  Then without warning, the meadow erupted.  Sheep scattered, bleating in terror, their hooves drumming the earth like thunder.  Bright’s chest clenched, his heart slamming hard against his ribs.  From the dark mountains to the west, a black shape surged into view—huge, hulking, fur bristling, a roar tearing the air apart.

    A bear.

    It barreled toward the flock, eyes locked, claws ripping furrows in the earth.  One ewe stumbled, legs tangling beneath her.  She bleated in panic, stranded in the open.  The bear swung toward her, jaws gaping, teeth glinting white.

    Bright didn’t think—he couldn’t.  His staff was already clenched in his grip, and his legs were moving before his mind caught up.  He tore across the meadow, breath burning in his throat, reckless, unstoppable.

    “Hey!” he shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and fury.  He lifted the staff high over his head, hands trembling, and bellowed again, “Leave her!”

    The bear wheeled at the sound, its massive head snapping toward him.  A growl rumbled through the earth itself, yet Bright planted his feet.  He clutched the staff in both hands, palms slick with sweat, refusing to let go. 

    Bright swung with all his strength, the staff cracking down on the bear’s nose with a solid thump.  The beast froze, stunned, then dropped back on its haunches.  A pitiful whimper broke from its throat before it bolted, crashing toward the dark mountains.

    Bright sank beneath a tree, his legs quivering too hard to hold him.  He held the staff against his chest and tried to steady his breath.  Slowly, the trembling eased.  A tune slipped through his lips, soft at first, then steadier, threading through the meadow like a breeze.  One by one, the sheep wandered back, their bleating quieting.  They circled close and settled around him, wool brushing his knees, until he sat enclosed in their calm.

   Seeker paused at his favored place on his way back from his labor.  The grass lay thick and soft beneath him, wildflowers bending gently with the breeze.  Here the stream slowed, gathering into a clear pool that mirrored sky and meadow alike, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
    He struck a flame and drew deep on his pipe, eyelids heavy as the smoke curled upward.  Nothing had been as he expected since leaving Uncertain—nothing.  His new work had driven a quiet wedge between him and Bright.  In truth, the difference between them was slight.  Bright filled his days with a notepad and song, the strays pressing close around him.  Seeker worked across the valley, shearing wool.  It didn’t harm the sheep, and the money was needed.
    His Book had never spoken of tread-wheels, or of chopping wood, pruning orchards, or shearing sheep.  He had turned it over in his mind again and again, but no other path appeared.
   And Beautiful—things had not been the same since Deceit, since Wrath, since Bright’s illness.  Giant Wrath had not returned, yet some wounds would not mend.  How he longed for Companion.  Surely Companion would know what to say, what to do.
    He drew in a deep breath.  A sweetness touched the air, threading through grass and tobacco smoke.  His eyes snapped open.  She was there—seated close, legs folded neatly to one side.
    “You crease your brow when you think too hard, Seeker,” Charm murmured.
    “Charm?” His throat caught.  “What are you doing here?”
    “Good to see you, too,” she said, her green eyes bright with mischief.  “I came with Comfort—though she wasn’t thrilled about it.  I thought I might linger a few days before moving on.”
    He breathed her in—clove with a trace of orange—and for an instant the years fell away.  “It’s… really good to see you, Charm,” he murmured.  
   Her head tilted, lips curved in a soft smile.
   He lurched to his feet.  “You know we can’t—” The words broke in his throat.  He turned sharply and strode away before he could betray himself further.
–
    Seeker sat in the great chair, reading.  He’d turned a page and a half before he realized he couldn’t recall a single word.  All he saw was her—seated by the stream, green eyes alive with mischief.  The fall of raven hair over her shoulder.  That soft knowing smile.  The way her dress clung close.  Flashed of harvest days.  The look in her eyes—hurt, when they had left Delight.
    He shut his eyes hard and shook his head.  No.  That was then.  This—this was his life now.
–
    The next morning his feet carried him toward the green before he’d even thought about it.  He told himself it was nothing—just habit.  She wouldn’t be there anyway.  He’d walked away.  That should be the end of it.
 –
   “Seeker!” Her voice rang warm as she rose from the shade of a tree.
   “Charm?” His breath caught.  “You’re… here.”
    “I missed you,” she murmured, eyes dropping to the ground.  A shadow crossed her face.  “I keep thinking about the wheat fields… I just wanted to see you again.  To talk.”  She lifted her gaze with a small, brave smile.  “There’s nothing wrong with talking.”
    “No,” Seeker said slowly.  “There’s nothing wrong with talking, Charm.  I have work to do, but afterward… I’ll come back.  We can talk then.”
    Her face brightened, eyes alight.  “I’ll be here—waiting.”
–
    Seeker finished his work early and hurried back to the green.  She was waiting, just as he promised.  He sank down beside her, and she drew close—so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin.
    “How have you been?” she asked, her finger hovering just shy of his bruise, her eyes soft with concern.
   Seeker’s chest tightened, his heartbeat loud in his ears.  Words rose, then caught.  He said nothing.
    “How is Beautiful?” she asked softly, her voice almost tender—and yet the question pressed closer than any touch.
    “Beautiful’s… well, she’s still Beautiful.”  His gaze dropped to the pipe in his hands.  His next words came low, almost swallowed.  “She still cries.”
    “You never said goodbye,” Charm whispered.  “She just took you away.  I think… I just needed a goodbye.”
    No,” he said softly.  “I can’t say goodbye.”
   He pushed to his feet, and as he turned, his hand grazed her waist.  Her eyes flew wide, her whole body shivering at the touch.
    “Go,” she whispered, head bowed.  “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
–
    Seeker lingered in the kitchen doorway, watching Beautiful and Wonderful bent over the table, their hands dusted white with flour as they shaped a pie.  His chest tightened.  He wanted Charm with a hunger that shamed him.  He couldn’t betray them—not these two, not here.  Tomorrow, he told himself, he would say goodbye.
–
    The next morning, he went straight to work.  He told himself he couldn’t be with her—but neither could he let her go.  All day long the words churned, circling endlessly, refusing to settle.  She deserves this much, he reasoned.  He would say the words, and it would be finished. Yet his steps grew heavy, each one slower than the last.  He dreaded the moment.  Leaving without a word had almost been easier—when it had been forced, when he’d had no choice.
–
    She was there, waiting—elegant as a queen, still as if the whole meadow bowed to her.  His gaze locked with hers, green eyes catching the light, unreadable.  His throat tightened.  “Charm, I…”
    Her finger touched his lips, light as a whisper, silencing him before the words could form.  Then her hands closed around his, warm and sure, pulling him nearer.  She leaned in, and her mouth claimed his—deep, unhurried, complete.
    Her fragrance swallowed him whole.  Her lips seared his, and breath became impossible—unnecessary.  The world tilted, spinning.  Her fingers pressed hard into his back as if to draw him closer still, her body trembling against his.
    When they broke apart, breathless, he fumbled for words.
    “Shut up,” she whispered, pulling him back to her.
    Everything else dissolved.  There was only her.
    She slipped her fingers through his, her touch light but sure.
    “Come with me,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath.  “There’s a place where no one will find us.  We can have our fill of love.  You are mine.”
    She swayed as she walked, drawing him forward with an ease that felt both gentle and inexorable.  Seeker’s pulse thundered.  Every part of him burned with longing.  He could have pulled free.  He didn’t.
    Her hand tugged him onward toward the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and he let himself follow.  His chest tightened—the very name of place struck cold in him.
    “Don’t be afraid, love.”  Her voice was low, coaxing.  “You should know by now—nothing is ever what it seems in your Book.”
    He let her lead him—after all she was right.  Before them opened a canyon vast and breathtaking, its cliffs blazing with orange fire in the setting sun.  Beyond, mist-wrapped mountains floated like a dream on the horizon.
    To the left spread a bog so strangely lovely it seemed woven from enchantment—trees veiled in silver moss, patches of flowers blazing with impossible color, their perfume drifting on the breeze.
    A narrow trail wound inward, soft and inviting.  From within came a chorus of voices, low and sweet, their song tugging them forward.
    They came at last to a clearing, and in its midst stood a booth prepared.  The walls were hung with rich tapestries, and carvings twined along its posts with cunning skill.  At the center lay a bed spread with fine linen of Egypt, cool and smooth beneath the touch, its folds inviting.  The air was heavy with fragrance—myrrh and aloes, sweet oils, and the sharp bite of clove.  Every breath was a lure, each scent twining in his blood.
    Charm’s emerald eyes fixed on him, burning with a quiet intensity.  “Tonight,” she whispered, “I am yours.”  She lifted her arms, the fabric sliding from her shoulders until her dress pooled silently at her feet.
    Every part of her seemed impossibly perfect—her feet, her legs, the curve of her hips, the smooth line of her stomach.  His gaze lingered upward:  the rise of her breasts, tipped and taut in the cool air, the slender grace of her neck, the flush in her cheeks.  And in her eyes, green fire blazed, fierce and consuming.
    Seeker stood frozen, staring at her for a long, unbroken moment.  Then, one by one, he shed what was his—first the tunic from his shoulders, then the trousers from his hips.  Last of all, he slipped the King’s ring from his finger.  His hand lingered, trembling, as he laid it and the phial upon the table.  His chest rose and fell, ragged.  Then he crossed the space between them and gathered Charm in his arms, their embrace fierce, desperate, and full.
***
    Now I, the Dreamer, beheld as Seeker left Forgetful Green and followed Charm heedlessly into the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
    When Seeker took her into his arms and lay with her, I begged him to stop.  I pleaded, I wept, I cried out against him.  But my words were unheeded—unheard.  I tried to turn away, to shut my eyes.  I clawed at the edges of the Dream, desperate to wake, desperate to escape.
    I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears.  The Dream shuddered—and when it opened again, I was standing in the Prince’s country house.  The very house where Emanuel himself had been betrayed, that night so long ago.
    I saw Beautiful pacing—back and forth, back and forth—as the hours dragged on.  I saw her tears, her whispered prayers.  Then her prayers turned to curses.  Fire blazed in her eyes, and she flung herself to the floor, wailing.
    I saw Wonderful’s agony—first as she tried to soothe Beautiful, then as it broke her too.  She screamed, tears running down her face, her small fists pounding on the walls.
    Grief overwhelmed me.  I longed to hold Beautiful, to tell her it would not end this way.  But I fell to my face instead, tears streaming hot and unrelenting.  “O God—forgive me.”
***
    Seeker woke tangled in Charm’s arms, the heady sweetness of the night still flooding his veins.  She watched him with a smile that was both tender and knowing, her finger tracing the bruise on his forehead as if it belonged to her.  She bent and kissed it softly before rising.  Morning light poured across her bare skin, gilding every curve.  The dimples in her cheeks deepened with each step of  her hips, and desire flared again, sharp and undeniable, as she moved with unhurried grace toward the table.   
    Her finger hovered near the Phial, then jerked back with a sharp hiss.  She reached for Seeker’s ring, lifted it, and turned toward him.  The onyx stone caught in the morning light as she studied the carved trees on the band, her gaze lingering as though weighing its meaning.
    “Seeker-for-truth,” she said, her voice laced with mockery.  “Elect son of the King—yet you sold your birthright for a bowl of porridge.  How disappointing.”  She laughed softly, almost to herself.  “I expected more of a chase.  Samson, at least, was amusing.”  She tilted her head, almost mock-thoughtful.  “Poor, poor, Beautiful.”
    The air around Seeker began to shimmer.   The sweet song of sirens twisted into shrieks and howls that clawed at his ears.  The silver moss, once drifting like veils in a bridal chamber, shriveled in an instant—curling black and falling away to reveal skeletal trunks reaching upward like grasping hands.  The fragrant breeze turned acrid, sulfur belching from bubbling pits opening at his feet, searing his throat with every breath.
   From the bog burst satyrs and hobgoblins, their shrieks splitting the air as they lunged toward him.  Charm’s eyes flashed as she cried out, “The Philistines are upon you!”  Her voice twisted into a smirk, arms flung wide in cruel theater.  “Save me, Seeker!”
    The light around her shuddered and broke.  Ragged wings tore from her back, her skin sagged into withered folds, and horns curled from her brow.  Yet her eyes—those unmistakable green eyes—burned hotter now, twin flames of Hell.  With a laugh sharp as iron, she flung Seeker’s ring into the scalding mire, watching with delight as it vanished beneath the bubbling surface.

    Terror seized Seeker as his ring vanished beneath the boiling mire.  Satyrs and hobgoblins closed in, their shrieks cutting through the air.  Charm—no, the succubus she truly was—lingered long enough to give him a smile of cruel amusement before slipping back into the bog’s shadows.

    Seeker tore free of the bed and stumbled to the table.  His hand closed on the Phial—cold, solid, real.  The creatures shrank back, hissing, claws slashing at the air but unwilling to near.  He spun, heart pounding, and bolted.  Run.  Just run.  Somewhere ahead had to be the Narrow Way.

    Sparks spat up around him.  Fire leapt, smoke rolling thick and choking his throat.  Blind, he staggered forward, groping through the haze—anything to escape the snarls and howls closing in behind.

    A root snared his foot, dragging him into the mire.  Scalding heat seared his skin, and he screamed in pain.  Companion’s warning rang in his skull.  There are places worse than the Slough.  Far worse.  If only he had listened.

    There was no bottom beneath his feet.  He tried to cry out—Help!—but the burning filth surged into his mouth, choking the word.  His head slipped under.  He thrashed upward, coughing, choking, fire scorching his throat. 

    He broke the surface, but the smoke was just as thick, searing his lungs with every gasp.  He clutched the Phial high above the mire, its light flickering weak, swallowed by the choking dark.

    All around him rose sighings and low, hopeless moans.  The gnash of unseen teeth rattled in the dark.  A voice slid against his ear—dreadful, intimate—spilling blasphemies too vile to name.  Or were they his own thoughts?  Just curse the King, it hissed.  Curse Him—and die.

    The shrieks and howls pressed nearer—or was it only his mind unravelling?  He pictured them waiting at the edge, patient, eager to tear him apart the moment he broke free of this torment.  He had no weapon.  No armor.  Not even clothes to cover his shame.  His voice cracked in the air:  “Wretched man that I am!”

    “Oh, Seeker…” Charm’s voice drifted across the quag, laced with the siren’s mocking laughter, with Beautiful’s sobs, with Wonderful’s screams.  Each sound pierced him—sharp, merciless—driving straight to the heart.

    Had a day passed?  Three?  A week?  A year?  Time dissolved as he thrashed on, body racked with desperation, seared by the brimstone mire.

    In the midst of the torment, he saw himself clearly for the first time.  In the Valley of Humility he had been swollen with pride, blind to the grace of the King.  Now, in desperation, he struck his chest and cried out, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner!”

    He clung to life with all his strength—but it was useless.  There was no edge to crawl toward, no Companion reaching for him.  Words from his Book flickered through his mind:  no man had ever escaped such a pit by his own power.  His only hope lay at the bottom, where Charm had hurled it—if a bottom even existed.

    He only wished he could… 

–

    A blinding light tore Seeker from his stupor.  A mighty Shining One descended—towering, robed in light, bronze armor gleaming—descended, brilliance flooding the hellish mire.  Seeker trembled, for in that radiance the legion of fiends was laid bare, their numbers beyond counting.  The darkness, he realized, had been a mercy.

    With a single sweep of his immense fiery sword, he hurled a dozen goblins into the air, their shrieks cut short as the smoke swallowed them.  The others broke at once, scattering in terror before the Shining One’s vengeance.

    The Shining One swept Seeker up from the mire and bore him aloft.  With a rush of wings and fire, he carried him across the wasteland and hurled him down upon the soil of the Valley of Humiliation.

    Seeker lay trembling where he fell.  Above him, the Shining One loomed—feet planted, his stern face set, his eyes unyielding as steel.

    The Shining One drew a whip from his belt.  His voice rolled like thunder, shaking even the mountains far off.

    “Hear the word of the King,” he declared.  “Those whom I love—I chastise.”

    The whip lashed across Seeker’s back.  The Shining One did not relent.  Yet against the mire’s burning memory, each stroke fell like a balm.  Seeker numbered them one by one, whispering a prayer with each blow.  Thirty-nine.  And then silence.

    From the Valley of the Shadow of Death came two more Shining Ones.  The first stepped forward and laid in Seeker’s arms the garments he had cast aside at the booth.

    The second bowed low before the mighty Shining One and offered what he bore.  “I have recovered it, as you commanded.”

    The mighty Captain took Seeker’s hand with a gentleness that belied his strength and set the King’s ring in his palm.  His gaze held Seeker’s, unyielding, unwavering.

    “Never forget,” he said.

    It was not a command, but rather truth—absolute, inescapable.

    Never forget.

    Seeker blinked—and the Shining Ones were gone.

    He stood alone, naked, clutching his clothes, the ring, and the Phial.  In the very place where he had forgotten.  

    He would never forget again.

    Seeker gazed into the still water, but the face staring back was a stranger’s.  His hair and beard were singed away.  His skin was raw and blistered.  He eased himself into the cool shallows, the water stinging as it rinsed the mire from his flesh.  Every part of him throbbed—save for the stripes across his back, where the whip had fallen like mercy.

    His clothes stank of clove—the ones Beautiful had sewn for him with her own hands.  He scrubbed them in the stream and wrung them out, but the scent clung stubbornly, as if it too refused to be forgiven.

    Would Beautiful forgive him?  Would she even look at him again?  The ring on his finger said the King had forgiven him—but the weight of it only deepened his shame.  He dared not expect mercy from her.

    When he reached the cottage, Beautiful stood outside, her face pale and streaked with tears.  She gasped when she saw him—then her expression hardened, fury flashing through the grief.  Without a word, she turned, stormed inside, and the door slammed behind her.

    “Beautiful, I…”  

    For an instant, Wonderful’s face appeared in the study window—then vanished.  He barely recognized her.  His little girl was gone.  She now looked at him with something colder than distance—disgust, perhaps.  Or was it hate?

    As Seeker neared the cottage, the door flew open.  Bright stepped out, staff in hand, his glare sharp enough to cut.

    Seeker halted mid-step.  “Bright, I—”

    “How dare you?”  Without warning, Bright’s staff cracked against Seeker’s forehead.  The blow sent him reeling—he hit the ground hard.  

    “Go!” Bright shouted.  “She doesn’t want you anymore.”  He turned and disappeared inside, the door closing with heavy finality.

***

    Beautiful looked up—and there he was.  Burned, scarred, pitiful.  For a heartbeat, concern broke through the anger.  Then the scent of clove reached her.  Her.  Damn him.  The moment shattered.  She turned and fled inside, stumbling up the stairs.

    She sat on their bed, head in her hands.  Her greatest fear had come true.  For days she had caught the faint scent of Charm—on his clothes, in the air when he passed.  And he’d been distant.  So distant.  She’d told herself it was nothing—that she was imagining it.  He wouldn’t do that.  Not to her.  But last night he hadn’t come home.  All night long.  And now she knew.  She just knew.

    She felt dizzy.  Her stomach twisted.  But worse than the sickness in her body was the ache in her chest.  How could he do this to her? Her own words came back to mock her.  Yes.  She can forgive.  There is always forgiveness.  She pressed her palms to her temples, shaking her head.  No.  She would never forgive him for this.  Never.

    She curled into a tight ball, sobbing, torn between rage and pity.  What had happened to him?  His burns—his face— She pressed her fists against her eyes.  She hated him.  She hated him.  But she couldn’t leave him like that.  And still, she couldn’t help him.  She wouldn’t.

    She forced herself upright, wiped her face, and went downstairs.  Without stopping, she slipped out the back door and into the guest house.  Comfort looked up as Beautiful entered.

    “Go to him,” Beautiful said, her voice clipped and cold.  “Take him food.  Balm for his burns.

    “Yes, Beautiful.”  For an instant, anger flared across Comfort’s face.  “She did this to him.”   Nothing more needed to be said.

    “Bring him to your room,” said Beautiful quietly.  “You’ll stay with me in the cottage.”

    Comfort nodded once.

***

    Seeker sat beside the stream, his pipe resting cold between his hands.  He didn’t bother to light it.  They hated him—and he couldn’t blame them.  He hated himself.  What now?  He tried to pray, but no words came.  When he lifted his eyes, he found Comfort standing there.

    She looked him over slowly, then shook her head.  “She screwed you over good, didn’t she?”

    He chuckled in spite of himself.  “Yeah, you could say that.”

    “She was young when she came to live with us—maybe eleven or twelve at most.  Strange child.  Used to eat dirt whenever she was upset.”

    “That explains a lot,” Seeker said.  “You wouldn’t believe.”

    Comfort gave a faint shrug.  “Mother never liked her much.  But Father always said we take care of family.”  Her mouth tightened.  “Only, she wasn’t really.”

    “How’s Beautiful?” Seeker asked, searching her face.

    “She’s taking it hard—of course she is.  She still cares, give her time.  She’ll come around.”  Comfort’s tone softened, then turned brisk again.  “Until then, you’ll stay in my room.”

    Seeker started to protest, but she cut him off with a raised hand.  “Oh, don’t give me that look.  I’ll be staying in the cottage.”

    When they reached the cottage, Merry burst through the back door and bounded toward them, tail wagging furiously.  The moment he saw Seeker, he let out a joyous bark and danced in circles.  Seeker knelt, running a hand through the dog’s fur.  Merry licked his fingers with such unrestrained delight that Seeker couldn’t help but smile.

    Comfort handed him a small earthen crock.  “Apply it twice a day,” she said.  Then she passed him a loaf of bread, still warm from the oven—Wonderful’s doing.  With a small curtsey, she turned and left without another word.

***

    A week passed.  Beautiful still avoided him, refusing to even look his way.  His burns had healed, and his beard was beginning to grow back, yet weakness lingered in his limbs, and the bruise on his forehead throbbed worse with each passing day.

    One morning, Comfort came running, worry written across her face.  “Come quickly,” she said, breathless.

    “What is it?” he asked, hurrying after her into the cottage—into their room.  Beautiful lay on the bed, pale and still.  Seeker knelt beside her and took her hand; it was cold, damp against his palm.  He pressed his fingers to her wrist.  The heartbeat was there—faint, faltering.

    A shaft of light slipped through the window, glinting off the diamonds in her ring.  She still wore it—the ring he’d given her.  His vision blurred.  Tears came in waves until none were left.  He bent over her, voice breaking.  “Oh, that my eyes were a fountain,” he whispered, “that I might weep day and night.”

    She thrashed and moaned, teeth grinding in agony.  Seeker cupped her cheek—she was ice-cold.  He bowed his head.  “Please,” he whispered to the King.

    He thought of how she had stood by him—his only friend, his companion through twenty long years—when all the world had turned away. And in that moment, he saw her as if for the first time:  not merely fair of face, but truly Beautiful—in heart, in spirit, in all she had endured for him.

    He wept bitterly.  “If only I had died in the Shadow of Death, rather than live to face this.”  Night and day, he stayed by her side—no food, no sleep—her hand clasped in one of his, the Phial gripped tight in the other.

    Seeker wept until the Phial brimmed over, its stopper loosing under the flood.  The tears spilled out and fell on Beautiful’s face.  Where they touched, color returned to her cheeks, and her eyes fluttered open—soft, warm, and gentle brown eyes.

    Then she smiled at him—the same smile that once lit up the world, the one he’d seen that very first day.  In that moment, the years, the sorrow, the distance between them—all of it—was gone.

***

    The years slipped by, and Seeker and Beautiful walked each day through the Valley—side by side, leaning on each other.  Time gentled their steps, but not their bond.  In her, Seeker found a strength deeper than anything he had ever known.

    Seeker spent long hours with Bright, talking softly about the creatures of the valley—how they lived, how they feared, and how they trusted.  Bright spoke with a quiet passion for their safety, and Seeker listened, moved by his son’s compassion.

    After many weeks, Wonderful began to speak to him again—hesitant at first, then with the warmth he remembered.  Yet Seeker’s heart ached, for something in her carefree spirit was gone, and he knew it would never return.

  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.”

    Seeker and Beautiful began preparing to leave at once.  When he asked about the house, she said, “Leave it.  I don’t want to spend one more minute than we must in this accursed town.”

    Between their savings, Seeker and Beautiful had enough to buy a donkey to carry their belongings, and provisions for their journey.

    Three large canvas bags.  One for Seeker’s books, another for their dishes and Beautiful’s keepsakes, and the last for Bright’s books and toys.

    “What’cha doing, Daddy?” Bright asked.

    “Me and Mama are packing, Bright.”

    “Why?”

    “We’re going to live somewhere else,” Seeker said, tussling Bright’s hair.

    “Where?” Bright’s eyes lit with excitement.

    “Well, Bright, first we have to climb a big mountain.  Then we’ll visit Palace Beautiful.”

    “Daddy, did you know… did you know that’s Mama’s other name?”

    Seeker laughed. “Of course I know, Bright.”

    “Does Mama really have a palace?”

    Beautiful walked into the room, “Nobody knows, Bright.”  Her eyes danced.

    “Will I have friends there?” Bright asked.

    “Lots and lots of them,” Seeker said.  “Are you going to miss your friends here?”

    Bright frowned and shook his head.  “People here are too mean.”

    “Enough questions now, Bright.  Go help your mama pack your toys, okay?”

    “Okay, Daddy!” 

***   

    It was still dark when Seeker loaded their burdens onto the donkey.  As the sun rose, he led it through the village streets, Beautiful following with Bright’s hand in hers.

    In the early morning light Delight took on a sinister new shape—Deceit.  Seven years he had toiled here and never made the connections.  This was where Adam-the-First had tried to enslave Faithful.  Seven years—wasted, he thought bitterly.

    “Seeker!”  The voice cut through the morning quiet as they started across the bridge spanning the ravine.  Jabal strode up to them.  He bowed low.  “Beautiful.”   Impeccably dressed, as always—no hint of sleep left in his face.

    “I didn’t believe the rumors, so I had to come myself.  Didn’t I just give you a promotion?  Name your price, Seeker—you’re like a son to me.”

    “There’s nothing can keep us here,” Beautiful said.

    “I see,” said Jabal. “Seeker?”

    “Yes, Jabal.  We’ve made up our minds.”

    Jabal nodded, then snapped his fingers.  A serving-man stepped from the shadows.  “Bring his payment.”

    The man slipped away toward Jabal’s office.

    “I told you in Delight—”

    “Deceit,” Beautiful corrected.

    “In Desire… um, Delight,” he continued, thrown off beat, “all are rewarded for their hard work.  I wish you’d come to me yesterday.”

    The man reappeared, a folio in one hand and a bag of coins heavy in the other.  

    “Twenty gold down on your house, purchased at one hundred twenty.  Current value—two hundred.  Twenty for my commission.  That leaves one hundred,” Jabal’s voice was businesslike.

    Beautiful’s eyes went wide.  He opened the folio, revealing a note:  Debt paid in full.  Claim to house relinquished.   “Sign here.”

    The serving-man handed him a pen and a bottle of ink.  Seeker dipped the nib and scrawled his name.  Then the man passed him the bag of gold.

    “I trust you don’t feel the need to count it?”  His voice was flat.

    Seeker hefted the bag’s weight.  “No, Jabal.  No need.”

    “Oh, and one other minor thing, remaining, in the terms of your service,” Jabal said.

    Seeker frowned.  Charm stepped from the shadows, her green eyes downcast, her movements quiet.

    “My daughters will travel with you.”

    Beautiful exploded.  “That… that…” She trembled with rage.  “That whore won’t be part of my life—or my son’s.”  She stepped in front of Bright, one hand thrust out in refusal.

    Charm stepped back.

    “Very well,” Jabal said.

    Comfort emerged, tears streaming down her face, and fell to her knees.  “Take me with you, Beautiful.”  Her eyes pleaded.  “Please?”

    Beautiful hesitated.  

    “She,” Comfort spat, “isn’t my sister.”

    “Comfort!” Charm exclaimed.  Jabal frowned and shifted his stance.

    “Haven’t I served you well all these years?  I’ve been faithful—I would never betray you.”  She shot Charm a look of disdain.

    “Very well,” Beautiful said.  She started to rub her belly, then quickly let her hand fall.  “I’m sure you’ll be a help—especially now.”

    “You are always welcome here in Delight,” Jabal said.  He smiled, but the warmth never reached his eyes.

–

    Seeker loaded the gold onto the donkey.  They set out without looking back.  Beautiful walked at Seeker’s side, Bright’s hand in hers, with Comfort trailing behind.

    The sun stood overhead when they reached the spring at the crossroads.  It lay at the base of the Hill of Difficulty.  Seeker unstrapped their burdens from the donkey and let it wander to graze before the climb ahead.

    Seeker hoped to reach the Arbor before sundown and rest there for the night.  With Beautiful and Bright’s pace, he wouldn’t attempt the summit.  Taking the paths around the mountain—through the Crags of Destruction or the Forest of Danger—was never an option.

    Beautiful spread a cloth and set out bread and cheese.  She dipped Seeker’s tin cup into the cool water of the bubbling spring and handed it to Bright.

    While they ate, four men emerged from the Crags of Destruction—rough-bearded, hard-eyed.  Seeker reached for his staff.

    The leader pointed at the donkey.  “Take it,” he barked.

    Seeker stepped in front of Beautiful and Bright.  One robber moved toward the donkey.  The others closed in on their belongings.  He swung hard.  His staff cracked against a man’s ribs, the sound of wood on bone ringing sharp.  A club struck him from behind.  He staggered.  The staff slipped from his hands as he fell.  A boot slammed into his side and drove the breath from his chest.

    Beautiful cried out, clutching Bright in her arms.  Comfort stepped between them and the men, wrapping her arms protectively around them both.

    “Looky what we have here,” one of the robbers called, holding up the bag of gold.  

    Another slit the canvas with his knife.  Seeker’s books spilled onto the ground.  “Books,” he scoffed.

    A third ripped open the other bags.  Their contents scattered across the dirt.  A plate clattered on the stones and cracked in two.

    Seeker pushed up on his elbow, rage burning through the ache.  He lunged again, but a blow sent him sprawling face-first in the dirt.

    Moments later they were gone—leading the donkey away with their gold and provisions.  Their footsteps faded, leaving only the bubbling of the spring and Bright’s frightened sobs.

    Beautiful rushed to Seeker’s side.  Shards of their dishes lay scattered on the ground.  One of Bright’s toys, a small wooden soldier, lay on its side with an arm broken.

    Seeker reached for his staff, chest heaving, eyes burning with fury.  “They’ll pay for this,” he growled.  He started toward Destruction, but Beautiful caught his hand and held him back.

    “Stop, Seeker,” she begged.  “It’s only things.  We can’t lose you too.”

    Seeker drew a long breath and let it out slowly.  His heart still raced.  He sank onto the grass, fighting to steady himself.  His breath came ragged and uneven.

    “Okay,” he whispered.

***

    Beautiful stitched together the torn canvas the robbers had left, fashioning a pack with straps for Seeker.  She quickly made two smaller bags for herself and Comfort.  Bright put on a brave face and insisted on carrying one too, though Seeker tucked only a few of his toys inside.

    Seeker carved a small sign:  Beware of robbers from Destruction.  He fixed it to a branch and drove it into the ground, laying their broken dishes at its base.

   Beautiful and Comfort helped him shoulder his great burden and slung their own bags across their backs.  Together, they began their ascent.

    Years at the tread-wheel had not prepared him for this.  Within a dozen steps his chest was burning.  His heart pounded, and he could not catch his breath.  The path was rocky.  Sharp stones pressing through his boots.  More than once he slipped on loose gravel, and at last he fell to his hands and knees and needed help to rise.

    The sun beat down on them, and sweat ran freely, soaking his clothes.  His mouth tasted of iron from a split lip in the fall.

    Up the path he heard Bright wailing, “I’m dying, I’m dying!”

   Beautiful, panting, snapped at him, “You’re not dying, Bright.  Just… breathing… hard.  Like Mama.”

    Beautiful turned to Seeker.  “Let’s…  take a break.”

    Seeker agreed, thankful though he hid it.  He leaned forward, easing the weight of his burden from his shoulder.  Beautiful and Bright sat on a rock, drinking from his canteen.  He didn’t dare sit.  If he did, he knew he’d never get back up.

    The irony wasn’t lost on him.  He had started his journey more than ten years before, and yet here he was—clothes worn thin and torn, a huge burden on his back.  Just like Christian at the start of his journey.  Only unlike Christian, he thought bitterly, he was climbing the Hill of Difficulty.

    Hours passed.  The sun slipped behind the peak, and a soothing breeze stirred the air.  Seeker paused, panting for breath.

   Beautiful sighed.  “We must be near the top.”

   Seeker gave a wry laugh.  “Not even halfway.  But the Arbor shouldn’t be far.  We’ll rest there tonight.”

    Bright sprawled in the middle of the path, eyes squeezed shut.

   “Get up, Bright,” Beautiful scolded.  “Don’t lie in the dirt like that.”

   He only moaned in reply.

    “Honey,” she said, “Put your burden down.  Rest a few minutes.”

    Seeker nodded and started to slip his arms from the straps—when a boulder thundered past.

    Seeker’s eyes darted upward.  Had it fallen from the outcropping ahead?  He scanned the rocks, tracing higher—then froze.  Too far.  Too large.  No ordinary man could stand at that distance.  A giant loomed, grotesque in form, clad only in a ragged loincloth, a boulder raised high above his head.

    Beautiful gasped and yanked Bright to his feet.

    The giant hurled the boulder.  It slammed into the path, missing Seeker by a breath, then careened down the slope.

    “Run!” he shouted.

    Beautiful froze, clutching Bright’s hand.  She spun toward the path behind them.

    “Up!  Up!”  Seeker gasped. 

    Bright burst forward, scrambling up the path, with Beautiful close behind.  Seeker’s chest heaved, vision blurring as he fought for breath—but he didn’t slow, driving himself after them.

    “The giant can’t see us here,” Beautiful gasped as they paused in the shadow of the overhang.

    From above came low, angry growls.

    Just ahead lay the Arbor, resting place for pilgrims.  Beautiful pointed, but Seeker shook his head—just as a boulder smashed into the Arbor.

    Comfort came running and stopped beside them, panting and trembling.  A rock crashed at her feet.

    Seeker dropped his burden and seized Bright’s shoulders.  “Run—and don’t stop.  Not until you reach the top.”  He motioned to Beautiful.  “Go!  I’m right behind you.  If I have to slow him down…”  He raised his staff.  “Don’t look back.”

    Beautiful shook her head.  “No!” she cried.

    Another rock slammed into the path.  They didn’t hesitate—they ran, scrambling up the steep incline.

    The path leveled as they neared the Arbor, but they didn’t slow.  Seeker’s vision flared red as pain exploded in his temple.  He sprawled forward, crashing into Beautiful and Bright knocking them tumbling to the ground with him.

   He curled on the ground, crying from the pain, unable to stand, unable even to sit up.    Beautiful and Bright sobbed beside him. 

   A voice boomed across the mountain.  “I am Wrath—bane of your father, and your father’s father.  You cannot defeat me, and you cannot hide.  Wherever you go, I will find you!”

    Silence.  The boulders ceased.  Seeker’s vision cleared.  Beautiful lay on the ground, clutching Bright in her arms, both of them shivering in terror.  Beside them rested the boulder that had struck him.

    They couldn’t stay here.  They couldn’t go back.  Their only hope lay ahead—at the summit, in the safety of Palace Beautiful.  

    He pushed himself to his feet and reached out—one hand for Beautiful, one for Bright—then touched her belly.

    “Is she… is she okay?” he asked.

    Beautiful nodded, tears streaking her cheeks.  She touched his forehead.  Pain shot through his skull, nearly doubling him over.

    “We can’t stay here,” he said.  “He’ll be back.”  He took their hands, and together they climbed upward—slow but steady.

    The ground shook.  Behind them, footsteps echoed—Giant Wrath.  Fear gripped him.  His staff—he’d left it where it fell at the Arbor.  They couldn’t go back now.

    Bright dropped to the ground.

   “Get up!” Seeker barked.  Bright refused.  Seeker scooped him into his arms, and together he and Beautiful ran as fast as they could.

    Then they saw it—a narrow cave mouth just off the path.  Seeker, Bright in his arms, dove inside with Beautiful and Comfort close behind—just as Giant Wrath loomed into view, a massive club sweeping through the air.

    Giant Wrath thrust his club into the cave, but the entrance was too narrow for him to follow.  They groped forward, stumbling through the dark.

   A faint glimmer shone ahead.  They could just make out a doorway—too clean, too well-formed to be natural.

    When they stepped through, they entered a chamber carved from limestone, narrow shafts in the ceiling letting in a soft, steady light.

    By the door stood a great round stone with handholds carved into it.  Seeker strained against it until it rolled into place, sealing the entrance. 

    Then they collapsed onto the floor, breathless with relief.

    The edges of the chamber dissolved into shadow in the fading light, leaving the space at once cavernous and secure.  One wall held a hollowed hearth, and a narrow flue carved upward like a chimney, the stone above streaked black with old smoke.  In a side alcove, branches lay stacked in neat order, cut and ready.  Seeker crossed two sticks, tucked kindling between, and struck steel to flint.  Sparks caught, and soon a flame licked upward.  Fire pushed back the darkness, casting the room in a shifting, golden glow.

    On the opposite wall, a thin thread of water trickled into a carved stone basin—broad and low, its rim worn smooth by years of use.

    Along the chamber’s edges, benches and low seats had been hewn from the rock itself, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of weary pilgrims leaning here.

    They sat in silence, watching until the fire sank low.  Then moonbeams spilled through the skylights, flooding the chamber with light almost as bright as day.

    Seeker set his hands to the stone, ready to roll it back.  Beautiful touched him lightly, her hand soft against his.  “Don’t,” she whispered.  “He might still be out there.”

    Seeker nodded and let his hand fall.  “All right.  Our things can wait until morning.”

    In the silver glow filtering through the shafts, he followed the narrow steps downward to a lower level, where smaller chambers had been cut into granite.  Each held a stone slab for a bed and an alcove stacked with folded woolen blankets.  Seeker, Beautiful, and Bright would share one room, and Comfort would take another.

***

    Morning seeped into the cave in muted light.  Seeker slipped outside to recover his burden and staff.    Beautiful brushed her lips against the dark bruise across his forehead and urged him to tread softly, to keep a watchful eye for Wrath.

    After he left, she began to explore.  The water in the basin shimmered cool and clear—pure enough to drink.

    Beside the hearth stood a wide-mouthed clay jar she hadn’t noticed before—worn and chipped, holding only a few handfuls of meal—and a small clay cruse with a narrow neck, filled with golden oil.  Just enough for several small loaves of bread.  The hearth itself was small and plain, yet large enough to bake them.  With their provisions stolen, this would sustain them only for a day, and they would need to continue on.

–

    Seeker staggered into the doorway, dropped his burden and staff onto the floor, and sank onto a stone seat, chest heaving, sweat streaming down his face.  Beautiful dipped his tin cup into the basin and handed it to him.

    He drank slowly.  “I thought he was gone… until I returned.  He was waiting for me.”  A long breath shuddered from him.

***

    From the chamber where they sat, a stairway climbed deeper into the mountain, ending at a locked door.  Seeker slipped his clasp-knife between the door and jamb and lifted the latch, just as he had done many times at the Interpreter’s tower.

    Inside lay a chamber of pure alabaster, its walls etched with stories of antiquity.  Sunlight poured through the skylights, setting the stone aglow.  Seeker paused before the first relief: two brothers, two altars—one piled with fruit of the field, the other with a lamb.

    “What’s that, Daddy?”  Bright asked, pressing close beside him, eyes fixed on the carving.

   “That’s Cain and Abel, Bright.”

   “Mama read me about them,” he said.  “I like the fruit better.”

    Seeker only nodded.

    Bright pointed at the next carving—the ark that Noah had built.  “He… he brought two of each animal.  One chimpanzee, and one bonobo.  The bonobo was the mama.”

    “Is that so?”  Seeker asked.

    Bright nodded, eyes shining with certainty.

    The walls showed Enoch, who walked with the King, and Abraham setting out with Sarah and Isaac.

    “Just like us, right?”  Bright said.

    And Jacob with his sons—the twelve brothers.  Joseph leading them into Egypt, and Moses bringing them out again.  All around the alabaster chamber more scenes unfolded.  Joshua and Rahab, Gideon, Barak, and Samson; Jephthah, David and Samuel.

    One by one they studied the carvings, Bright’s eyes shining, until they had seen them all.  Then Seeker took his hand and led him back down the stairs to Beautiful.

   “Mama, Mama!  Daddy read me a story.”

   Beautiful glanced at Seeker, puzzled.

   “No,” Seeker said.  “You read him the stories.  I only showed him the pictures.”

***

    Now I saw in my dream that Beautiful baked four loaves, and they ate and were satisfied.

    But when the morning came and Seeker went to the entrance, he saw that Giant Wrath had pitched a camp and kept watch, waiting for them to continue their journey.

    When Beautiful checked the clay jar, she found just enough flour for that day’s need.  The next morning Giant Wrath still waited.  Yet to her surprise, the jar held enough again.

    Days turned into months, yet the giant lingered at the cave’s mouth.  And still the flour never ran out, and the oil never ran dry.  So they remained in the Cave of Resolution until the time came for Beautiful to give birth to Wonderful.

   One spring morning Seeker woke to sunlight streaming into their chamber. Beautiful touched his shoulder and shook him gently. “It’s time,” she whispered.

    “I’ll go get Comfort,” he said, easing her onto the stone slab. Bright trailed him up the stairs to the main room.

    “Play with your toys. Are you excited to meet your new sister?”

    Bright blinked at him, puzzled.

    Just then Comfort entered, met Seeker’s eyes, and gave a quick nod. “Boil some water,” she said, already moving down the stairs.

    Within minutes Seeker had a fire roaring. He filled the kettle from the basin with his tin cup and set it in the hearth.

    When the kettle began to whistle, Seeker rested a hand on Bright’s shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

    Bright looked up from his book. “Okay, Daddy.”

    Seeker took up the kettle and hurried back down the stairs.

    “Push!” Comfort’s voice rang down the passage. Beautiful cried out in pain.

    Then came the sharp cry of a newborn. Seeker blinked. Already? He had braced himself for a long night of struggle.

    He stepped into the doorway, and Comfort lifted the child for him to see. His heart skipped a beat. Wonderful. She was so small, her head perfectly round, her skin flushed red as a beet. He had never seen a more beautiful sight in all his life.

    “Hello, Wonderful,” he whispered, eyes filling with tears. She reached out and wrapped her tiny hand around his finger, holding fast.

    Comfort laid Wonderful on a towel, poured water into a basin, and dipped a strip of linen to wash her gently.

    Seeker took Beautiful’s hand. Her skin glowed, her eyes soft. “How’s my Beautiful?” he asked.

    She smiled.

    Comfort wrapped Wonderful in a swaddling cloth and placed her in Seeker’s arms. She gave a small curtsey, then slipped quietly away.

    “Here’s our daughter, Wonderful,” he said, and gently laid her in Beautiful’s arms.

    Beautiful gazed down at her. At last, she whispered, “She looks just like you—only prettier.” She smiled, and the whole room seemed to brighten.

    Comfort reappeared, leading Bright by the hand.

    Bright stopped, stared, and pointed. “Ahahahaha—it’s a baby!” He paused, frowning. “Where did… she… come from?”

    Beautiful laughed. “She came from my belly. She’s your sister—Wonderful.”

    “From your belly?” Bright giggled. “Don’t be silly, Mama.”

    He crept closer, touched her with one tentative finger, then laughed again. Leaning over, he planted a quick kiss on her head.

    “You love your baby sister, don’t you?” Seeker asked.

   Bright nodded, then his face fell. Sadness crept in, and he lowered his head.

    Beautiful held Wonderful out. “Go to Daddy, Wonderful.” Then she drew Bright onto the bed. He snuggled against her, and she rocked him gently.

    “Don’t be sad, Bright,” she whispered. “You’re still my baby too. You’ll always be my baby.”

    Seeker cradled Wonderful against his chest and sang softly:

Wonderful—
Born in adversity,
Strong and true,
You shine like a priceless gem,
Bringing redemption with you

    The next morning, Beautiful doubled over suddenly, heaving. Seeker knelt beside her, one hand steadying her back, the other pressed gently against her belly.

    “Oh, Seeker,” she wept, her voice breaking. “My stomach hurts so much. How will I ever survive the next six months?”

–

    The months slipped by, her belly swelling as the days dragged. To Seeker, she never looked more endearing—adorably waddling through their little home, one hand pressed to the small of her back. But for Beautiful, the sickness never eased. Food turned her stomach, and nausea clung to her every hour. Comfort visited often with sweet citrus drinks that soothed for a little while, though never for long.

–

    Spring gave way to early summer. One night, as Seeker read by candlelight, a sharp gasp split the quiet.

    “Seeker!” Beautiful’s voice trembled.

    He rushed to the bedroom. She stood beside the bed, her bare feet in a spreading puddle of water.

    “Go get Comfort,” she whispered, breath uneven. “The baby’s coming tonight.”

    Seeker guided her onto the bed, pressed a quick kiss to her damp forehead, and whispered, “Hold on, Beautiful.  I’ll be right back.”

    He yanked on his boots and hurried through the sleeping village to Comfort’s door.  He pounded hard. “Comfort—Beautiful needs you.”

    After several tense minutes, Comfort stepped out with a small bag in hand.  Delight had no midwife, but she had delivered half the children born there.

    “Go back to Beautiful,” she said briskly.  “I’ll fetch my helper.”

    When Comfort arrived, she looked Beautiful over and told Seeker, “It’s not time yet.  Stay with her for now—until the pains grow strong and close.”

    Seeker knelt at her side; her hand clutched in his.  Hours crawled past.  Tears streamed down Beautiful’s face, but not once did she speak an unkind word.

    The first light of dawn seeped through the shutters when her labor truly began.  She muttered incoherently, then cried out in pain.  Comfort entered, firm but gentle.

    “Go wait outside, Seeker. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

    Seeker paced the floor, back and forth, back and forth.  The hours dragged, each one heavier than the last.  The sun sank, night fell, and still Beautiful labored behind the closed door.  Then came silence.  A terrible silence.  His chest clenched tight.  Had he lost them both?  He bit back tears and whispered a prayer: “Please keep my Beautiful safe.”

    Then—breaking the stillness—a cry.  Soft.  Steady.  A baby’s cry.

    The young helper appeared in the doorway.  “Your wife is fine,” she said quickly, before hurrying off for hot water and towels.

    At last, Comfort stepped into the doorway, a bundle of linen in her arms.  Seeker’s breath caught—the baby’s face was calm, one eye half-closed, and he was the very image of Beautiful.

    A flood of emotion surged through Seeker—stronger than anything he had ever known. Love. As strong as what he felt for Beautiful, yet different. Pure. Unconditional. Today was the best day of his life.

    Comfort laid the child gently in his arms. Seeker cradled him close, nestling his head in the crook of his elbow, then carried him into the bedroom.

    Beautiful lay pale and exhausted on the bed, eyes closed.  She didn’t stir.

    Seeker bent over his son and sang softly:

Bright—
A ray of sunlight in a wildwood chapel,
Fair as your mother,
Beloved of your father,
Let your light always shine—
Tender-hearted, pure

    His voice broke on the final word. He turned to Beautiful, the bundle warm in his arms.

    “Beautiful,” he whispered, “here’s our son. Bright.”

    “I don’t want him,” Beautiful murmured, her voice flat with weariness.

    Seeker didn’t argue.  He simply placed Bright in her arms.

    Her eyes fluttered open. “Bright,” she whispered, her gaze soft. She kissed his cheek. “Mama loves you, Bright.”  Then she drew him close, cradling him against her chest.

   Beautiful lay motionless in bed.  To Seeker, it was as if the life had drained out of her—her skin pale, the spark in her eyes gone.  

    When Bright cried at night, she tried to feed him, but he turned away.  So, Seeker pressed a little milk into a bowl and fed it to Bright with a tiny spoon.  By the time the child finished, and sleep finally tugged at him, Bright stirred again, hungry.  Seeker couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than an hour at once.

    Seeker’s mother came for a week, helping where she could, but soon had to return to the City of Destruction.  Not long after, Thoughtful stopped on his way to Vanity, pausing just long enough to meet his new nephew.

   “Beautiful, baby,” Seeker urged softly.  “Try to get up, walk a little—but slow.”  He bent over Bright, stroking his head, “Take care of Mama for me, little one.  I have to go back to work—for both of you.”

***

    Seeker yawned, rubbing his eyes as he crossed the bridge to the mill.  He’d never known exhaustion like this—two weeks without real sleep.  He dreaded what would be waiting for him, all the work that must have piled up.

    When he reached the mill, she was waiting at the door—a young woman he hadn’t seen before.  Sun-browned, raven hair falling in loose waves down her back.  A dress that hugged her waist, her shoulders bare.  The air around her held clove and orange, pomander-sweet.  Seeker blinked.  Her emerald eyes met his without a flicker.

    “Good morning, Seeker,” she said, voice soft as dawn.  “Come with me.”

    Seeker blinked.  She was already moving, hips swaying with an effortless grace.  “I’m Comfort’s sister,” she called back.  “Jabal would like to speak to you.”

    By the time they reached Jabal’s office, she didn’t bother to knock.  She pushed the door open and swept in, Seeker trailing her.  “Seeker’s here, like you asked, Dad.”  She curtsied low and smiled sweetly—but didn’t leave.  Instead, she glided to the couch, sat, hands folded neatly in her lap, and watched them with glittering eyes.

    “Ah, yes.  Seeker.”  His gaze weighed him.  He crossed the room, settled beside his daughter and gestured to the empty armchair.  “Sit.”

    “Cigar?” he said, flipping open a silver case.

    Seeker lifted a hand, “No, thank you.”

    Jabal snipped the cap with a little cutter, struck a match, toasted the end, took two small draws, and let a thin ribbon of smoke curl upward.

    “Tell me, Seeker—how many years have you served me?”  It wasn’t really a question.  “Comfort says you’re my best worker.  And what did I promise?  In Desire, those who work hard—”

    “Delight,” his daughter corrected, smooth as silk.

   “—are handsomely rewarded,” Jabal continued unfazed.

    “Yes,” said Seeker, “I have everything I’ve dreamed of.”

    “Your talents are wasted here.  You have initiative.  Drive.  I don’t need that on the tread-wheel.”

    Seeker only nodded, unsure what to say.

    “From this day, you’re foreman.  Charm will assist you.”

    Charm gave Seeker a gracious smile, “I’m here for you—for anything you need.”

    “Tomorrow, then,” Jabal said.

    Foreman?   No more tread-wheel?  Seeker straightened in his chair, then stood.  He could hardly believe it—he couldn’t wait to tell Beautiful.

    At the threshold, the fragrance of clove still hung in the air.

    Charm introduced Seeker to the new hands—men to load and unload the carts and work the tread-wheel.  He’d train them to plant and reap, and to cut wood in winter.  But his burden didn’t lighten.  If anything, it grew—longer hours keeping everything running smoothly, most nights he reached home long after sunset.

    Sometimes, once Bright was asleep, Beautiful wept—quietly so the baby wouldn’t hear.  Other nights she disappeared into her books—adventure and romance.  Seeker had his own—thick, serious ones—and he read late into the night until Beautiful padded out, bleary, to beg him to come to bed.  He’d nod… then keep reading.

    Bright was growing fast.  Already he could sit up and bat at the little toys they’d bought him.  Seeker’s heart ached to be gone so much—to miss it while it was happening.

    Charm came by once a week with his wages—same as Comfort had.  When Beautiful asked, “How much did they raise you?” he blinked.  He hadn’t even given that any consideration when talking with Jabal.  They had, indeed, increased, but they still never seemed to have anything left over.

    Now and then Charm came by with instructions from Jabal.  He was grateful it wasn’t often.  After she’d gone, a clove-orange trace hung in the air, and he’d catch himself thinking of her green eyes.  There was a spark about her—the very brightness he missed in Beautiful.  No.  He shut the thought down.  He had a wife.  A son.  He wouldn’t entertain it.

***

    Beautiful lay on the ugly couch watching Seeker play with Bright.  She was bored—and tired anyway.

    She watched Seeker sit on the floor with Bright.  He touched a fingertip to Bright’s lower lip.  “Stick out your tongue.”  Bright stuck his little tongue out.  “Eeeek!” Seeker squeaked, tapping it—and Bright burst into delighted giggles.

    She had the sweetest baby—he never cried without a reason.  She’d thought Bright would ease the loneliness, but somehow it only deepened.  The people here were cruel—not just to her, but to Bright as well.  She’d hitch him onto her hip and make the rounds of the village, and still there were no true friends for either of them.  At the Cottage, they would have cooed over him.  In Bright-Harbor, everyone smiled.

    She’d tried to bring it up, once or twice, but Seeker had no patience for her tears.  She’d married him because he understood her.  Now he just looked tired—and angry.

    Seeker took Bright’s foot.  “This little piggy…” He wiggled the big toe.  Bright went perfectly still, holding his breath.  At the last toe—“wee, wee, wee… all the way home”—he burst into laughter.

    But he was timid and sensitive like her and frightened easily.  When Seeker stretched and yawned, Bright’s lower lip trembled and he began to cry.

    Beautiful scooped Bright up, pressed him to her chest, and patted his back.  “There now, Bright,” she said.  “Don’t be afraid.  Daddy’s just yawning—like the bear in your book.”  Bright calmed the moment his ear found her heartbeat, his fist uncurling against her collarbone.

    Bright wiggled in Beautiful’s arms.  Seeker took him, kissed his head, then set him down.  “Daddy has to work now.  Play with Mama.  I’ll be back soon.”

    He kissed Beautiful’s forehead, shrugged into his coat, shouldered his axe—then looked back once, and smiled at the two of them.

    When the door shut, the little house felt suddenly too big.  The fire ticked, and the wind fussed at the shutters.

***

    “I’m home,” Seeker called, shouldering the door shut.  He set the axe by the jamb, kicked off his boots, picked his way through toys and books strewn across the floor, and sagged onto the couch, spent.

    Bright perched on Beautiful’s lap while she read aloud—“Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see?”  She really was a wonderful mother.  Some days it felt like she’d already read him a thousand books.

    As she turned the last page, Bright’s head dipped.  Seeker rose, picked him up, and carried him into the bedroom.  He laid him in the crib and nestled his small blue stuffed donkey under his arm.

    “Oh, Seeker,” Beautiful said as he stepped back into the room.  “This place is dreadful.”  A tear slipped down her cheek.

    He let out a long breath.  “What now, Beautiful?”

   She rolled her eyes, sing-songing, “We should bring the little ones together one afternoon.”

    “What happened?”

    “They’re just empty words.  I took Bright to Dedicated’s house today, and she said she was busy.”

    “Maybe she was?”

   “She stood in the doorway and left me on the step.  ‘Sorry, Beautiful, I’m busy today.’  I felt humiliated—her blocking the door, me outside.”

    Seeker took her hand.  “That’s terrible.”

    “That’s not even the worst part.”

    “Oh?”

    “She might as well have said, ‘I’m too busy for you.’”

    “Why’s that?”

    Beautiful sighed.  “Inconsiderate was there.  I could hear their babies playing together.  It’s just—me and Bright aren’t good enough.  

    He started to answer, but she went on.  “And she stood there pretending I couldn’t hear.  ‘I’m just too busy.’”

   He had no words.  He pulled her into his arms and let her cry.

    “It’ll get better, baby,” he said.  He wished he believed it.

  Now I saw in my dream that years passed.  Seeker took to the foreman’s post and excelled.  Beautiful found odd jobs about the village, yet her loneliness never lifted.  Bright learned to walk; his speech came slow—then all at once, shaping sentences far beyond his years.

    The little house soon felt cramped, so Seeker bought a plot above the ravine, and they raised a new cottage—one room set aside for Bright, and even a small study for himself.

***

    Seeker tapped his pipe against his boot and ash whisked off on the breeze.  He studied the sky—thin clouds coming in fast.  They’d have to chase the weather, but he figured they could finish by dusk.  Men drifted in by twos and threes—two sowing teams, one to harrow behind, and a knot of boys to refill seed bags and clap the crows from the furrows.  Whenever a hand was short, he stepped in—slung a seed bag, took a harrow line, set the pace.  Foreman or not, he worked shoulder to shoulder, and the men answered to that.

    When he looked up, Charm stood at the edge of a furrow—riding skirt hitched clear of the dirt, and an ivory linen blouse soft at the neck with a small keyhole tied by two ribbons and tucked into a narrow leather belt.  Her sleeves were rolled to her forearms.  A single braid lay over one shoulder.  A straw hat shaded her eyes, the ribbon knotted under her chin.

    “They say you work with your men,” she said.  “I came to see it—and to help.”  Her eyes held his.  On her tongue, work slid toward play.

    Seeker frowned.  “Charm, it’s hard work.”  He checked the sky.  “We have to move fast.”

    She smiled, unbothered.  “Try me.”

    One man didn’t show.  Seeker shouldered a seed bag and took the slot.  When a second never came, he glanced at Charm and exhaled.  “Alright.”  She met it with a quiet, satisfied smirk.

    The first team was already moving.  They’d take the next field.  Seeker slung a seed bag across his chest.  A boy trotted after with the spare sacks.  Leapfrog the fields—that was the plan.  Had been anyway.  But he doubted they’d keep up.

    He showed her the sweep.  She copied it and only shrugged.  He passed her the canvas seed bag, and she slung it crosswise as if it weighed nothing.

    She walked the furrow, seed bag tapping her hip.  Hand in, scatter.  The grain fanned clean and even, her arms falling into a steady rhythm.  When the wind shifted, she angled a step into it and kept the fan true—as if she’d done this all her life.

    Seeker followed with the ox, the brushwood harrow rasping the soil and folding it back over the seed.  Behind them the boy snapped his clappers, sharp cracks keeping the crows at bay.

    Row by row she went, pace steady.  He and the ox kept to her line.  When the seed bag ran light, the boy slipped her a fresh one and she never broke stride.  She was as good as any of his men—better, maybe.  No complaining about a chafing strap, no shifting to rest a sore foot, not even a pause to catch her breath.

    They finished the last furrow and walked back to the crew.  A light shower swept the fields, and the men grinned.  Charm stood poised among them—cheeks flushed, but not a bead of sweat—the clove still in the air despite a full day in the fields.

    “Great job, everyone,” Seeker said.  “Take tomorrow off.”

    The men tipped their hats, broke into cheers.  Charm met his eyes, gave a small, satisfied nod.

***

    “Daddy, do you know what, Daddy?” Bright blurted as Seeker stepped in.

   “What, Bright?”

    “Daddy, did you know that chimpanzees eat fruit?  Have you ever seen a chimpanzee?”

    From the other room, Beautiful called, “Boots outside!  Don’t drag mud through the house.”  She stepped into the doorway. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

    He stopped short, staring at her.  Her hair was cut—just to her shoulders.

    “You hate it.”  Her face fell.  

    Seeker sighed.  “I don’t hate it, Beautiful.”

    “Yeah, but you don’t like it, either.”

    “I like it.  I really do.”

    “You’re a horrible liar, Seeker,” she said with a pout.

    He shrugged.  “I can’t lie, Beautiful.  I miss your long curls.”

    Lightning flashed in her eyes.  “You have no idea how hard that was to manage.  Stop trying to control me.”

    He reached for her.  She scoffed, pulled away, and left the room.

***

    Harvest time came, and Seeker’s crew gathered—men testing scythe edges, women twisting straw into bands.

    Charm arrived again—cream shirt rolled to the elbows, earth-brown trousers, and a narrow belt with a knife at her hip.  The men stared and the women glared.

    When the dew lifted, the first mower laid a trial swath.  The line fell into rhythm—mowers swept the lanes, rakers pulled the stems into neat windrows, and binders followed tying the sheaves tight.

    Whetstones sang—tink, tink.  Charm clapped time for the mowers and whistled the binders on.  “Twelve to a chapel!”

    At midday they stopped to hammer the blades and whet them afresh.  They sat in the carts’ shade with bread and cheese and watered ale, and one of the men struck up a song.

    By midafternoon, chaff was everywhere, and the heat was heavy.  Charm sang out, “Straightest row wins an orange!  First to three chapels takes a ribbon!”

–

    Toward dusk, the final shock was set, and his crew shouldered their tools for home.  Seeker wandered to the top of the ravine stairs and drew his pipe from his satchel.

    He packed the bowl, struck flint, and drew.  Smoke drifted into the dusk.  Charm came and sat beside him without a word.  They let the quiet stretch while he smoked.  At last, she spoke.

    “What is it you want from life, Seeker?”

    He snorted.  “What kind of question is that?  Same as any man.  A family.  I have that.”

    She eyed him, amusement flickering.  “You’re not a very convincing liar, Seeker.”

    “And how would you know what I want?”

    “You want love.  And Beautiful doesn’t love you, Seeker.”

   Seeker’s jaw went slack.

   “Oh, Seeker,” she said.  “You poor blind fool.  Everyone sees it—except you.  It’s been five years.  And she’s never been happy.”

    He searched her eyes for mockery, any edge of contempt.  There was none—only a soft pity that made him ache.

    “But Bright…” he began.

    “Yes—Bright,” she said.  “Think of him.  Is it good for a gentle boy to watch his mother sad day after day?  He’s old enough to understand.”

    “I love her.”

    “I know you do—everyone does.  But think about Beautiful.  She’ll be happier in Bright-Harbor.”

    They sat a while.  He tapped out the ash and packed the bowl again.

    “This Saturday marks seven years you’ve served my father.”

    He gave a small nod.

    “He’s throwing a celebration—for you.”  Then softer.  “For us.”

    The words landed heavy.  Seeker couldn’t breathe.

     “Let her go, Seeker.”

    “I can’t.”

    “I know.” Her voice stayed soft.  “It’ll be hard.  She’ll cry.  But she’ll be happier.”

    Seeker stared past the sky—at nothing. 

   “And we will be too,” she murmured.  “You belong here.  With me.”

   Beautiful paced the length of the living room, arms wrapped tight around herself.  Bright was asleep.  Seeker was still at the party.  It was late.  Later than it should have gone.   She should have gone with him.  He’d asked—begged almost.  But the thought of seeing him with her had made her stomach twist.  She couldn’t bear it.  She had practically placed him in her arms herself.

    Her heart leapt at every sound in the street, each one a hope that faded as quickly as it rose.  The hours dragged on, and her heart sank lower with every passing moment.  At last—a soft knock on the door.

    Comfort stood on the doorstep, one arm braced around Seeker.  He stumbled inside and collapsed onto the couch, boots and all.

    “Sorry for bringing him home like this, Beautiful,” Comfort said, her eyes full of pain.  “I didn’t know what else to do.  I didn’t want you to worry.”

   Beautiful nodded. “Thank you.”

    “I thought about taking him to my room—before she took him to hers,” Comfort said softly.  “But I didn’t want you to misunderstand.”

    “You did the right thing, Comfort,” Beautiful said gently.  No one needed her to name who she was.

    After closing the door, Beautiful tugged Seeker’s boots off and dragged him to bed.  The scent of clove and orange clung to him, sharp and unmistakable.  A storm raged in her chest.  She’d let him sleep it off—for now.  Tomorrow, he’d hear what she had to say.  But tonight, she knew, there would be no rest for her.

***

    Seeker woke in his own bed.  Alone.  No Beautiful beside him.  He had no memory of getting home.  Flashes from the celebration flickered through his mind:  Jabal’s toast.  Charm’s green eyes.  Leaving with her.  Shouts between sisters in the street.  Then—blackness.

    Beautiful sat rigid on the couch, thumbing through his Book.  “Where were you last night?”  Her voice was sharp, cutting through the haze in his head.

    “At the party,” he muttered.

    “And?”

    “And nothing.” His voice was flat, defensive.

    She shot to her feet, trembling in rage, and crossed the floor in quick strides.  “You’ve gotten good at lying, Seeker,” she said.

   “Lying?” He snorted.  “I was at the party.  You knew that.”

    “I smell her all over you.  You think I’m stupid?”

    Seeker went still.

    She slammed the Book against his chest and let it drop to the floor.  Her voice turned sharp, mocking.  “Read your damn Book again.  We’re living in Deceit—you should have known that.  Oh, you read and read.  Important books, not like my adventures.  And your books have twisted you.  How to work harder.  To be stoic.  Hide your feelings.”

    Tears streamed down her face.  “I wish I could bite my tongue for ever calling you a baby for crying.   This… man you’ve become is not the one I married.”

    Seeker’s temper flared.  His fist clenched.  She stepped back.  “You’re not the girl I married either.”

    He stepped closer.  “Yawning at our wedding.”

    She stepped back.  He closed the gap.  “Crying when I brought you home.”

    She began to shiver.  He kept coming.  “Cutting your hair.”

    She edged back until her shoulders touched the wall.  “It’s never enough,” he said. “I work, and I work, and all you ever do is cry and complain.”

    Lightning flashed in her eyes.  She clenched her fists at her sides.

    “Go back to Bright-Harbor!” he shouted.  “You don’t love me.  I don’t think you ever did.”  He drove his fist into the wall beside her head.  The crack rang through the room.

    They stood frozen.  She broke into sobs, her body shaking in ragged, shaking motions.

    “Just go,” he said, his voice flat and empty.  “Be happy.”

    “No,” she said.  “I won’t leave you.” She stared at him, despair clouding her eyes.  “I’m pregnant again.”

    Seeker doubled over as if punched in the gut.  He sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

    She kept shaking, tears streaming down her face.  “This time I’m going to give you the daughter you want so much.”  Her voice wavered, breaking to a whisper.  “I thought… if I give him a daughter, he’ll love me again.”  She sank to her knees beside him.  “Maybe?” she pleaded.

    A single tear slid down his cheek.  “Forgive me, Beautiful,” he whispered.

    She gathered his hand in hers.  “I do, Seeker.  I forgive you.”

    She pulled him into her arms and held him tight, her body trembling.  “Let’s leave this dreadful place,” she whispered.  “It was always wrong.  I felt it from the beginning.  Let’s go back to the Narrow Way.”

    “Okay,” he said softly.  “I’ll pack.  We’ll leave right away.  Just you, me, and Bright.”

    She guided his hand to her belly.  “… and Wonderful,” she added.

    “And Wonderful,” he echoed, a smile breaking across his face.

  Two and a half years—they’d done it.  But Beautiful knew there was still so much left.  Running away together might be good enough for Seeker.  But marriage involved more than just a man and a woman.

    Seeker was busy with the house.  Her dad spent nights on the water, her mom in the fields and marketplace.  That left Beautiful to manage the wedding preparations alone.  All of Bright-Harbor was coming—those who could walk would walk, and the rest would ride in carts.  She had gone into the city to arrange it all.  The drivers promised an early start at daybreak and arrival before noon, in time for the vows.  Afterward there would be food, and the carts would carry everyone home.

    She walked to the Cottage alone—Seeker had offered to come for her, to walk back together, but she refused.  Still, the thought of sleeping on the road by herself quickened her steps.  Her legs ached, yet she pressed on.  Not when her Deliverer was far away in Delight, unable to come if she cried out.

   “I’ll make sure no one goes hungry, Beautiful,” said Miss Cheerful, handing her a list.  “Here’s what I’ll need.”

    Kind and his family had returned to the Delectable Mountains, and Stern had come back.  He gladly agreed to perform the ceremony.  “I’ll even prepare a special sermon just for the two of you.”

    She slept in her old bed in the Cottage and set out at dawn.  She pushed straight through to Bright-Harbor without stopping to eat.  Whenever her legs threatened to give out, she paused for a moment.  She was dizzy by the time she reached home.

    The next morning, she ached all over, but there was still so much to do.  On the outskirts of Vain-Delights she found a small shop that handled weddings.  They would arrive a day early to set up the benches in the pasture.  There would be an arch woven with flowers, more bouquets set around, and candles.  They even had an artist who would paint the ceremony.  She handed over Miss Cheerful’s list, and they promised to bring those as well.

   Altogether—the carts, the food, the decorations—it cost just over two gold.  She’d still have enough left for furniture in their new home.

    Next came Seeker’s parents.  They would travel with her the day before and stay at the Cottage.  “You two shouldn’t let anyone know you’re…” her voice trailed off.  One room for the both of them.  Seeker’s dad didn’t seem to mind, but his mom flatly refused.  Why was she so stubborn?  But Beautiful wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

***

    Seeker stopped short when he reached the pasture.  Men hurried past with benches, setting them in neat rows.  In the middle of it all stood Beautiful, pointing, directing.  “Those flowers go over there.”

    She kissed him lightly on the cheek, then hurried on without stopping.  “Yes, that table—right there, in the front.  And the candles go on it.”  She strode over and shifted them herself.  The big one in the center, tall ones on either side.

    Seeker’s parents waited by the flowered arch behind the row of benches.  He went to them—shaking his dad’s hand, then pulling his mom into a hug.

    “You wouldn’t believe—” His mom broke off as Beautiful walked up.

    Beautiful’s eyes looked tired, though she tried to cover it with a smile.  “Seeker, honey,” she said sweetly, but the strain edged her voice.  “Once everything’s set up, let’s have supper with your mom and dad, then take them to the waterfalls.”

    “Beautiful,” he said, “Relax.  You’re doing too much.”

    “No.  Great-Saint said we have to show them around.”

   “I don’t care what Great-Saint said,” Seeker snapped.  “This is your day.  Our day.”

    Beautiful’s face took on that stubborn look he knew so well.  He knew he wouldn’t win this argument.

    “We could just go back to our room,” his dad said, the words a little too eager.

    Seeker’s mom glowered—first at his dad, then at Beautiful.  Something sharp and unspoken passed between the two women.

    The sun was down, the sky already dark by the time they returned.  It was late—very late—but Miss Cheerful had left a candle burning for them.  Seeker and Beautiful bade his parents goodnight, then slipped away together to her room.

    “I’m hungry,” she murmured. 

    A gentle knock came at the door.  As if she’d known, Miss Cheerful entered with a bowl of soup and two spoons.

    Seeker and Beautiful sat cross-legged on the bed, eating in silence.  Then they curled into each other’s arms and drifted into dreamless sleep.

***

    After breakfast, Beautiful laid out Seeker’s clothes on the bed.  She gave him a look.  “You didn’t think you were going to wear the same clothes you’ve been milling in, did you?”

    Miss Cheerful bustled in.  “Shoo, shoo!  Off to the pasture with you.  Bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”  She started to say “Fill some water—” but stopped short, giving his clothes an approving nod.  “Never mind.  Just bring your parents along.”

    Beautiful lifted the brass mirror from the side table.  Her face was puffy, with dark circles beneath her eyes.  Every part of her ached.  All she wanted was to crawl back into bed and sleep.

    Miss Cheerful took her hand and led her to the washroom.  She filled the tub herself, drawing water from the barrels and kettle, then spooned in some of the rosemary-scented mixture from a crock.  When Beautiful eased into the warmth, Miss Cheerful dipped a linen cloth into the suds and rubbed her back.  “Now, now,” she murmured, “you’ll be the most beautiful bride ever, Beautiful.”

    After Beautiful dried herself, Miss Cheerful brushed out her hair, the strokes slow and steady, then gathered it up and pinned the veil in place.  She helped button the back of the dress, fingers quick and sure.  “Now rest, dear,” she said gently.  “Don’t wear yourself out.”

    When the carts arrived just before noon, the villagers poured into the Cottage.  They went straight for the food Miss Cheerful had prepared.

    “That’s for after the wedding!” she cried, but no one listened.  “At least save some for the bride and groom,” she pleaded.

    When the food was gone, the villagers clambered back into the carts bound for the pasture.  Beautiful set out on foot, walking beside her mom and dad.

***

    The sun shone warm, and clouds drifted slow, casting soft shadows across the pasture.  A lamb bleated, and a sparrow’s song seemed to say, The winter is past, and spring has come.  The lilies by the table filled the air with fragrance.

    Stern stood at the front with his Book in his hand.  Steadfast and Gracious had come, their children gathered close.  Great-Saint was there with his wife, and Beautiful’s other brother, Practical, with his.  Beautiful’s sisters—Considerate, Lively, and Tender-Hearted—stood with their husbands, filling the rows with familiar faces.

    Seeker wished Kind and Liora could be there—and Thoughtful, too.  His mom and dad sat in the front row on one side.  Across the aisle, a shepherd escorted Beautiful’s mom to her seat in the other.

    A hush fell over the crowd as Beautiful stepped through the arch on her father’s arm.  Sunlight caught the white of her dress, tracing the lace, her shoulders, the line of her neck.  The world spun, and time slowed as she came toward him.  Her father met Seeker’s eyes, gave a single nod, and set her hand in his—then went to sit beside her mom.

    Beautiful smiled at him, but her eyes were dull.  She lifted a hand to her mouth, stifling a yawn.  They stood before Stern as he spoke, but Seeker didn’t hear a word—his thoughts were only on her.  As Stern spoke at length, the people shifted on the benches, a low rustle of whispers rising.

    When Stern finally finished, they turned to each other, hands joined.  Seeker trembled as he spoke, but Beautiful’s vows came steady and sure.

    Seeker and Beautiful each took a tall candle from the table.  Together they lit the larger one in the center—then with a single breath, blew out their own.

    “Now,” Stern declared with a smile, “you may kiss the bride.”

    Seeker lifted her chin and kissed her lips gently.  The crowd cheered, and together they walked down the aisle, hand-in-hand.

***

    At last, the crowd was gone, and together they made their way back to the Cottage.  They’d shaken hands and smiled until every cart rolled away with the villagers bound for Bright-Harbor.  Beautiful clung to his hand as they walked, but she said little.

    Miss Cheerful offered to prepare them a meal, but Beautiful only shook her head and declined softly.

    They went up to her room—their room—and closed the door behind them.  “Seeker, can you undo the buttons for me?” she asked, turning her back to him.  His fingers fumbled at the fabric, hands trembling.  The dress slipped onto the floor, and she drew her night-rail over her undergarments.

    She turned to face him, a single tear slipping down her cheek.  “I’m sorry, Seeker,” she whispered, then collapsed onto the bed.  He pressed his hand to her forehead—she was burning with fever.

    Seeker knelt at Beautiful’s bedside, pressing a damp cloth to her brow.  For three days she had lain there, groaning, trembling.  Without a doubt—she’d driven herself past the limit with all the wedding preparations.  When her eyes fluttered open, she gave him the faintest smile.

   “My Odysseus,” she whispered, trying to push herself upright.

    Seeker set a hand gently on her shoulder.  “Take it easy, Beautiful.”

    “I need to…” she whispered, but the words trailed off.

    “You don’t ‘need to’ anything, Beautiful,” he said.  “You’ve already done it all—and made yourself sick.”

    “I did what had to be done,” she said firmly, “Who else was going to do it?”

    “That’s not true, Beautiful.  You took on too much.  I warned you—but you wouldn’t listen.”

    “Warned me?  About what, Seeker?” she shot back.

   “My parents.  We didn’t need to drag them to the waterfalls.  It ruined everything.”

   Her face fell.  “You hated our wedding.”

   “No, Beautiful, I didn’t hate it.  It was the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever seen.”

    “But…” she began, her eyes searching his.

    “But you yawned.”  The image still burned in his mind.

    “I was so tired, Seeker,” she whispered, “That doesn’t mean…”

    “It means you should’ve listened.”

    “I’m hungry,” she said quietly.

    “There’s fish stew waiting for you,” Seeker said, “Though, for the life of me, I have no idea where Miss Cheerful found fish around her.”

    Her eyes lit up, bright enough to make the whole room feel lighter.

    “Are you ready to go home—our home?”

    She didn’t answer.  She only drew him close, kissed him deeply, then pulled him onto the bed.

***

    They stepped onto the Narrow Way together.  Beautiful clung to his arm, leaning on him for strength, while he carried everything she owned in the world in the bag slung across his shoulder.

    They walked slowly—no rush, no hurry.  Time belonged to them now.  At a narrow stream, Seeker knelt, filled his canteen, and passed it to her.  She drank deeply before handing it back.  Then she slipped off her boots and stepped into the water, wading across.

    “The bridge, baby!” he exclaimed, pointing ahead.  She only giggled.

    “It’s not deep, honey,” she called back, splashing onto the far bank. 

    He shrugged, tugged off his boots, and rolled up his pants.  “Don’t blame me if I drop your things in the water.”  A quick grin.  “Accidentally of course.”

    His footsteps splashed through the stream, steady beneath her.  She didn’t glance back.  He wouldn’t drop her bag.  Ahead, a gentle hill rose, scattered with lilies.  At the crest she sank into the grass, folding her legs beneath her.  He set the bag down and eased himself beside her.

    A perplexed look flickered across his face.  Something about this place unsettled him—she was sure of it.  He always carried such high expectations, and the disappointments when life fell short.  Did he feel that way about her too?

    She dug into her bag and brought out a wooden bowl with a spoon tucked inside.  Popping off the tight lid, she scooped up a hearty chunk of fish.

   “Hungry again already, Beautiful?” he teased, a smile tugging at his mouth.

    Silly man.  You didn’t have to be hungry for fish stew.  She turned her head with a soft giggle.  “Want some?”

   He wrinkled his nose.  “I wouldn’t dare take away any of your… delicious stew.”

   She took a few bites, then secured the lid tight.  Plucking a lily, she tucked it behind his ear.  If he wouldn’t eat the stew, he’d taste it another way.  She leaned in and kissed him.

    He pointed toward a village tucked into the mountains across the ravine.  A shadow crept over her heart.  It felt—lonely.  No other word fit.  Lovely, yes… but still lonely. 

    They set off again down the path, and Beautiful laughed softly—Seeker walked on completely unaware of the lily still tucked in his hair.  But her smile faded when they reached the bottom of the hill where a stone monument stood, weathered and solemn, with bones fastened to it.  She slowed, reading the inscription.

    “Gruesome,” she muttered.  She knew the story of Simple, Sloth, and Presumption, but this felt like too much.  She glanced at Seeker—he almost looked comforted.  Strange.  Bothered by lilies, yet soothed by bones?

    Ahead, the Hill of Difficulty loomed, steep and bare, its rocky path vanishing into the clouds.  Fear clutched at her chest.  Yet at the same time, something within her tugged—this was the way forward.  Seeker stood waiting at the crossroads.  When she turned back toward him, it felt as if something tore inside her, a part of her refusing to follow, left behind at the foot of the hill.

    As they passed the granaries and carts, her heart grew heavy.  On one side of the path to Delight stood an ancient building, its timbers darkened with age and its copper roof gone dull.  A low hum filled the air, broken by the groaning and creaking of old wood.

    “It feels haunted,” she whispered. 

   “I work there,” said Seeker flatly.

    Her heart ached for him—the days, the years he had worked there for her.  And the days, the years still ahead.  The thought was unbearable.

***

    Seeker felt irritation rising inside him.  Beautiful had gone quiet, and he knew her well enough to recognize it wasn’t good.  Her face had fallen when he’d pointed out Delight, and since then her mood had only sunk lower with each step.

    She’d lingered on the bridge, staring wistfully at the waterfalls in the ravine.  Seeker muttered under his breath as they passed the land that should have been his.  The house perched above the ravine was finer than anything he could have afforded.  She must be disappointed in him.  What else could it be?

    They wound through the streets until they came to their home.  Seeker’s chest swelled with pride.  No, it wasn’t by the ravine—but he’d built it right beside Diligent and his wife, Dedicated.  Maybe Dedicated would be a friend for Beautiful.

    He bent to scoop her up and carry her over the threshold, but she only scoffed, pushed the door open herself, and stepped inside.

    The ceiling was low and timbered.  Their steps echoed across wide planks, still raw with the scent of sawdust and resin.  A rough-hewn stone fireplace jutted from one wall, an iron hook waiting for the kettle.

    He led her into the kitchen.  The smell of new plaster and lime was still faint in the air.  The counters were of bare wood, and there was a deep clay basin for washing.

    The bedroom was a narrow room with a single small window, its shutters creaking faintly in the breeze.  The walls were bare and whitewashed, with only a lone wooden peg for hanging clothes.

    Seeker’s books were piled against one wall of the main room in uneven stacks.  Across from them sat the only piece of furniture in the house—a settee.  A long wooden bench with padded cushions, tan with lines of red and purple dots running across them.  Grinning, Seeker pulled it forward to show how it folded out into a bed frame.

    “What do you think, Beautiful?” he asked, watching her face with eager anticipation.

    She didn’t answer.  She just dropped to her knees and began to cry.

   Seeker dressed quietly in the early morning, careful not to wake Beautiful.  She’d spread a blanket on the bedroom floor, flatly refusing the couch he had bought.  This was where they would sleep now.

    “We’ll be buying all the furniture together from now on,” she said firmly.  Of course—that had been the plan all along.  He just needed somewhere to sleep.  Anywhere but the floor.

    He knelt and kissed her forehead softly, then slipped out without a word.  At lunch, he’d come back to see her before returning to the mill.

    He groaned when he reached the mill—carts loaded with rye, barley, and wheat had piled up while he was gone.  He hoisted a sack onto his shoulder and trudged up the stairs to the grain room, setting it down with a thud before heading back out to the carts.

    He scanned the carts—at least dozens of trips.  Leaving the sacks out wasn’t an option; the summer heat would spoil the grain.  If he pushed hard, he might be done by noon.  But there’d be no lunch break waiting—just as many sacks of flour to haul back out of storage.

    By early afternoon the drivers would be back with their oxen, and the flour had to be ready.  Seeker heaved another sack onto his shoulder with a grunt and started the climb again.

    Beautiful.  His heart sank.  What would he do with her?  She had to be disappointed in him—why else would she have cried?

    He set the second sack down beside the first and went back for another.  Disappointment gnawed at him.  He’d wanted that lot above the ravine so badly.  If only he’d worked harder.  And still—it stung.  He’d imagined her throwing her arms around him, telling him how much she loved their new home.

    One by one, he stacked the sacks into a neat pile.  With each trip, words formed in his mind—he’d say this… no, better to say that.  Back and forth, over and over.  At last, he dropped the final sack in place, sank to the floor, and took a long drink from his canteen.

    All that remained was the flour.  Then he could go home—to Beautiful.

***

    Beautiful stretched and yawned, reaching across the blanket.  Seeker was already gone.  A small ache tugged at her chest.  His face from last night rose in her memory—disappointment, plain as daylight.  Was he already tired of her?  He could have at least nudged her before leaving.

    She straightened the blanket they’d slept on.  First priority: a bed.  The floor didn’t bother her, but Seeker had protested—that was what the couch was for.  She still couldn’t believe his taste.  It might have been the ugliest thing she’d ever seen.  And uncomfortable besides.

    In the main room, Seeker’s books lay piled against one wall.  He needed a bookcase.  But first—a table, so they could eat together.

    Seeker had promised to come home for lunch.  That was still hours away.  She might as well explore the village—maybe even bring back something delicious for him.

–

    Beautiful wandered the village streets.  It wasn’t the neat houses, or the tidy flower gardens that caught her eye—it was the silence.  No laughter.  No voices.  Not even the stray cats that roamed Bright-Harbor’s alleys.  Just stillness.  Empty, aching, lonely silence.

    Near the center of the village, Beautiful finally spotted life—two young women about her age.  The first moved like a fox, sly and too sure of herself.  Not in a way Beautiful liked.  She swayed as she came closer, tossing her long, wavy black hair with practiced ease.

    “You must be the Beautiful we’ve heard so much about.”  Those green eyes swept her from head to toe.  “You’re not what I was expecting.”  A flush crept into Beautiful’s cheeks.

    The second woman hurried up.  “Charm!  Shame on you.”  Her face was soft, her blue eyes gentle.  She turned to Beautiful.  “Please forgive my cousin.  Welcome to Delight.  I’m Comfort.”

    “Sister,” Charm cut in, her voice smooth but sharp at the edges.

    “Distant cousin,” Comfort shot back, her tone tightening.

    “Sister,” Charm pressed, then added in a low voice, almost sweet, “Adopted.”

    Comfort shot Charm a glare, then slipped her hand into Beautiful’s.  

    “Come,” she said warmly.  “Let me show you around.”

–

    Beautiful spread out her linen cloth across the ugly couch and set out a loaf of bread, some olives, cheese, and a single tomato.  They really did need a table.  Comfort had already told her where to find one.

    She waited.  Noon came.  Still no Seeker.  She paced the room, back and forth, the bread and cheese untouched.  When the door stayed shut, tears stung her eyes.  How dare he?  He’d promised.

    She sat on the floor, leaning against the ugly couch.  Seeker’s satchel lay by the pile of books, drawing her eye.  She tore off a piece of bread, chewed slowly, and let her gaze drift back to the satchel.

***

    Seeker exhaled a long breath as he stepped out of the mill.  The day had dragged, heavy and endless, leaving him sore and spent—but he was going home to Beautiful.  That was all that mattered.

    He thought about stopping to pick up something delicious for Beautiful but brushed the idea aside.  He couldn’t bear to waste even a minute—he just wanted to get home to her.

    “Beautiful,” he called as he pushed the door open.  Then he froze.  She stood in the middle of the room, fists on her hips, lightning flashing in her eyes.  His satchel lay spilled across the floor at her feet.

    “What is this?” she demanded, brandishing his pipe in her fist.

    Heat rushed to Seeker’s face.  He opened his mouth, but no words came.

    “When were you going to tell me?” she demanded, fury burning in her voice.  “Or were you even going to tell me at all?”

    “It just helped pass the time, Beautiful.  Three years is a long time.”

    Beautiful’s face went pale.  Her voice dropped, trembling.  “Did she help you pass the time, Seeker?”

   She?  What was Beautiful talking about?  Jealous of—Comfort?

    “It’s not like that, Beautiful.  Comfort… she’s like a little sister.”

    “Comfort?”  Beautiful scoffed.  “Comfort?  You think I’m stupid?  Stop lying to me.”  Her voice curled into a mocking sing-song.  “Oh, Beautiful, I’ve heard so much about you.”  She let out another bitter scoff, eyes blazing.  “Are you the stupid one, or do you think I am?”

      “I wish I never left Bright-Harbor.”  She spun on her heel, stomped into the bedroom, and collapsed into sobs.

    Seeker sank onto the ugly couch and buried his face in his hands.  What had just happened?

   Seeker dressed quickly, not even trying to keep quiet.  From the other room, Beautiful’s steady breaths told him she was feigning sleep—but he knew she was awake.  He left without a word, pulling the door shut behind him.

    Another long day at the mill waited for him.  He grunted, shoving the handle forward.  A faint orange stain showed on the wall—barely visible.  The urge to smash his fist into it rose hard, but he forced it down.  He kept pushing, heat simmering inside.  Damn her.  Why did she have to make everything so complicated?

    She?  What was Beautiful talking about?   The stain surfaced again, mocking him from the stone wall.  He curled his fist, but what good would it do?  One swing and he’d only split his knuckles.  And truth be told, he no longer cared what Beautiful would think.

    Sweat streamed down his face, soaking his shirt.  The labor brought no relief to the gnawing ache in his chest.  Around and around—every bit of it was for her.  Didn’t she see that?

    Hours dragged by, his anger dulling to a heavy ache.  Maybe he should go home at lunch, try to talk with her.  No—he knew better.  It would only make things worse.

    “Seeker?” Beautiful’s voice floated from the doorway.  “Are you in here?”

    He stopped, let go of the handle, and turned toward her.  “What do you need, Beautiful?”

    “Oh, dreadful,” she whispered, tracing the handle with her finger.  Then she turned, fixing her eyes on him.  “I brought you lunch.”

    “Fine,” he said flatly.  “Leave it on the bench outside.”

    She rose on her toes and brushed his lips with hers.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  I’m eating with you.  And we’re talking.”

    She took his hand and pulled him to the bench outside.  They sat, and she spread a handkerchief between them, setting out the food—a loaf of bread, a piece already torn away, a wedge of cheese, a few olives, and a single tomato.

    She drew his clasp-knife from her bag and set to slicing the tomato.

    “That’s mine,” he protested.

   “Mine now,” she said.

    When they’d finished eating, she reached into her handbag and pulled out his pipe, the pouch of tobacco, and the flint.

    “Beautiful,” he growled, low in his throat.

    “If you’re going to smoke, do it with me,” she said flatly.  “No secrets.  That’s all I care about, Seeker.”

    He scoffed and snatched the pipe from her hand.  Pinch by pinch, he packed the bowl, tamping it firm with his thumb.  Clenching the stem between his teeth, he struck flint to steel until the tobacco caught.  He drew smoke into his mouth, held it for a moment, then turned and blew it out, away from her.

    If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought she was fascinated.  At last, she said, “Let me try.”

   He shrugged with a quick grin and passed it to her.  “Don’t grab the bowl, Beautiful.  You want to burn your fingers?”

    She held it gingerly, drew the tiniest puff—and instantly burst into coughing, choking, gagging.  “Nasty,” she sputtered, shoving it back at him, “You really should quit.”

    He took it back, drew a slow, deliberate puff, then exhaled—this time right between them, not bothering to turn aside.

   She waved the smoke away with a flick of her hand.  “We need to talk.”

    “About what?”

   “Your books need a case.”

   “Yeah.”

   “And we need a proper bed.  And a table.”

   “I know, Beautiful.”

   “We’re getting them today.  As soon as you finish work.  Comfort showed me a shop yesterday.”

    Seeker sat there puffing on his pipe, watching her.  “If I had the money, Beautiful, I’d have bought it all already.  You know that.”

   She wrinkled her nose.  “And I’m glad you didn’t.”   The words ugly couch hovered unsaid between them.

    “We’ll just have to wait.  I don’t have the money, Beautiful.”

    “Now listen, Seeker,” she said firmly, “I know you work hard.  But I worked too.”

    “But, Beautiful…” He hesitated, “That’s your money.”

    “Yes, Seeker,” she replied, her eyes steady. “And it’s my home, too.”

  Summer slipped by, then fall with its harvest, and milling soon after.  Seeker’s days blurred into labor, his evenings into books and study.  Beautiful’s stretched long and empty.  At times Seeker came home for lunch; other days she walked to the mill to see him.  But the silence closed in when he was gone, heavy as stone, and more often than not, she wept.

–

    Winter came, and Seeker was once again chopping wood in Danger.  On Christmas Eve, after the day’s work was done, he trudged through the snow to a small pine he’d spotted earlier on the mountain slope near Delight and cut it down.  He dragged it home, its branches leaving a trail behind him, and set it upright in the corner of their main room, the air growing rich with the fragrance of evergreen.

    “Don’t look,” he told Beautiful.

    She sat curled on the ugly couch in her nightgown, firelight warm against her skin.  A contented smile played on her lips as she sang softly over the crackle of the hearth—“Silent night, holy night… all is calm, all is Bright.”

    She covered her eyes with one hand.  Seeker opened a small box of ribbons and glass globes—red, blue, and green—and began hanging them carefully on the tree.

    “No peeking,” he said.  

    She giggled, fingers pressed tighter over her eyes.

    When the last ornament was in place, she uncovered her eyes and let out a bright, delighted laugh.

    He crossed the room and settled beside her, his fingers threading gently through her hair.  “Merry Christmas, Beautiful,” he whispered.  

    She leaned against him, a faint smile lingering, the silence between them warm.  The fire crackled, the pine filled the air with its sharp fragrance, and for a little while the world outside seemed far away.  In that quiet glow, it felt as though nothing could touch them.

    At last, Seeker spoke.  “It breaks my heart to see you so lonely, baby.  For me, it’s enough—just the two of us.  But I know you need more.”

    “No, Seeker,” she said, her eyes alight.  “Not just the two of us.  Not anymore.”  She drew his hand into hers and guided it to rest on her belly.  Her voice softened.  “Three of us.  I’m pregnant.”

    Seeker stared at her, the words barely sinking in.  Beautiful—pregnant?  Beneath his hand, within her belly, a new life was beginning.  Their child.  Would it be a daughter with her smile, or a son in his own likeness?

    She gazed at him, eyes shining, waiting for his words.  He drew her into his arms, holding her as if she were the most delicate treasure in the world, afraid to press too tightly.

    “Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice breaking with wonder, “This is the best Christmas gift I could receive.”

    Everything he had ever wanted was here—in her arms, and in the new life they had made.

    He reached for Beautiful’s hand—out of habit. But of course… she was back in Bright-Harbor. Alone again. Just like when he’d left Uncertain.

    What was he even doing? He wanted out of Uncertain—maybe become a Pilgrim, like Christian. But he hadn’t thought beyond the Wicket Gate. Certainly not all the way to the Celestial City. That meant dying. And he didn’t want that. Maybe Beulah. But that was so far away.

    Maybe he just wanted to know the truth. Was Christian’s journey just a story? The places were there—the Slough. Beelzebub’s Castle. The Wicket Gate. Ruins of the Interpreter’s House. But no Evangelist. No Good-Will. No Interpreter. And no Cross.

    When he’d first set out, he thought he had to walk alone. But she had shown him something different. Christian may have walked without Christiana—but Christiana had Great-Heart to guide her. And Matthew, Samuel, Joseph, and James. And there was Mercy. Phoebe. Martha.

    And he had Beautiful. The ring was proof. She’d said the King had given it to her—for him. And she wore the ring from the Interpreter. Was it meant for her? Or had he stolen it? It fit her finger—just like his fit his.

    He missed her chatter. Her boredom. Even her complaining. The birds were quiet—as if they, too, were waiting. Listening for her voice.

    Build a house? He had no idea where to begin. But he’d promised. He didn’t have a choice. Except… he didn’t even know where.

    Were pilgrims even supposed to build houses? Gaius did. And Mnason. Even the Prince—but for others. Christiana and her children had stayed—for years. Maybe. Maybe it was allowed. He wasn’t building it for himself. He was building it for Beautiful. And the babies they would have.

    The City of Destruction lay behind him. It had been three hundred years since Christian left it—and still it hadn’t burned. No fire from heaven. No judgment. But Apollyon’s statue still endured. He looked once more… and turned away. Not there.

    Town of Stupidity? Never. Carnal Policy? Even if Beautiful and he wanted it—they’d never be welcome.

    He stopped at the hollow where they’d slept. Beautiful had packed him a sandwich—with a note. “Sandwich for my Seeker. Love you, Beautiful.” He wanted to lie down and sleep. To join his Beautiful in her dream. Way too early. The sun was barely overhead—and he was halfway back to the Cottage. He was definitely calling her a slowpoke tonight.

    He paused at the place where she’d fallen in the Slough. Why had he laughed? He didn’t think he’d ever forget the hurt look in her eyes.

    Later on, he leaned his staff against the olive tree. A sparrow called out. “Where has your beloved gone?” she seemed to say. He would kiss her feet a thousand times—just to see her eyes dance—if he could go back.

    Maybe he would explore Beelzebub’s Castle. There was so much time. Maybe the answers were inside. What had happened there? No. Not without Beautiful. When he’d insisted on later, he’d had no idea he’d be returning without her.

    He rested at the summer parlor in the Wicket Gate. He could almost see her cleaning. Unbelievable. You’re unbelievable, Beautiful. The pitcher was empty. She’d been right. Someone had stopped here.

    Then it hit him. The village above the ravine—the one he’d seen from the Hill of Deliverance. The stream flowed nearby, and it commanded a view of the cascades and waterfalls. That was the place. And when they were ready, they could continue their journey—up the Hill of Difficulty.

    By the time he reached the Cottage, the mountains had begun to cast long shadows. The common room was empty. He didn’t wait. He hurried to his room—to dream with Beautiful. He couldn’t wait to tell her.

  Seeker found himself once again in Bright-Harbor.  He stood at the edge of the vast ocean, waves crashing against the rocky shoreline.  A young girl stood nearby, feet planted firmly in the sand, waving her fist in the air.

    “Ooooh, look.  Beautiful’s angry.”  Laughter came from a group of boys standing just beyond her.

    “Beautiful?” one boy jeered, laughing.  “She’d look better in the dark!”

    She stood there, trembling in rage, as their laughter faded into the distance.  Her dress barely reached her skinned knees.  Her straight hair—bleached almost blonde—brushed her shoulders.  Lightning flashed across her freckled face.  But there were those unmistakable lips.

    “You… you’re Beautiful?”  Seeker wasn’t even sure it was a question. 

    “Yeah,” she shot back, “do you want a black eye?”  She stared at him for a long moment.  Her fist slowly uncurled.  Realization flooded her face.  “Seeker?  I didn’t recognize you, you dumb boy!”  She beamed—and in a heartbeat the little homely girl turned into a stunning angel.

    “Come on,” she called over her shoulder, already dashing down the shore, “I have so much to show you!”

   What a strange dream.  They had wandered the beach as children, picking up seashells.  They’d splashed in the shallows and walked out to a small island at low tide.  He’d written her name in the sand, and they sat together, watching the waves wash it away.  He’d forgotten to tell her about his plan—but no matter.  There was still tonight.

    He wound the music box and let it play until the final note faded, then placed it in his satchel.  He rolled the picture of Beautiful, tied it with twine, and tucked it beside the music box.

    He climbed the tower and selected The Measure of a Man and The Yoke and the Plough, sliding them beside Redemption of Eva and his Book.  That was all his satchel would hold.  When he left, he eased the latch back into place, securing the Interpreter’s study.

    One last lesson from Kind.  Farewells to Miss Cheerful, Steadfast, Gracious—and of course Kind and Liorna.  Then he set out on the Narrow Way.

    He crossed the footbridge over the stream and came to the Hill of Deliverance.  There, he sat among the lilies and gazed at the village tucked into the mountains across the ravine.  A path wound across the plains to an arched stone bridge spanning the gap.  Just beyond it, he would prepare a life for Beautiful.

    He stepped lightly down the far side of the hill.  This was the furthest he had ever gone.   In the distance rose the Hill of Difficulty.  Hill?  It towered above the highest peaks in the Interpreter’s realm, its summit lost in cloud.

    By the side of the path stood a small stone monument.  Three sets of bones were affixed to it, neatly arranged, long picked clean by time.

Here lie Simple, Sloth, and Presumption.
Their hands were idle, their minds empty.
They perished as all who refuse to labor.

    A grim warning.  At the base lay coins, tools, and scraps of parchment.  He picked one up.  It was a prayer for prosperity. 

    At last, he reached the path to the village.  Ahead stood a crossroads—Destruction to the left, the forest of Danger to the right.  The Narrow Way continued straight as ever, ascending the Hill of Difficulty with no turns or switchbacks.  Just straight up, an endless climb.  He couldn’t see the top from here.

    A hush fell over the path as he approached a row of grain towers—pale stone and weathered wood, with brass-ringed hatches and iron spouts.  Each bore a symbol: wheat within a sunburst.  Nearby carts rested under canvas, loaded with sacks marked by a simple circle scored with a shallow groove.

    Tucked beneath a rise in the road stood a mill—blackened timber, a copper-shingled roof glinting like old coins, and a massive turning wheel.  A low mechanical hum filled the air, layered with creaking wood, grinding stone, and the squeal of rope and pulleys.

    A stone-arch bridge spanned the ravine—wide enough for a cart, with no rails, no gate.  Its pale surface had been smoothed by years of passing feet, so old it seemed to vanish into the face of the ravine.  From the forest, the stream flowed beneath the bridge, tumbling into the trees below and filling the air with the sound of rushing water.  To his right, a stream poured down from the mountains, crashing into the waterfall where he and Beautiful had danced so many times in their dreams.

    The village was lit with a soft golden light.  Cobblestone streets curved gently with the hills, lined with pale stucco houses, clay tile roofs, and bright window boxes.  The warm scent of bread drifted from unseen bakeries.  A bell tower chimed nearby.

    He walked through the village, taking it all in—gardens and terraces in full bloom, with lavender, sage, and roses climbing the walls.

    At the edge of the village was a perfect plot of land—just big enough to build a house for the two of them, with a view over the stream winding through the ravine.

    “Lovely view, isn’t it?” came a soft voice from behind.  “Welcome to Delight.”

    She was young and radiant, with a soft, round face and a slight fullness in her cheeks.  Her blue eyes carried a peaceful presence he found soothing.

    “Yes.  It is,” he said, turning to face her. “I’m Seeker.”

    “I’m Comfort,” she said.  “It can be yours, you know—if you want it.”

    “I want to build a home for my bride,” he said.  “And this place—well, it’s perfect.”  He glanced down.  “Only… I’m not even sure how to begin.”

    “Talk with my father,” she said.  “He’ll find a way for you.  Besides, he always needs help.”  She pointed toward the center of the village.  “Town hall—you can’t miss it.  He’s the mayor.”

    “Thank you,” Seeker said.

    “Oh—and don’t be put off by his gruff exterior,” she said, smiling.  “Under it all is a heart of gold.”  She paused a moment.  “Follow me.  I’ll introduce you.”

    Seeker followed Comfort into a building at the center of the village.  The office was elegant but not extravagant.  Natural light filtered through leaded-glass windows.  High-quality wood paneling lined the walls.  A landscape painting, a globe, and a bookcase lent a quiet air of authority.  A modestly plush couch rested against one wall, and high-backed wooden chairs stood before a large, solid-wood desk with neatly arranged papers.

    A timeless man sat behind the desk—neither young nor old—with white hair and a dignified bearing that suggested great age and wisdom.

    “Father,” said Comfort, “this is Seeker.  He arrived today.  I assured him you’d be happy to help him build a house in Delight.”

    He looked up at Seeker—stern-faced, though his eyes were amiable enough.  “Seeker, welcome.”

    “Pray, excuse me,” said Comfort.  “I have other matters to attend.”  She curtseyed and left.

    “Tell me, young Seeker,” said the mayor.  “What brings you to the village of Delight?”

    “Sir…”  Seeker began.  But then the mayor stopped him.

   “I’ve been called many things in my life, but ‘sir’ isn’t one of them.  You can call me Jabal.”

    Seeker spoke of his promise to Beautiful—his desire to build a life together with her.

   “Ah, yes,” said Jabal.  “Desire fulfilled is a tree of life.  King Solomon wrote that, thousands of years ago.  Desire was once the name of this village.”  He picked up a black binder and stood.  “Walk with me.”

    He led Seeker through the streets of the village.  “In Delight, everyone does their fair share—and everyone receives their due rewards.”  He pointed to a lovely house with a charming flower garden.  “When Diligent first arrived, he was no different than you.  Look what he and his wife, Dedicated, have built together.”

    As they walked, he pointed out more homes—and told the stories of the people who had built their lives there.

    When they reached the edge of the village, Seeker exclaimed, “Yes—this is where I met Comfort!  And she said you could help?”

    Jabal opened the binder he carried and flipped through a few pages.  “Yes,” he said.  “This land is for sale.  It’s Diligent’s—but as you saw, he doesn’t need it anymore.  Fifty gold—that’s what it’s listed for.  And a cozy little cottage shouldn’t cost more than, say, a hundred.  Ten percent down is standard.  So, fifteen gold, and we can start building.”

    Seeker stared at him.  “I don’t have any money.”

    Jabal put his hand on Seeker’s shoulder and smiled.  “Of course,” he said. 

    They retraced their steps back to Jabal’s office.  “We do the King’s work here in Delight,” he said.  “All work, and all are rewarded.  Even my own daughters work.  If you serve me well—serve the King well—my daughters will serve you well, too.

    “One silver coin per day—that’s the standard wage.”  He held out his hand, and Seeker shook it.  “There is always something to be done.  Milling.  Harvesting in autumn.  Chopping wood in the winter.”  Jabal reached into his pocket, drew out several gold coins, and pressed one into Seeker’s hand.  “A bonus, to help you get started.”

    They met Comfort coming the other direction.  “Daughter,” said Jabal, “Seeker will be needing a place to stay.  Please show him to his room.”

  That night, Seeker and Beautiful sat together on the beach, watching the waves reach their toes.  She told him about going to the market with her mom, and he talked about his new room—and his work.

    “I found the perfect place overlooking the ravine—where we can start our life.  We’ll sit outside and watch the waterfalls together.”

    “Seeker, you know I don’t care—as long as I’m with you.”

    Seeker looked at her for a moment, then glanced down. “Only…”

    “Yes?” she said, leaning in a little.

    “It’s fifteen gold to begin building.  I thought about it all day.  Four years, Beautiful.  At a silver a day… it’ll take me four years.”

    “This is what you wanted, Seeker.  We knew it would take a long time.”

    “I thought about it all day.  Things are different here.  Eight silver a month for my room.  Even a loaf of bread is six coppers.”  He chuckled.  “I wouldn’t be able to afford a bowl of Miss Cheerful’s stew.”

    Beautiful laughed gently, her eyes lighting up the dream.

    “I thought about it all day,” he repeated.  “If I work hard, I can do it in two years.  It won’t be easy… but I can do it.”

    Beautiful nodded absently.

   “Did you hear what I said?”

   She nodded again.  “I know you will,” she said.  “It’s just… so far away.”

   The next morning, Comfort introduced Seeker to the foreman, who led him to the mill across the bridge.

    “Lunch at noon.  Day’s over when the bell rings,” he said.  

    Seeker took his place at the arm of the wheel and pushed.  It was harder than it looked.  The wheel creaked and groaned as it turned.  The fragrance of wheat made him daydream of Beautiful.  He counted each rotation.  One.  Two.  Three… Ten.  Twenty… Ninety.  Ninety-eight.  Ninety-nine.  One hundred.  In endless circles—until he lost track.

    Fatigue set in.  His feet burned.  His back ached.  Still, he walked.  Minutes stretched like hours.

    The first bell rang.  He dropped to the ground with a groan.  Muscles he didn’t even know he had ached.  He took a long draw from his canteen, then pulled away, panting for breath.  His heart raced.

    He blinked, and lunch was over.  Still hours left.  He wanted to weep.  “Only babies cry,” he told himself.  Sweat poured down his face.  He imagined they were tears.  Still, he kept on.  On and on.

    The second bell sounded—mercifully.  Seeker wasn’t even sure he could walk back to his room.

    Comfort was waiting as he left.  She placed a silver coin in his hand.  “You did well,” she said.  “The first day is always the worst.”

    They walked back to the village together.  “It’ll get easier, I promise,” she said.  “Make sure you eat—for tomorrow.”  Before she left, she handed him a loaf of freshly baked bread.

    Seeker ignored her advice and dropped into bed like a dead man.

***

    Seeker still ached—even in the dream.  How was this possible?  But seeing Beautiful made it all worthwhile.  He kissed her tenderly and reached for her hand.

    She gasped in alarm, then gently took his hands in hers.  “Oh, Seeker… what did they do to you?”

    His hands were covered in blisters.

    She kissed his hands again and again.  “Oh, you poor, dear boy,” she exclaimed.  Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto his palms.  Where they landed, the blisters vanished.

    “Do you hurt?” she asked.

    “A little,” he said with a shrug—then winced at the pain in his shoulders.

    “Come,” she said, placing her arm around his waist as she led him from the village to a quiet spot beneath a fig tree.  She sat and pulled him down beside her.  Then she sang softly and rubbed his back, shoulders, arms, and legs—until he felt like a brand-new man.

   Yes.  Definitely worth it.

    The next day was no easier.  Seeker quickly learned to eat, even when tired or nauseated—work was twice as hard the next day if he didn’t.  Day-old bread cost half as much—only three coppers—and gave him just enough strength to keep going.  Sometimes Comfort brought him sandwiches at lunchtime, and they would sit and eat together.

    He counted the hours each day.  And the days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday.  And on Sunday, he rested.  He’d read his books.  Sometimes he’d descend into the ravine just to sit by the stream and think.

    The months passed.  He grew stronger, and the work felt lighter—but he was always tired, and his body always ached.  His clothes grew thin, his beard grew in, and most of all, his heart grew heavy.

    He spent every night in the dream with Beautiful.  He clung to every moment, every kiss—but it was never enough.  Each night, she’d whisper, “I love you,” and then he’d wake to another long day at the tread-wheel.

    Seeker managed his money carefully, spending as little as possible.  Seven gold—that’s what he needed for the earnest payment on the land.

    Beautiful would urge him, “Don’t always be so serious.  Buy yourself something delicious to eat.”  So, he did—just to please her.  And now and then, a peddler came through selling books.  The man liked him and always gave him a good price.  Sometimes, Seeker would skip a meal to buy a book instead.  It kept him happy.

    Fall turned to winter, and the mill shut down.  Seeker chopped wood near the edge of the Forest of Danger—some for building new homes in Delight, some for heating the old.  The labor was hard, but he welcomed the change.  At least it wasn’t as monotonous as the mill.  Wolf howls echoed from the forest, but the beasts never came close.

    Seeker spent Christmas in the dream with Beautiful—and her birthday, and his.  Just one more Christmas alone, and they’d be together.  Forever.

    When spring came, he helped plow the fields in the Interpreter’s realm—and planted the seeds by hand.  Funny, he thought.  These were the same fields where he’d met Beautiful, walking among the wheat as if it had always been there.  He’d never considered that someone had to plant it, harvest it, grind it into flour—to make the bread he ate each day.

    As the months passed, their dream began to fade.  The colors grew less vibrant.  Her voice, quieter.  Her face, harder to see.  He spent hours staring at her sketch, trying to hold on to every line—but he couldn’t stop it.

    Harvest came, and he worked in the fields, reaping grain.  The words echoed in his mind, tormenting him, “Hi, I’m Beautiful.”  Was this the spot where she’d first poked his stomach and smiled?  The Interpreter’s tower stood in the distance, calling to him—but there was no time.  Sacks marked with Delight’s smiling face waited to be filled.  Straw to be bound into bales.  Carts to be loaded.

    Harvest ended, and it was back to the mill.  The work wasn’t hard anymore—just boring.  The scent of wheat reminded him of Beautiful constantly.  But in the dream, he could no longer smell her.

   At last, a year had passed.  He finished his shift for the week and Comfort paid him.  He finally had seven gold.  The land would be his.  Just one more year, and he could begin building their home.

   Seeker hurried back to his room, pulled a small pouch from his satchel, and emptied it into his palm.  He counted: six gold, ten silver—plus the five silver from today.  Seven gold in total.  Then he headed to Jabal’s office and knocked twice.

   “Come in.”

    Seeker strode over and placed the pouch on Jabal’s desk.  “Here’s the earnest money we agreed on for the land.  Seven gold.  It’s all there.”

    “Yes,” he replied slowly.  “You wanted Diligent’s land—on the edge of town?”  He opened his binder, flipped to a page near the back, glanced at it, then looked up at Seeker.  “I’m afraid that land is no longer available.”

    “No.  Longer.  Available.”  Seeker repeated the words slowly, as if trying to comprehend.  “What do you mean, no longer available?”

    “Just last week, a buyer purchased the land,” said Jabal.  “He wishes to remain unnamed.”

    “But…” Seeker stammered, “we had an agreement.”

    “Yes, young Seeker, we did.  Seven gold to secure the land—a generous offer for property valued at fifty.  Things would have been different if we were having this conversation last week.”

    “Surely, you can talk with the buyer.  Make him understand how much I need that land—for Beautiful.”

    “I am truly sorry, Seeker,” said Jabal.  “I know how hard you’ve worked this past year.  I only wish things could be different.”

    “But you’re the mayor.  There must be something you can do.”

    “I’m afraid not.  Even my hands are tied sometimes.  But…” Jabal smiled easily.  “This isn’t the only land in Delight.”  He flipped to the next page.  “There’s a plot right beside it—just as fine a view.  Listed at seventy-five gold.  Ten gold and eight silver would secure it.”  He paused.  “But for you, I’ll make it ten.”

    “How do I know you won’t change the price again?” Seeker demanded.

    “My dear sir!” Jabal sputtered.  “Pray, control yourself.  There’s no need to raise your voice.”

    Seeker relaxed his hand—he hadn’t even realized it had clenched into a fist—and laid his palm flat on Jabal’s desk.  “Forgive me, Jabal,” he said.  “It’s just…”

    Jabal waved a hand, then slid the binder across the desk and turned it to face Seeker.  “Delight has other places to build.”  He opened to the first page—neatly sketched plots of land filled the map of the village.  He tapped a spot on the far side, away from the ravine.  “I think you’ll find many lots suitable to your needs here.”

    Seeker hadn’t told Beautiful about the land.  All day at the tread-wheel, the thought had gnawed at him.  How would he tell her?  Would she be disappointed?

    If only he’d worked harder.  Or spent less.  If only he hadn’t listened to Beautiful—“Buy yourself something delicious,” she’d said.  He could’ve gone to Jabal last week.  No… it wasn’t Beautiful’s fault.  One less book from the peddler—that would have made the difference.

    One more turn of the tread-wheel.  The gears and axles creaked, the handle wobbled in his grip.  He’d gone over it a hundred times in his mind.  Beautiful was right—he was too serious.  You can only tighten so much before something snaps.

    Jabal should have waited just one more week.  He knew that land was his—he shouldn’t have sold it.  The earnest money was only a formality.  Jabal himself had assured him of that.  Heat rose in Seeker’s face, and his grip on the handle tightened.

    Seventy-five gold for the land right beside it?  He’d never be able to work enough to afford that.  That smirk, when Jabal had tapped the far side of the village—was this his plan all along?  Just business.  Seeker’s breath grew ragged.

    He quickened his pace, driving the handle harder, pouring all his ire into the tread-wheel.  Without warning, it snapped from the shaft and sent him sprawling to the ground.

   “Damn it!” he yelled, hurling the handle across the room.  His vision blurred, red seeping around the edges.  He slammed his fist into the wall.  Then watched himself do it again.  And again. 

    Seeker stood there, shaking—stunned at what he’d just done.  Blood trickled down the wall, but the rough stone showed no sign of damage.

    His hand was a different story—bloody, throbbing.  Had he broken something?  His face paled.  What would Beautiful think if she saw it?  How could he explain?

    He glanced at the handle, then the shaft—a screw had come loose.  His shift wasn’t over, but he needed to think.  The mess could wait till tomorrow.  He walked out, heading back toward the village.

***

    Seeker sat on the bridge, legs dangling over the edge.  He reached into his satchel and drew out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco.  Guilt washed over him.  The price of the pipe alone would have made the difference.  He packed the bowl with care, set the stem between his teeth, and struck flint to steel.  The spark caught, smoke curled from the bowl as he drew deeply.  These days it was the only way he could think clearly.  Another secret from Beautiful.  Would she even know him when this was over?

    He turned his problems over in his mind.  A year and a half left.  The work—and the loneliness—were killing him.  And Beautiful was fading, little by little.  There was no way out but through—just grit your teeth and keep going.  He breathed a prayer to the King for help.  The irony wasn’t lost on him—he might be the only man to pray while smoking a pipe.

    People and carts streamed over the bridge, passing without a glance.  Wait—was that Thoughtful?

   “Thoughtful!” he shouted, straightening where he sat.

   Thoughtful turned.  It was him.  He looked at Seeker for a moment, then laughed.  “The beard looks good on you, man.”

    “What are you doing here?”  Seeker asked.

    “Looking for you,” Thoughtful said.  “They told me you’d be in Delight.”

    “They?” Seeker asked, then added, “Mom let you come on your own?”

    Thoughtful gave Seeker’s arm a playful shove, then dropped down beside him, swinging his legs over the edge.

   “What happened to your hand?” Thoughtful asked.

   “Long story,” Seeker said.  He kept his voice low as he told it all, from the promise to Beautiful to Jabal’s change in terms.

    Thoughtful was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the water.  At last he spoke, “They’re screwing you.”

    “Yeah, I know,” Seeker said with a sigh.  “But what am I supposed to do?”

    “You really love her, don’t you?”

    “Yeah,” he said quietly.

    “Hey,” said Thoughtful.  “At least she’s good looking—unlike the other girls you’ve liked.”  A grin crept over his face.  “She actually has—”

    Seeker balled his fist and gave him a light punch on the shoulder.  “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

    Thoughtful laughed.  “Mind if I stick around for a while?”

   “Mom’s fine with it?”

   He shrugged.

    “I’ve got work.”

    Another shrug.

    “If you stay, you’ll work, too.”

    “Sure.”

   “You won’t get paid.”

    “OK.”

   “Deal,” Seeker said.

    Thoughtful grinned.  “Can I get one of those too?”  He nodded toward Seeker’s pipe. 

    “Only if you don’t tell Mom.”

    “I’m staying with Dad now,” Thoughtful said with a shrug.

***

    Seeker and Beautiful walked the fields near Bright-Harbor, hand-in-hand.

    “Just tell her,” Thoughtful had said.

    “Beautiful,” Seeker said at last, “I lost the land overlooking the ravine.”  He lowered his head.

    “I told you already, you dumb boy,” she said.  “I don’t care—so long as we’re together.”  She lifted his chin and kissed him.

    “I’m losing you,” he said. 

    Lightning flashed in her eyes.  She raised her hand, and the diamonds on her ring blazed.  “I’m right here, little baby.”

    “No,” he said.  He turned to face her.  “That’s not what I mean.  It’s the dream – it’s fading.”

    “Yeah,” she said.  “It is for me, too.”

    “I’ve tried everything.  I can’t stop it.”

    “Baby,” she said softly, “it doesn’t matter.  You’ve got a year and a half left.  You’ll finish.  And I’ll be waiting for you—even if the dreams stop.  Never forget that.”

    He tilted her chin and kissed her lightly.

***

    The next morning, Seeker reattached the handle and scrubbed the wall clean.  True to his word, Thoughtful took his place at the tread-wheel while Seeker hauled sacks of grain.  Then they switched.  Thoughtful never complained—not even once.

    They talked, trading stories over lunch and supper.  At night, Thoughtful slept on a bedroll on Seeker’s floor.  The days slipped by, and Sunday came.  Seeker led him down into the ravine to see the stream.

    “Can I stay another week?” Thoughtful asked.  Seeker was glad for the company—almost enough to forget how badly he missed Beautiful.

    Another week passed—then another—until harvest ended and Thoughtful had to return home.

    When their shift ended, a messenger came with a request for them to report to Jabal’s office.  They crossed the village together, and Seeker knocked.

   “Come in.”  It was Comfort’s voice.  She sat at her father’s desk, a ledger open before her.  With a small wave toward the high-backed chairs, she said, “Please—sit.”

    Thoughtful glanced left, then right, before taking the chair next to Seeker.

    “I’ve been watching you, Thoughtful,” she said.  “And I’ve spoken with my father.”

    Thoughtful shifted in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him.

    “We both agree—you’ve worked as hard as anyone here, even Seeker.  In Delight, everyone works hard.”  She smiled.  “And everyone gets paid a fair wage.”  She glanced at her ledger.  “Looks like you’ve earned forty silver.  Take out rent, and that leaves twenty.”  She slid a small pouch of coins across the desk to Thoughtful.

    A broad grin spread across Thoughtful’s face.

    “And Seeker,” she went on, “Since Thoughtful covered half the rent for two months, consider yourself paid up through next month.”

    That evening, Thoughtful treated Seeker to a hearty bowl of stew at the tavern and a fresh-baked loaf of bread.  They washed it down with pints of ale.  Later, Thoughtful bought himself a pipe from the peddler, and the two sat on the bridge, legs dangling over the edge, smoking together.

    “Here,” said Thoughtful.  “Picked this up while you weren’t looking.”  Seeker raised an eyebrow as Thoughtful handed him a book.  The Fool’s Book of Patience.

    “Just what I needed,” laughed Seeker.

    Thoughtful set out early in the morning.   Seeker hugged him tightly.  “I’m glad you’re my brother.  You’ll never know how much this meant to me.”

    Thoughtful smirked.  “Maybe one day you’ll put it in a book.”  Then he turned and walked out of Delight.

  Harvest was done, and Thoughtful had gone home.  The dream kept fading.  Seeker was glad for the work of chopping wood at the edge of Danger—the solid thud of each tree hitting the ground was satisfying.  Maybe one of them would be used to build the home for Beautiful.

    His heart echoed the wolves’ howls from deep within the forest.  The old fear was gone.  Would they see him as a brother now?

    Christmas Eve came, and he went to bed early.  Beautiful was there waiting—glimmering under the stars.  She bounded toward him, reaching for his hand, but it passed through him like mist.

    She giggled.  “You’re like the waterfall now,” she said, twirling the way they once had in the ravine, her hair and dress flowing around her.

    Then she leaned close, a tear glinting on her cheek.  “Oh, Seeker,” she sighed.  “It’s dreadful.  How will I last another year without your kiss?”

   “Be strong, little baby,” Seeker said.  “It’s only a year… and a few months.”  He reached for her hand out of habit.

    They walked side by side and sat on the beach.  The boats lay still in the harbor.  All was quiet.  All was calm.

    “’I’ said the donkey,” sang Beautiful, “I carried His mother uphill and down.”  Her tears caught the starlight as they fell.

    The Bethlehem star appeared, shining above the harbor.

    “You’re so Beautiful.”

    “I know I am,” she said, turning her head with a soft giggle.

    “’I,’ said the dove from the rafters high,” she sang on, “cooed Him to sleep that He should not cry.”  Her voice was soft and sweet.  “We cooed Him to sleep, my love and I.”

    “I love you, Beautiful,” Seeker whispered.

    “Me too,” she replied.  “Merry Christmas, baby.  I love you, Seeker.”

   Winter passed, and spring came.  Once again, he planted the fields in the Interpreter’s realm.  Summer came—and went.  Each day was filled with labor, and each day the ache inside him deepened, until it became an unbearable flame.

    Each night, the dream grew dimmer.  At first, they talked, and sometimes she sang—but her voice faded.  Later, they would sit in silence for hours.  Often, she wept.  And now, he could barely see her.

    That night, they sat beneath the fig tree.  Beautiful spoke, but her words slipped away before he could catch them.  He held out a hand.  Her fingers brushed his palm, cool as a passing breeze.

   “Beautiful,” he said, leaning close.  “I paid the fifteen gold.  We start building in a week.”

    She shook her head, without understanding in her eyes.

    “Our home!” he shouted.  The dream lit up—she was smiling.  “We start next week!”

    “Meet… stream… tomorrow.”  He could barely make out the words—then she was gone.

   The next morning, he didn’t wait.  He descended into the ravine and followed the stream past the cascades, past the waterfalls.  At last, he reached the stairs.  Overhead stood the ruins of the Interpreter’s house, and across the water rose the Stately Palace.

    He sat on the stone where he’d proposed to Beautiful—or had she proposed to herself?  He chuckled softly.  It felt like so long ago.

    He sat watching the water flow as the sun climbed higher.  Had he misheard her?  Misunderstood?  It didn’t matter.  He was weary—two years of hard labor behind him, and the down payment was complete.   Milling wouldn’t start for another week, and Comfort had given him leave to rest.

    He almost didn’t recognize Beautiful on the stairs—tanned, fit, her hair straight and pulled back into a ponytail.

    Her face lit up, and she flew down the stairs into his arms.  They embraced and kissed—long, deep—then again, and again.  She rested her head against his chest, trembling, breathing in the scent of him, as the sun inched across the sky.

    At last, she pulled away, her fingers combing gently through his beard.  “I love it, Seeker.  You’re not a boy anymore.”

    Seeker gave her ponytail a gentle tug.  “And what happened to your curls?”

    Lightning flashed in her eyes.  “Don’t tell me what to do with my hair!”  Then, with a teasing smile, “Want me to go back home?”

    “You look amazing,” he said, kissing her.  “You got here by yourself?  In less than a day, slowpoke?”

   She giggled.  “Keep pushing your luck.”

    They knelt at the stream, lowering their faces to the water and drinking deeply.  The water was cool and sweet, and it revived them.

    As the sun slipped below the horizon, the moon rose, bathing the ravine in soft light while fireflies blinked among the trees.  Neither stirred to leave.  In the warm, sweet air, they fell asleep on the grass, fingers laced tight.

    The next morning, Seeker woke to Beautiful’s gaze.  She stuck out her lower lip in a pout.  “I’m hungry.”  Then, as if it had just occurred to her, “I want apples for breakfast.”

    They climbed the stairs together, holding hands lightly.  She neither leaned on him nor ran ahead.   The waterfalls crashed around them, but Seeker barely noticed—he was together with Beautiful again.

    The sheep all turned to watch as they crossed the pasture.

    “Right here,” she said.  “We’ll have our wedding here.  My parents will come.  Yours, too.  And everyone from Bright-Harbor.”

    “I’ve made the down payment,” Seeker said.  “It’ll take about half a year to build.”

    “Yes,” said Beautiful.  “And I need to get flowers, and food for the villagers, and…”

    “Sheesh,” said Seeker, “Can’t we just run away together?”

   “We can,” said Beautiful.  “What do you think we’re doing right now?  But you made a promise to my mom.  You build the house, and I’ll take care of the wedding.”

    The apple orchard was heavy with fruit.  An old blind shepherd sat munching an apple, a Book resting in his lap, as if he’d been waiting for them.  Strange—what use did a blind shepherd have for a Book?

    The old man spoke of the days when he had lectured in the marble halls of Zion, before leaving it all behind after his wife’s death.  Now he wandered from village to village, teaching and joining couples in marriage.

    “Can you marry us?”  Beautiful asked.  “I’m Beautiful, and this is Seeker.”

    He took Beautiful’s hand gently.  “I’m sure you are.”  Then taking Seeker’s in his other, he joined them together.  “Do you promise to love and cherish Seeker, forever?”

    “I do,” said Beautiful.

   “Seeker, do you promise to love and protect her, forever?”

   “I do,” Seeker said, his voice steady.

   “You are man and wife.  What the King has joined, no one can separate.”

   Beautiful hugged the shepherd, “Just like that?” she asked incredulously.  She pressed a silver coin into his hand, but he refused.

    “Freely we’ve been given—give freely.”  He rose and took up his staff.   Turning to Seeker, he said, “He who finds a wife finds a good thing.  The King sees, and that’s enough.”

    Like that, the shepherd was gone.  Seeker and Beautiful stood staring at each other, laughter bubbling between them.

    “What’d we just do?” Beautiful’s face flushed.  She stuck out her lower lip.  “You going to leave your wife hungry?”

    He reached up, picked an apple, sliced it with his clasp-knife, and placed a piece in her mouth.

   “It’s not Miss Cheerful’s bread, but it’ll have to do.” 

    Her face turned bright red.

    The week flew by.  They never went to Delight or the Cottage.  They wandered the fields and pastures, swam in the stream, and slept in each other’s arms beneath the stars.  When the time came for her to leave, there was no shadow of parting.

    “You’ll come visit your wife this Christmas,” she said, “and we’ll plan our wedding together.”  She ran her fingers through his beard.  He kissed her hand.  “Bye, Seeker.”

   Milling came and went, followed by the logging in the Forest of Danger.  The dream was vivid again—Beautiful chattered and sang, her voice bright.  They held hands and kissed, as if the miles between them no longer mattered.

    Christmas came, and Seeker traveled to Bright-Harbor to see Beautiful.  She spread a blanket across the guest room floor for them both.

    Beautiful’s dad said, “I never expected you to come back for her,” and even her mom greeted him with a warm smile.

    By spring, the foundation was laid, and the walls were up.  After work, Seeker often stopped to check on the progress of their home.

    Then came planting, and the roof went on.  It was the cutest cottage in Delight—a main room, a kitchen, and a bedroom.  No furniture yet; Beautiful should help decorate her own home.  Besides, by then he had no money.

    Seeker’s heart swelled.  Two and a half years—they’d done it.  Now only the wedding remained and bringing her home to Delight.

Seeker leaned in and kissed Beautiful goodnight, right there in front of the cottage.  She would never get over how good that felt—the soft press of his lips, the way the spring air seemed to hush around them.  The perfect end to a perfect day.

   “I love you,” he said.

   Beautiful pursed her lips, already feeling the irritation welling up.  “Me too,” she whispered. 

    His eyes said he wanted more.  How many times had she told him?  But not everything needed to be said aloud.  He needed to learn to feel her heart.  She loved him—dearly.  He said it with his mouth, but she shouted it with her heart.  He was capable of feeling it—no, he did feel it.  So why ruin the perfect day?

    She knew exactly what came next.  She had counted—he’d asked her six times, and six times she’d said yes.  Well, maybe not with her mouth.  But he should just know.  There was no other man in her life but him.  And there never would be.

    “Beautiful, I want you to be my wife.”

    Wife!  How sweet that sounded—somehow, she had known it from the very first day.  So why did he have to put it into words?  Her temper flared.  Sometimes he could be a dumb little baby.  No—she stopped herself.  That was his word now.  She was his baby, and he was her strong Odysseus.

    She’d spoken to Gracious about this.  “Sometimes you need to tell men straight out,” Gracious had said.  She couldn’t imagine Steadfast being this impossible.  Maybe she’d give it a try—nothing else seemed to work.

    She took Seeker’s hand and led him into the cottage, to the hearth, where she sat in front of the fire, and pulled him down beside her.

    “Seeker, I love you with all my heart.  I will be your wife.  I will be with you.  Forever.”   She sighed.  That wasn’t so bad—maybe Gracious hadn’t been completely wrong after all.  Still, she couldn’t quite picture Gracious treating Steadfast like this.  Seeker looked so happy.  And she was so happy, too.

    Then the familiar sadness washed over her.  How could she make him understand?  She’d struggled with this for so long.  What he asked for was impossible.  Yes, she would always love him.  But being his wife was an unreachable dream.  But maybe.  Just maybe.  At least he could share her pain.  He always did.  He always understood her.

    “But Seeker,” she said at last.  “You are asking the wrong person.  I’ve always known I would marry you—from that first time, when I made you the sandwich.”

    You have to win my parents’ hearts.  I can’t.  No, I won’t marry you without their permission.  And that’s impossible, you know.”  There.  She had said it—aloud, with words.

   Seeker laughed.  Hadn’t he heard what she’d just said?

   “They will love me.”

   She gazed deep into his eyes, then sighed and leaned against him, the fire roaring merrily.  

    Her doubt was gone.

   Seeker and Beautiful sat together in the pasture, listening to Kind teach, his voice ringing clear over the morning calm.  She leaned against Seeker, holding his hand tightly, hanging on every word Kind said. 

   Kind paused, looking out over the Pilgrims gathered.  A nearby sheep bleated.  “Remember, husbands:  you should love your wives, the same way the Prince loved the flock.  He laid down his life for it.”

      Faint-Resolve sat next to him.  Seeker stood and turned toward him.  “How are things at the Slough?”    

    Faint-Resolve smiled—just enough to soften his usual gruffness. “Nothing’s the same since Companion left.  Not much longer and my time here is up, too.”

   Beautiful waved at Gracious, then paused to chat with Miss Fair-Glance.  After a minute or two, she smiled and waved goodbye.

    Faint-Resolve’s eyes trailed after Miss Fair-Glance as she walked away.  A wave of fury burst from Beautiful.  Seeker had never seen her like that before.  Her blazing eyes nearly blinded him.

   She leveled her gaze at Faint-Resolve.  “Didn’t you hear a single word Kind said?” she shouted, trembling in rage. 

   Faint-Resolve looked back at her, confusion clouding his face.

   “Don’t try to act innocent,” she snapped, pointing straight at him.  “You know what you’re doing.  Everyone does.  But most of all, your wife knows.”

    Faint-Resolve’s face paled.  “It’s not like that,” he said quietly. “She reminds me of my wife.  When she was young.”

    Beautiful stood tall, her feet planted firmly, fists on her hips.  She barely reached Faint-Resolve’s shoulders. But somehow, she towered over him.   Seeker shifted uneasily.  Gracious laughed nervously.  Tirzah just nodded.  Kind beamed at her, like a daughter he was proud of.  Seeker felt sorry for Faint-Resolve.  Beautiful was humiliating him.

    “You humiliate your wife,” she continued.  “She would die of shame.   At least be a man about it—look at Fair-Glance straight on.  Not out of the corner of your eyes.  Like a thief stealing just a bite of bread.”

    “I. I. I…” he stammered, “I love my wife.”

    “Is that how the Prince loves his flock?” she demanded.

    “I’m sorry,” he said.  His voice cracked.  Seeker believed him.

    “Don’t apologize to me.  Beg the King for forgiveness.  Beg your wife.”

    The storm had passed.  A tender look crept into her eyes.  “Yes.  She can forgive.”  She paused a heartbeat.  “She will forgive.  There is always forgiveness.”

   All the color had drained from Faint-Resolve’s face.  “Thank you, Miss Beautiful,” he said quietly.  “I will remember your advice.  I promise.”

    He kept his promise.  And from that day on, no one called him Faint-Resolve again.

  Seeker didn’t say a word as the crowd slowly left—even the sheep seemed unusually hushed.

   Beautiful turned to him.  “What’s your plan for today?”

   “Not sure, baby.  Maybe a bit of reading in the tower.  Anything new you’re working on?”

    “I’m bored, Seeker,” she said, sticking out her lower lip in a pout.

   “What’s new, Beautiful?  You’re always bored.” 

   “Let’s do something fun,” she said.  “Some kind of adventure.  Like we used to.”

    “How about the stream?” he asked.

   “Boring,” she said flatly.  “Besides, we went there last night.  It’s so much more fun in the Dream, where we can splash without getting wet.”

   “Getting wet’s the point of water.”

   “That’s easy for you to say,” she said. “You don’t have long, curly hair like me.”  She emphasized the word curly.  She knew he adored her curls.  She always knew how to win.

    A young shepherd boy ran up to them, breathless, with scraps of paper flapping in one hand and a stub of charcoal in the other.  Black smudges streaked his cheeks and nose.  “Ma’am, ma’am,” he called to Beautiful, “Draw a picture?”

    “Miss,” she snapped.

    The boy didn’t hear her—or didn’t care.  He turned to Seeker instead, eyes wide and eager.  “Sir, just a couple of coins.  Mama’s sick.  Draw a picture of your wife?”

    “Just call me Seeker—”

    “Not his wife… yet,” Beautiful said, ruffling his hair.

    Then she sat, folded her hands in her lap, tossed back her hair, and tilted her head slightly.

    The boy couldn’t have been more than ten—but he was good.  He sketched slowly, carefully, while Beautiful posed with a soft smile.  The proportions were right.  The shading was—flawless, really.  Now and then, the boy glanced up.  First at her.  Then at Seeker.

    When the boy finished, he handed the sketch to Seeker.  It was beautiful.  Clean lines.  Balanced shading.  But something felt… off.  He couldn’t quite place it.  His brow furrowed.

    Beautiful snatched it from his hands.  “This doesn’t look like me at all.”  She studied the drawing, then looked at Seeker.  Then back at the paper.  “It looks more like him than me, you little rascal.  Only—” She burst out laughing.

    “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” the boy said, glancing at Seeker, then back at her.  “I drew your daughter, not you.”

    Beautiful’s mouth fell open.  A tear slipped down her cheek.

   “Wait…” she said softly, holding the picture closer.  “You mean you—combined us?”

   The boy just grinned.

   Seeker blinked.  Not Beautiful.  Not him.  A little of both.

    “I think it’s wonderful,” Seeker said, his voice barely above a whisper.

    Beautiful pulled a silver coin from her handbag, pressed it into the boy’s hand, then curled his fingers around it.  “Your mama’s going to be okay,” she said.  “If she doesn’t get better soon, bring her to the Cottage.  You know where that is, right?”

    The boy nodded.

    “If she’s too sick, you come,” Beautiful added.  “Ask for Beautiful.”  She hesitated, then added, “Or Miss Cheerful.  One of us will come help her.”

    The boy gave a deep, awkward bow, then scampered off.

    Seeker stood there, gazing at the picture for a long time.

    “I love it,” he said at last.

    “Me too,” she replied, squeezing his hand.

   Beautiful gasped.  “Great-Saint!”  Then she bolted toward the Narrow Way.  Seeker blinked, startled, and broke into a run after her.  A lone traveler in simple clothes was walking the path—no staff, no satchel.  Beautiful reached him first.  She threw her arms around him and didn’t let go.

    The stranger was barely taller than Beautiful.  His face was hard—fierce, even—but his eyes shone with a familiar light.  With Beautiful’s arms around him, he gently patted her back and tried to shrug as his eyes met Seeker’s.

    “Great-Saint!  Oh, it’s good to see you.  What are you doing here?  It’s been so long!  Are you headed to the Dark Land?  Are you stopping at the Cottage?  For the night?”

    When Seeker reached her side, she grasped his hand.  “You have to meet Seeker.  I made him sandwiches, and… oh, I’m getting ahead of myself.  I love him.  And we’re getting married.  But first…”

    She stopped abruptly, her face flushing red.  Then she grinned and glanced away.  She always looked adorable when she did that.  She turned to Seeker.  “Seeker, this is my brother, Great-Saint.”

    Great-Saint’s handshake was firm—strong.  He studied Seeker’s hand for a moment.  “Your hands are soft,” he said, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.  “But I can tell—you have a good heart.”

   Beautiful cut in.  “What am I going to do?  Mom and Dad will never let him marry me.  I’ve thought about it for so long, and I still can’t figure it out.”  Then she added, softer, but certain, “But the King sent him to me.  I know it.”

    Great-Saint placed a hand on Seeker’s shoulder as the three of them began walking toward the Cottage.  “Have you heard of Hosea?” he asked, thoughtful.

    “Yes,” Seeker said.  “The King commanded Hosea to marry Gomer—she was a prostitute.  And when she went back to her trade, Hosea loved her so much he searched for her and brought her back home.”  His eyes settled on a rock in the trail.  “It’s an allegory,” he said quietly.  “About the King—and wayward Pilgrims.”

    Great-Saint looked at Seeker with a mix of surprise and approval, “Can you love my sister like that?”

    Beautiful’s eyes flared.  “Great-Saint!”  She slapped his arm.

    Seeker didn’t hesitate.  “I love her.  I’ll love her, no matter what—like the Prince loves the flock.  If I have to, I’ll work for her seven years.  No, fourteen, like Jacob did for Rachel.  And it’ll feel like just a few days.”

    Great-Saint nodded.  As they walked, he spoke about Gomer.  And Hosea.  He didn’t stop.  His voice was steady—eloquent.  Almost like one of Stern’s sermons.  Seeker glanced at Beautiful.  She liked to talk, too.  Must run in the family.  He chuckled to himself.

    They stopped at the path leading to the Cottage.  “Eat lunch with us,” Beautiful said.  “There’s so much to talk about.”

    “No,” Great-Saint said firmly. “I intend to be home before sunset.  Empty stomach for walking—and Mom’s broiled fish for dinner.” 

    “Broiled fish,” Beautiful sighed.  “Miss Cheerful’s stew would be so much better with fish in it.”  She wrinkled her nose, then giggled.

    Great-Saint placed his hands on Seeker’s shoulders.  “Seeker, I like you.”  Then he turned to Beautiful.  “Pack your bag, Beautiful, and come visit.  Tender-Hearted will be there too.  And bring Seeker.”

    “Great-Saint… can I really bring him?  Will Dad?  Will Mom…”

    Great-Saint turned back to Seeker.  “The journey can be hard.  I trust you to take care of Beautiful on the trip.  I’ll introduce you as my friend.”

    He took Beautiful’s hand in one of his and Seeker’s in the other.  “The rest will be up to you.”  He met Seeker’s gaze.  “Don’t doubt.  If the King truly sent you to Beautiful, it will all work out.  My parents will give their blessing.”

   With those words, he turned and headed south on the Narrow Way—and was gone.

    When Seeker stepped into the common room, Beautiful was already there—packed, ready, and chatting with Faint-Resolve.  Or rather, Strong-for-the-Faith, as he was known now.

    “Here’s a bedroll for you, Miss Beautiful,” he said.  “I won’t need it anymore.  And Companion’s for you, Seeker.”  He nodded toward the familiar roll.  “I’m leaving today too.  My tour is over.”  The clouds were gone from his face, and a smile broke through.  It was the first time Seeker had seen him really smile.  “I’m going home to my wife!”

    Miss Cheerful bustled into the room.  “Morning, Seeker-for-Sandwiches!” she chirped, slipping a small linen parcel into Beautiful’s pack.  She paused, giving Beautiful a knowing look.  “Though whatever you’ve been seeking, I dare say you’ve found it.”

    “They really are a cute couple,” Strong-for-the-Faith added.

   “Yes, they are!  Now sit—all of you.  Traveling on an empty stomach is no good.”  This time, Miss Cheerful joined them without a thought.

    Strong-for-the-Faith gave thanks for their breakfast, for Miss Cheerful, and for the journey ahead.  He prayed the King’s blessing over Seeker and Beautiful.

    Then Miss Cheerful added, solemn and soft, “Keep Seeker and Beautiful safe with Your hand—on their journey, and in their lives.”

   After they ate, Strong-for-the-Faith set out north on the Narrow Way, and Seeker and Beautiful turned south—Miss Cheerful standing before the ruins of the Interpreter’s House, waving.

***

    The day was beautiful—clear, bright, and touched with a lazy breeze.  Clouds drifted overhead like they had nowhere better to be.   Beautiful walked beside him, chatting about everything and nothing.

    When they reached the Wicket Gate, Beautiful gestured toward the summer parlor.  “Honey, can we stop and rest a bit?” she asked.

    It was just as dusty as he remembered.  “There’s a well,” Beautiful said.  “Should be a bucket nearby.  Could you bring me some water please?”  She found a broom and began sweeping.  When he returned, she was already wiping the table with a dry cloth.  She dampened it, cleaned the pitcher, and filled it with water from the bucket.

    How had she known about the well?  Or the bucket.  She was more familiar with the Wicket Gate than he was.  But the sun was already climbing, and they still had a long way to go.

    “Beautiful, what are you doing?”  He paced.  She didn’t answer—just kept cleaning.  “I thought you wanted to rest?”

    “There,” she said at last.  She motioned to the armchair, swatted the dust off the couch, and sat.  “I’ve been thinking…”

    “When we should have been walking.”

    She frowned.  “I needed to rest,” she said.  “Besides, someone has to clean—for the next Pilgrims.”

   “I’ve been thinking,” she repeated.

   While we should have been walking.  He didn’t say it out loud.

   “On the way,” she said, “let’s stop and visit your parents.”

   “No,” he said without hesitation. 

    “But why not, Seeker?  I have to meet them.  I won’t marry you if I don’t.”  She paused.  “No—I will marry you.  You know that.  But my parents won’t give us their blessing.”

    Seeker felt dizzy.  “It’s out of the way, Beautiful.  It’s a long trip.  And you’ll be tired.”  She wasn’t buying it.  “Next time,” he said.  “I promise.  You’ll meet them.”

   A stubborn look crossed her face.  “You take me—or we turn around right now.”

    Seeker sighed.  “OK,” he said at last.  “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

    She stood, smiled, and leaned in to kiss him.

    If she noticed his unease, he couldn’t tell.  He was going to have to tell her eventually, anyway.

***

    When they stepped out of the Wicket Gate, Beelzebub’s Castle loomed over them—deserted, cold, and quiet.   Beautiful’s eyes lit up.  “Seeker, let’s see what’s inside!”

   “No.” 

   “It’s been empty three hundred years! It’ll be an adventure, like we used to do.”

   “No.”

    She stuck out her bottom lip.  “You used to be fun,” she pouted.

   Unbelievable.  Did she have no concept of time?  “Beautiful, baby—do you want to cross the Slough in the dark?”  He paused.  “No.  Now stop being a baby.  Next time.  I promise.”

***

    The sun had reached its height and was already sinking in the west.   Beautiful had run out of things to talk about.  Or maybe she was just mad.  He couldn’t tell which.

    “I’m tired,” she moaned.  “My feet hurt.”

    “Of course you’re tired, Beautiful.”  Nobody but you would clean the Wicket Gate on a trip like this.  He didn’t say it out loud.

   “I’m hungry.”  She stomped her feet.  “You’re a slave driver.”

   “Now your feet hurt even worse, don’t they, little baby?”  He paused, then added.  “I’m pretty hungry myself.”  He pointed at an olive tree.  “There.  Let’s see what Miss Cheerful packed for us.”

    Beautiful sat on the soft grass in the shadow of the olive tree.  Around her, flowers swayed—long, slender stems of deep royal blue, touched with soft violet undertones and golden veins.  Three upright, three curving downward.  She took the linen parcel from her bag and carefully unwrapped it.

   Inside were two sandwiches.  “One for me,” she said.  Then sweetly, “And one for my husband.”  She didn’t even blush this time.

    Birds sang around them.  Flowers swayed.  And she looked so beautiful.  He wanted to stay here—just lie down on the grass and forget everything.  But time wouldn’t wait for them.

   Beautiful took off one boot, then peeled off her sock.  A blister bloomed on her heel—and two more on her toes. “I told you my feet hurt,” she said.

   “Poor baby,” he said. “No more stomping your feet.”

***

    The sun was sinking behind the horizon when they reached the Slough.  Seeker was surprised by what he saw.  There were no steppingstones—not even the rickety bridge he’d imagined from Companion’s explanation.

    Piles had been driven deep into the muck, anchoring the bridge where the Slough had once threatened to swallow everything.  The thick hardwood planks were solid beneath their feet, remarkably well-preserved, supported by timber framing that stretched across the breadth of the mire.   Low railings lined either side.

    When they stepped on the bridge, Beautiful grabbed Seeker’s arm and held tight.  With her other hand she pointed toward the edge of the Slough.  “There.”

    “There what?”

    “That’s where I fell in.”  Her whole body shuddered.

    Seeker could almost feel the mire of the Slough again, leeching warmth from his skin.  He remembered how he’d struggled—how it had felt like days—until he finally passed out.  If not for Companion…

   She was pointing at the edge—within sight of the grass, the flowers.  You could still hear the sparrows singing.  He laughed.

   Her eyes darkened.  No flare.  No lightning.  Just sadness—quiet and complete.  She let go of his arm, turned and trudged slowly across the bridge.

   “Beautiful, wait.  I’m sorry,” he said, chasing after her.  “I didn’t mean to laugh.  It’s just—well, when I thought about how I almost died…” He caught his breath.  “You’ve got to admit…”

    She turned around, tears streaming down her face.  “You always underestimate me.”  Bitterness edged her voice.  “You’re strong.  I’m weak.  I hurt.  But somehow—you even hurt better than me.”

    “I’m sorry,” he stammered.

    “I thought you understood me.  That’s why I love you,” she said.  “I thought you were different from everyone else.”

    He reached for her hand, but she pushed it away—then turned and crossed the bridge alone.

***

    A thicket of trees stood in the hollow on the far side of the Slough.  Beautiful had already set down her pack and was laying her bedroll out. 

    Seeker sighed.  At least they’d crossed safely.  He regretted the laugh.  The things she had said about him—those weren’t true.  He didn’t think of her that way.  Didn’t she know that?  Why did she have to be so difficult all the time?

    He placed his bedroll near hers—close enough to keep her safe, far enough to give her space.

    The stars began to appear.  The Bear had started his rounds.  It was far too late in the year for the Hunter, but maybe he’d catch sight of him in the morning—just before sunrise.

    Seeker gathered a few sticks and carefully arranged them in the firepit left by earlier travelers.  From his satchel, he took out the flint and steel—another gift from Companion.  Within minutes, he had a small fire blazing.

    Beautiful was already resting on her bedroll, so he laid down beside her.  She stood and picked up her bedroll.

    She walked to the far side—the direction he was facing—and carefully unrolled her bedroll so it touched his.   Then she lay down and pressed her full body against him.  She took his head in both hands and kissed him deeply.

   “Let’s not fight, Seeker.  I know you didn’t mean it.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it either.”

   She wrapped her arms tightly around him.  “I love you, Seeker.  I really do.”

   Seeker woke to the sound of Beautiful rustling about.  She’d rekindled the fire, and a small pot of water was already boiling over the flames.  She poured the hot liquid into his tin cup and turned the pot upside down on a nearby rock.

   “Morning, sleepyhead,” she said.  She stirred the drink with a whittled stick, then handed him the cup.  Where had she found coffee at the Interpreter’s House?  What else was in that pack?  He took a sip—and smiled at her.

    “My cup and my knife,” he said, feigning offense. “What else did you dig out of my satchel?”

   She tilted her chin up slightly.  “You’re welcome, Seeker.”

   “Before you ask…”  She kissed him lightly.  “There’s your sweetener.”

    He found a patch of grass where the morning sun had dried the dew beneath the canopy of leaves and sat down.  She offered him a small loaf of bread, but he shook his head.  “Not hungry.”

    Birds sang to them from the branches.  A squirrel chased another up a nearby tree.  Why had he been so worried about time yesterday?  A walk with Beautiful today, and they’d reach the Dark Land.  Then he remembered.  The City of Destruction.  He had to tell her.  Why did he have to ruin the good moments?  Every.  Single.  One.

   “Beautiful, come here.”  He patted the ground beside him, motioning for her to sit.

   He lifted her leg gently, removed her boot, and rolled off her sock.  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

    He reached into his satchel and took out a roll of bandages.  She glanced at her blisters.  “Can you kiss them and make them better?”

   He tenderly wrapped her heel and two toes.  “I’m not kissing your stinky feet!” 

   She stuck out her bottom lip—then quietly offered him her other foot.

    “Beautiful, I never meant to lie to you.  I’m sorry,” he said.  “I just never could find the right time to tell you.”  She had only one blister on this foot.

    He couldn’t find the words.  “Don’t slap your feet when you walk, baby.”  That’s all he could think of.

    Her feet were bandaged, her boots back on.  She sat facing him, his hands in hers.  “Well?”

    There was no easy way.  Just say it.  “My mom left my dad.  That’s why I was alone in Uncertain.”

    “Why?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

    He gazed into her eyes, searching.  “My family is cursed.  Giant Wrath has stalked my father, and his father, and the ones before them—for generations.”  Only kindness in her eyes.  “He destroys everything.  Always.”

    “You’re not your dad.”  Her eyes flashed.  “And I’m not your mom.”  She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

***

The way to the City of Destruction was clearly marked by a well-trodden road.  The city walls came into view as they crested a hill.  Beautiful pointed.  “We’re almost there.”

    Seeker laughed.  “You can’t judge distance either.”  Then he remembered the hurt in her eyes, and his voice softened.  “We still have hours of walking, little baby.”

   “If you say so, honey.”  She shrugged.  “Tell me about your brother, then.”

    “Thoughtful?” he laughed.  “Sometimes I think they should have named him Thoughtless.  But he’s a good kid.”

    “You don’t have a lot to say about him.”

    “He’s a lot younger than me.  My parents left me in Uncertain just when he was starting to become fun.”  He paused.  “Though there was that time…”  Seeker shut his mouth abruptly.

    “What?”

   “Nope.” He laughed, full and easy.  “Nothing.”

    As they neared the city, Seeker said, “Nothing like its name, is it?”   The plaster looked fresh, the walls clean—possibly even newly painted.

    Rows of timber-framed houses greeted them, three and four stories tall, as they passed through the city gates.  A soft murmur of voices buzzed around them, as people hurried about their business.

    In the city square, a statue towered over them, its copper surface gleaming in the sunlight.  It had the head of a lion, the hands and feet of a bear, and fish scales covering its body.  Dragon wings stretched out in pride, casting long shadows across the square.

    “Grotesque,” Beautiful said.

    “Apollyon.”  Seeker nodded, pointing at the inscription.  “Three hundred years, and no one’s thought to pull this down.”

    Seeker pulled a small black notebook from his satchel.  “Hmm,” he thought out loud.  “Let me see.”

    Beautiful tugged at his arm.  “Let’s go.  This is giving me the creeps.”

    He kept flipping through his notebook as Beautiful dragged him out of the square.  “There,” he said at last, glancing down one street, then another.  “Her house should be on the other side of the bridge.”

    He took her hand and led her down one street, then another, until they reached the river.  A graceful wooden bridge arched over it.  He pointed at the water.  “I thought I recognized it.  This river gave me no end of grief.”   Below them, the water swirled in dizzying patterns, dredging up mud and carrying a faint, rotting smell.

    “River of Confusion,” he said.  He imagined the river was whispering—mocking him.  “It runs all the way to the Slough, with no bridge across.”  Then he added, “Well, except here… and in Stupidity.  Not much of a bridge there, though.”

   “There’s another one,” she said.  “On the way to the Dark Land.  It empties into the harbor there.”

   On the other side, Seeker stopped to ask directions.  Then he led them down one street, into an alley, and out onto another.

    “Are you sure you know where you are going?” she asked.

    He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his mouth.  “Who knows?”

    At last, they stood in front of a small house.  “You knock, baby,” he said.

***

    Thoughtful opened the door and stared at Beautiful for a moment—then his eyes landed on Seeker.  “Seeker?”  He turned and shouted into the house, “Mom!  Seeker’s here!  And he has a…”

    Beautiful’s eyes danced.  She leaned close to Seeker and whispered, “You didn’t tell me your brother was so cute.”

    “Hmph,” he scoffed.

    When Seeker’s mom saw him, she began to cry—then wrapped him in a tight hug.

     “Mom,” he said, “This is Beautiful.  My…” He hesitated.  “Well—I love her and I’m going to marry her.”  He turned to Beautiful.  “My mom.  And my bratty brother, Thoughtful.”

    “Beautiful,” Seeker’s mom said, giving her a quick once-over.  “Come in.  Sit down.  Can I get you some water?”

    “Are you hungry?” she asked.  “It’s not supper time yet, but I can whip something up real quick if you are.”

     “No, Mom,” Seeker said.  Beautiful nodded.  “We can’t stay long.  We’re hoping to reach the Dark Land before sundown.”

    “Dark Land?”  Seeker’s mom asked, “That’s a dangerous place.  Are you from the Dark Land, Beautiful?”  She shot Seeker a concerned look.

    Beautiful frowned.

    Seeker told how he’d left Uncertain—carefully leaving out the part about the Slough of Despond.  He spoke of Companion, of the Cottage, and how he met Beautiful in the wheat fields.  Beautiful chimed in and finished the story—leaving out, of course, their Christmas kiss.

    Seeker’s mom didn’t seem happy.  He expected her to smile, to hug Beautiful.  Something.  Anything.

    Seeker’s mom started to say something—when Thoughtful came in.  “Seeker, I have something for you.”

     Seeker rose and followed Thoughtful to the other side of the room.  Behind him, he heard Beautiful’s voice “Why did you leave Seeker’s dad?”  He winced.  This was going about as well as expected.

    “Look what I drew,” Thoughtful said, grinning, holding a stack of paper.

     Beautiful’s voice drifted from the other side of the room.  “I don’t understand.  Can’t you just do something… fun together?”

    Thoughtful had drawn pictures of young ladies.  They were fully clothed, but very curvy.  And not one of them had a head.  Seeker chuckled.   “You’ve got talent.”

    “No.” Beautiful snapped.  “I do believe that forgiveness is that simple.”

    “Mom will kill me if she ever finds these,” Thoughtful said.  “Can you keep them for me?  Just for now?”

    Seeker folded the drawings carefully and tucked them into his satchel.  This time, his mom’s voice rang across the room.

    “After Giant Wrath knocks you unconscious—and you’ve shed as many tears as me—then you can judge me!”

   Thoughtful looked at Seeker.  “Maybe you should just forget about her, man.”

    “My son will hurt you,” Seeker’s mom said.  “I’m telling you this because I care about you, Beautiful.”

    “I’m not you!”

    Thoughtful shrugged.  “Beautiful does seem kind of bossy.”  His voice was just a little too loud.

***

    Beautiful seemed shaken as they trudged through the back alleys.  Seeker had tried to convince her to continue their trip, but she insisted on meeting his dad.  She could be so stubborn. 

    They’d stayed a little longer.  Things had cooled down.  Beautiful and Seeker’s mom even hugged when they left.  And Seeker had promised they’d visit again.

    “She didn’t like me.”

    “No, Beautiful.  She’s just like that.  Give her time.  She’ll love you the same way I do.”

    “And I’m not bossy!” Lightning flashed in her eyes.

    “I never said you were.”

   “Yeah, but you didn’t say I wasn’t.”

   “If you want the truth, Beautiful… You were being a little bossy,” he said.  “Just a little bit.”

    “This is where Mom said Dad lives.”  He stepped up to the door and knocked.  “Now behave.”

    Seeker’s dad opened the door.  “Well, hello, Seeker!” he said, grinning broadly—then pulled him into a hug, then stepped back.  “And who might this beautiful young lady be?”

    “I’m Beautiful,” she said.

   “Yes, you certainly are!”  Seeker’s dad said. 

    Beautiful burst out laughing.  “That’s exactly what he said to me!”

    “Can you blame him?”  Seeker’s dad said.  “My son has good taste!”

   It was a small place—barely a single room.  Seeker’s dad cleared a spot on the bed in the center of the room and motioned for them to sit.  “Tell me about how you met.”

    Seeker told him everything— from leaving Uncertain, to meeting Beautiful, to the moment he proposed.

   Seeker’s dad hugged her.  “Can I call you daughter?  Is it too early?”

    Beautiful smiled.  “Yes, I would love that.” 

    “Did you see your mother?” Seeker’s dad asked.  “I certainly wouldn’t tell her about the Slough.  You know the way she is.”

   “No, I didn’t,” Seeker said.  “Tell her about the Slough, I mean.  We did see her.”

    “Why do you live like this?” Beautiful asked, wide-eyed.  “Don’t you want something better?”

    “When Seeker’s mother left me,” he said, “she took everything.”  He glanced at Seeker.  “And nobody—nobody—helped me.”

    “Seeker’s mom, she has a small place.  And you have a small place,” she said.  “If you got back together it would solve so many problems.”

    “I’m trying,” he said, his face beginning to flush.

    “I told her— forgiveness is simple.  Eat a meal together.  Smile.  Forget the past.  You just have to try… just a little harder.”

    The vein in Seeker’s dad’s neck throbbed.  “Look. I’m working my ass off.  Trying my damned hardest.  But nobody gives a damn about me—nobody.

    Beautiful flinched and began to shiver.  She opened her mouth to speak—but Seeker placed his hand on hers.  “Beautiful,” he whispered.  “Stop.” 

    They sat in silence for a long moment, just looking at each other.  The flush in Seeker’s dad’s face faded.  Beautiful offered a brave smile.

    “Look, Dad, it was good to see you,” Seeker said.  “But we’ve still got a long walk ahead of us.” 

    Seeker’s dad hugged her.  “Take care, Beautiful.  My daughter.  Come back to see me.”

    “We will,” she said quietly.

***

    They walked in silence— through the alleys and streets, past the grotesque statue of Apollyon, and out through the city gates.  The path looped around the edge of the City of Destruction.  After they crossed the stone bridge over the River of Confusion, Beautiful finally spoke.

    “You never told me your dad is bald.”

    “What?” 

    Really?  Unbelievable.  That’s what she took away from all this?

    “I don’t want you to be bald.  Everything else is bad enough.”

    “I won’t be bald, Beautiful,” he said.  “I look just like my mom’s dad.  And he’s not bald.”

    “You don’t know that.”  She sniffed.  “Your mom hates me.  And your dad… he never said he was sorry.”

    “He never does.  Never has.  Why do you think Mom left him?”

   “You do.  You always say you’re sorry.”

   “Yeah, I try.”

    “But what if…” she hesitated.  “One day you don’t?”  Tears rolled down her face.

   She flung herself down onto a rock and began to sob—bawling like a baby.  Seeker sat down beside her.

   “I hate you!”  

    Seeker held back his tears.  “That’s a horrible thing to say, Beautiful.  It hurts.  So bad.  How can you say you don’t love me?”

    “Don’t be a dumb boy, Seeker.  Just because you hate someone doesn’t mean you don’t love him.”  She grabbed his hand.  

     “I love you.  I love you.  I love you!”

    He put his arm around her, and they just sat.  Then—out of nowhere—a stag appeared.  Majestic antlers crowned his head.  He stood still, gazing at Beautiful. 

   Her face lit with glee.  She turned to kiss Seeker.  “Yes. I do love you, Seeker.”

    Maybe it really is that simple.

***

    The sun had fully set, and Seeker and Beautiful walked on in the dark— Bear circling silently behind them.

    “No need to camp, Seeker.  We’re almost there.  I know the Dark Land well.”

    “You mean to tell me,” Seeker said, holding back a laugh, “that the Dark Land isn’t always… dark?”

    She slapped his hand.  “Don’t be dumb.”

    In the distance, lights shimmered from a quiet fishing village.

    “Hurry up, honey— we’re home!”  Beautiful exclaimed.

When they reached the village, Beautiful slipped her hand from Seeker’s and turned to face him.  “Seeker, dear.  Forget what you know about the Dark Land—the sailors, the taverns, the whore-houses.  This is Bright-Harbor.”   She hesitated, choosing her words.  “You can’t hold my hand.  Or kiss me,” she added quickly, “not in public.”

    “Everyone knows everyone here, and rumors spread fast.  We haven’t even arrived, and they’re already talking.  I’m not ashamed of you, Seeker.  It’s just how things are here.”

    Seeker nodded.

    The village stretched along the shoreline.  Waves lapped softly at the sand.  The smell of salt hung thick in the air.  Lanterns lined the coast, casting light across the water—revealing small fishing boats rocking in the dark.

    The houses were small, built with vertical planks and shingled wooden roofs.  Each one had a yard—some with gardens, some with laundry or fishing nets hung on poles—surrounded by whitewashed, waist-high stone walls.

    Beautiful slipped into an alley between two houses, tugging Seeker after her.  She let go when they reached a black-painted iron gate.

    She looked at ease—but still strangely tense.  “This is where I was born, Seeker.”  She pressed on the gate, and it swung open.

    Seeker ducked his head and followed her through.  The yard inside was cozy, but spacious.  The house had a low slate roof and an open porch with sliding doors.  It was finely crafted—but built for survival, not beauty.  Beside it stood a smaller building, and across the yard, a shed and what looked like an outhouse.  He chuckled to himself.  The gate, the buildings—everything was scaled perfectly to Beautiful’s height.

    On the far side grew a well-tended vegetable garden, bordered by rows of fruit trees—dozens of them.  Heavy, orange fruit hung from the branches—fleshy and smooth.  He didn’t recognize them.

    Great-Saint stepped out of the house and took Seeker’s hand.  “You’re finally here.  I’ve been waiting all day.”

    A tiny woman appeared in the doorway—at least a half a head shorter than Beautiful.  But Seeker had never seen a tougher-looking woman in his life.  Wiry, strong—she’d clearly lived a hard life.

    Her hair was short and tightly curled, and the fierceness in her eyes made Seeker flinch.  She glared at him.  “I know why you’re here,” she said.  “I’ll never let you marry her.  You won’t take my Beautiful from me.”

    “Leave!” she shouted.

    “Mom!” Beautiful and Great-Saint exclaimed together.

    Great-Saint placed a hand on Seeker’s shoulder and gently guided him toward the guest house.  Beautiful took her mother’s hand and stepped inside, turning briefly to mouth, It’ll be OK.

    The guest house was small—if he stretched out his arms, he could almost touch both walls.  Aside from a narrow bed, there was no furniture.  Great-Saint left and returned a minute later with a blanket and a pillow.  “Dad’s out fishing.  He’ll be gone most of the night.  Rest now, Seeker.  We’ll see you in the morning.”

    Seeker lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling until sleep finally took him.  This wasn’t how he imagined it would go.

***

    Seeker woke to a kiss on his forehead.  Beautiful was leaning over him, her eyes dancing with amusement.  “Mom made breakfast for you,” she said—then giggled.  “Us.”

    She took his hand and led him into the house.  “Make sure you call her Mom” she said, eyes gleaming.

    She led him into the main room.  A low fire burned in the hearth.  Her mother was already seated at the table in the center.  She glared at him—though something in her face had softened.  But only a little.

    Three places were set—one for Beautiful, her mother, and him.  In the center sat small loaves of bread with thick, dark crusts, and a platter of fish—skin still sizzling, eyes still staring.

    His own eyes went wide.  How had he fallen in love with a fisherman’s daughter and never once considered he’d have to eat fish—for breakfast.

    He leaned close and whispered in Beautiful’s ear, “Any chance you still have coffee in your pack?”  Then, a little louder—stammering, “I’m… not really that hungry.”

    “Oh.  You said you loved me,” she said, eyes sparkling with delight.  “Now prove it.”  She chose the largest fish and dropped it onto his plate—then picked up his fork and pressed it into his hand.

    Beautiful and her mother were both watching him.  So was the fish.  He used the fork to break off a piece.

    “Don’t eat the skin, dumb—” Beautiful glanced at her mom and stopped herself.

    Beautiful pulled the plate toward her, sliced the fish down the center, peeled back the skin, and lifted a forkful of white meat.  Then, using her own fork, she placed it in Seeker’s mouth.

    “Beautiful!” her mother snapped.

   “Mom!” Beautiful snapped back, eyes flashing like lightning.

   “Yum,” Seeker said, trying to sound convincing.

    Beautiful’s mom laughed—and then smiled.  Beautiful turned to Seeker and smiled sweetly.

    Beautiful slid the plate back in front of him.  “Try not to eat the bones.”

    Seeker watched Beautiful eat—he’d never seen her enjoy a meal like this.  She chattered happily between bites.  Maybe fish for breakfast wasn’t so bad after all.

    When he finished the last bite, he set his fork down.   Beautiful jabbed his ribs.  “Thank you, Mom,” she mouthed.

    “Thank you, Mom,” he said quietly.

    “Leave!” Beautiful’s mom shouted.

    Beautiful nearly choked on her laughter, tears streaming down her face.

    “Dad has an extra-special treat for you,” she managed, still laughing.  “You’re going to love it.”

***

    Seeker and Beautiful walked with Great-Saint along the path that followed the beach.  The ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, morning light glistening on the waves.  Overhead, a gull cried out.

    Beautiful reached for Seeker’s hand—but then stopped short.   Great-Saint walked between them, speaking earnestly as they walked.  Then without warning, he stopped.  He took Seeker’s hand in one of his, and Beautiful’s in the other—then gently joined them together.  “What the King has joined together, let no one separate.”

    When they reached a small house on the far side of the village, Beautiful knocked on the door and called out “Tender-Heart!  It’s me—Beautiful!”

    A young woman opened the door.  She was unmistakably Beautiful’s sister—slightly older, with shoulder-length hair.  “Seeker,” she said warmly.  “Come in.  Great-Saint has told me so much about you.”  Her voice was quiet and melodious, but timid.

    What had Great-Saint even said about him?  He hadn’t said more than a dozen words since they met.

    The room was small.  A baby girl played on the floor, toys scattered around her.  Shelves lined the wall, crammed with books.  Tender-Heart motioned to one couch and sat on the other.  Beautiful sat beside Seeker—pressed close, holding his hand in both of hers.

    A man stepped through the door.  “This is my husband, Eager-Mind,” Tender-Heart said.  His appearance was striking—bright eyes and a confident smile.

    Seeker cupped his hand around Beautiful’s ear and whispered, “You never told me your sister’s husband was so handsome.”

    Beautiful laughed easily, “That’s nothing.  Wait till you see Considerate’s husband.  You have a high standard to live up to.”

    Tender-Heart asked how he’d met Beautiful—and how he’d become a Pilgrim.  They talked about Uncertain, his love for music, and his studies.  Then she asked about his Book.

    Eager-Mind sat quietly, nodding as Seeker spoke.  He told them about the book he’d wanted—the one he couldn’t afford from the peddler.  Eager-Mind stood and crossed the room to one of the shelves.

    He took a black leather-bound book, embossed with silver lettering, and placed it in Seeker’s hands.  Redemption of Eva.

   He opened the book and forgot everything else—Tender-Heart. Eager-Mind.  Even Beautiful:

The Great Red Dragon towered over Eva
“You’re back, Lady Evadne,” he hissed. “No matter how many times the Author resets the story, you will never win.”
He sneered, “Lord Peregrine,” he said, the title curling in his mouth like rot. “He’ll always die, Madame. You know that.”
Eva raised the Shield of Faith, sheltering behind it just in time. Then the Dread Lord Beelzebub walked boldly through the fire—and stood at her side.
“Traitor!” spat the Dragon.

    Beautiful shook his arm.  “Seeker!”

    He blinked, “Huh?”

    Eager-Mind repeated, “You can have it.  It’s my gift to you.”

    “Thank you,” Seeker and Beautiful said together.

    Seeker slid onto the floor, settling among the toys.  The little girl smiled at him and offered him a doll.

    “I want to have a daughter, just like her,” he said.

     Beautiful slid beside him, lifted the girl into her lap, and smoothed her hair.  “We will,” she said.  “I promise.”

    Beautiful stood and reached for Seeker’s hand.  “Let’s not keep Dad waiting.  You’ve got a promise to keep.”  Then, more softly— “To me.”

***

    Beautiful’s father was already awake when they returned.  His skin was sun-darkened, rough from years of wind and rain.  He’d removed the cover from the well and was hauling something up with a long rope.

    “Dad caught an octopus, last night.” Beautiful said, her face lighting up.  “It’s a very special treat, you know.”

    Beautiful’s father handed it to her.  It wriggled in her hands, and she squealed with delight.  Seeker’s eyes widened.

    He held out his hand.  Seeker had never felt hands so strong—or so rough. 

    “Seeker,” he said, warmth in his face.  “Come have a drink with me.  Let’s talk.”

    Beautiful’s father led him into the house, sat down on the wooden floor, and gestured for Seeker to do the same.  Along one wall, blankets and pillows had been neatly folded and stacked.

    Beautiful carried a small table and set it between Seeker and her father, then sat beside her father.  Her mother followed, forks in one hand and a plate of octopus in the other.  She placed them on the table and took her seat on his other side.

    It wasn’t even cooked.  The tentacles still wriggled on the plate.  His throat tightened.  He searched Beautiful’s eyes.  There was no teasing this time.  He had no choice.  Eat it… or lose her.

    Her father reached behind him and set a bottle and two glasses on the table.  He pulled the cork, handed Seeker the bottle, and held out his glass.

    Beautiful’s eyes met his.  She nodded.  He filled her father’s glass, then started to pour his own.  She shook her head—mouthing the word no.  Her father took the bottle and filled Seeker’s glass himself.

    Beautiful’s father downed the clear liquid in one swallow.  Seeker did the same.  It burned on the way down—but he didn’t flinch.

    Beautiful’s father picked up a fork, stabbed a tentacle, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully.  Beautiful and her mother each took a fork and began to eat.

    Beautiful seemed to enjoy it.  How bad could it be?  He picked up a fork, carefully chose a piece, and swallowed without chewing.  It latched onto the back of his throat.  He almost gagged.  Beautiful snickered—quietly.

    Her father poured him another glass and handed him the bottle.  Seeker started to pour him a second in return—when her mother snatched the glass away.

    “No,” she said emphatically.

    Seeker took another bite of the octopus.  This time, he chewed.  It didn’t taste bad.  It was just… chewy.  He washed it down with the liquor.

    Beautiful’s father started to pour him a third.

    “Dad!” Beautiful snapped, eyes flashing.

    He ignored her—and kept pouring.

    Seeker swallowed it in one gulp.  Beautiful’s father gave him a long look—and nodded.

    “You love Beautiful.”  It wasn’t a question.

   Beautiful’s mother suddenly screamed.  “I won’t let Beautiful marry him!”

    Beautiful’s father placed a calm hand over his wife’s.  Beautiful slid to the other side of the table and took Seeker’s hand in hers.

    “I love Beautiful.  I always will,” the words came easily—maybe it was the liquor.  “There’s nothing I won’t do for her.  Even if it costs me my last breath.”

    Beautiful’s eyes blazed—brighter than the sun, lighting the room.  Her mother’s eyes softened.  Her father just nodded.

    “Beautiful will stay here.  You’ll return alone,” he said.  “When you’ve built her a home”—he gestured around them— “When you can care for her… come back.  You have my blessing.”

    Beautiful squeezed his hand tight—then stabbed a still-wriggling piece of octopus and shoved it in his mouth.

***

    Seeker woke with Beautiful nestled against his back.  He turned to face her.  She kissed him—long and lingering—until she finally pulled away, both of them gasping for breath.

    “You have to leave today,” she said.  “I wish I could come with you.”

    “We have our blessing,” he said.  “That’s all that matters.  It’s only a matter of time.”

    She sat up and hugged her knees.  “It’s not quite the blessing you think it is, Seeker.”  A cloud passed over her face.  “He knows it will take years.  And he knows…”—she swallowed hard— “you won’t come back for me.”

    “But he doesn’t know you like I do.”

    “I wrote something for you,” he said, digging in his satchel.  Then he laughed softly.  “Or… at least copied a few lines from the Song of Songs.”

Who is she who comes from the South?
As Beautiful as the Moon,
As bright as the Sun,

Come with me,
My love,
My dove,
My purest,

The winter has ended,
And the spring has appeared,
It is the season of song.

Arise,
My Beautiful.
Feed me with apples—
I am love-sick!

The world is filled with beauty…
But none are Beautiful like you.

 

    A tear glistened in her eye.  “That’s beautiful,” she said.  They sat there, holding hands.  Silence filled the air—thick with heartache.

    “Oh, Beautiful,” he said at last.  “I can’t bear the ache.  I’m going to miss you so much.”

    “It’ll only feel like a few days, baby,” she said.  “You said it yourself.  Besides… I’ll visit your dreams every night.  I promise.”

    “Before you go,” she said softly, “I have something for you.”

    She held up her hand, turning it slightly, letting the light cascade over the brilliant diamonds.  “I wear this as a promise that I am yours.  Never doubt that.”

    She reached into the neckline of her dress and drew out a golden ring, hanging from a fine silver chain.  Turning away, she lifted her hair.  “Help me unclasp the necklace, Seeker.”

    She placed the ring in his palm.  Inset with onyx, it was flanked on either side by engraved trees.

    “The King’s messenger, Secret, commanded me to carry it—until I found the one who would walk with me to the Celestial City.  That it belonged to him.”

    She took the ring from Seeker’s palm and slid it onto his finger.  It fit perfectly.  “That it belongs to you,” she said, her voice full of awe.

    “Wear this as a sacred promise,” she said.  “Not just to me—but to the King.”

   “And remember,” she said—lightning flashing, and sunlight blazing in her eyes—“You are mine.  And only mine.”

    Beautiful woke that morning, bored out of her skull.  Why were people so dull here?  She clomped down to the common room—no one to talk to, as usual.  She hated that.  Fine.  She would go on an adventure today.  Alone, if she had to.

    Same old bread.  But today, Miss Cheerful had left meat and cheese—almost like she knew Beautiful had plans.  Beautiful slapped a slice of each between two pieces of bread.  Make one for your husband.  She spun.  Who said that?  No one.  Just her brain, spitting nonsense.  What an absurd idea.  She was definitely too bored.

     She found herself making a second sandwich anyway, fingers working on their own.  She wrapped it in linen—neatly, too.  The birds would eat it.  They were her only friends here.  Well… them, and Gracious.  And Steadfast.  Kind.  Fair-Glance.  And—

    She wandered through the wheat fields, wondering where to go.  To the stream?  She had never been.  The stairs looked dreadfully long.  The birds were singing, and she matched them, tapping the stalks in time with careful fingers.   When they paused, so did she, plucking grains and flicking them away between beats.  Still bored.

    She looked up and saw him.  What was he smiling at?  She turned, hair whipping into her face.  There was nothing there.  Then it hit her—he was smiling at her.  He kept smiling.  Well, now this was getting awkward. 

    She strode straight over and poked him in the stomach.  Husband.  The word blazed through her mind before she could stop it.  What an utterly ridiculous idea.

    “I’m Beautiful.”  Why had her parents given her that name? 

    “Yes, you are!” he said.

    Was he teasing her?  She giggled anyway.  She already loved his sense of humor.

    “Do you want to see the stream?” he asked.  “Maybe tomorrow?”   

    What was wrong with him?  Didn’t he realize she was bored today?  He was perfect for this adventure—she had seen him poking around the ruins.  Well… after Companion left.  Before that, he trailed after him like some lost puppy.  

    Tomorrow? He probably thought she couldn’t handle the stairs and didn’t want to say it.  Fine.  She would show him.

“What’s wrong with today?”  She had no idea what he thought he was doing—but he was coming with her.  Whether he liked it or not.   “Try to keep up!”

   Beautiful slowed at the top of the stairs, chest heaving.  She grinned as he lagged behind.  Maybe next time he’d think twice before underestimating her.

    The top step was slick.  Her foot slipped suddenly, and she pitched forward.  She flung out a hand, grasping for anything.  He caught her.  She shot him a sheepish grin.  It really was a long way down.

    He was stronger than he looked.  But the way he held her hand—so gentle.  She started to pull away, but he didn’t let go.  Good.  Not that she was going to admit she needed her hand held for the way down.  Like a baby.

    As they made their way down, with his steady grip keeping her steps sure, she could actually take in the view.  This was a side of the valley she’d never seen—wild and green, with waterfalls crashing and water slipping down delicate cascades.  It danced over the rocks, clear and careless.

   She sighed.  What an adventure today was turning out to be.

   Beautiful sat beside the stream with Seeker, dipping her toes into the crystal-clear water.  That was his name, right?  He hadn’t said, but she was pretty sure she’d heard Companion call him that.

    A palace rose on the far side of the stream, stately and magnificent.  Exploring that would be a grand adventure.  He didn’t even think to offer.  Maybe he thought she couldn’t cross the stream—or that she’d fall in.  And honestly, could you blame him, after the way she nearly went flying off the stairs?

    Then it came to her.  He was always off exploring the ruins near the cottage.   What was in there that held his fascination?  She would find out.  Tomorrow.  Who said her adventure had to end today?

    She set her handbag down and opened it, hoping he didn’t notice how old and worn it looked.  Inside were two sandwiches wrapped in linen.  Her heart skipped.  Make one for your husband.  Had she really just said that out loud?  She was mortified.  Heat rushed to her face.  Please let him not have heard.  He’d think she was silly.   And there went her adventure.   

    The word still echoed in her mind—husband.  Still.  He wasn’t even really her type.

     He passed her his canteen.  She recognized it—it had been Companion’s.  She wished she had a good friend like that.  The crumb at the corner of Seeker’s mouth had been bothering her.  She reached over and wiped it away with her handkerchief.  Much better.

***

    He looked distracted.  What was going on in that head of his?  She started telling him about the time she fell into the Slough.  Why had she said that?  Now he’d think she was clumsy.  And there went the palace.

    He was listening—really listening.  No judgment in his eyes.  So, she continued on.  Prattled on, more like.  She told him all about her childhood in Dark Land.  How hard it had been.  There was something about him—steady, quiet—that made her trust him.

   She looked up—and there it was.  A single tear rolling down his cheek.  Revulsion surged in her chest.  “Don’t cry,” she snapped.  She’d never seen a man cry before.  Yell, sure.  Cry?  Never.  “Only babies cry.”

   No sooner had the words left her lips than she regretted them.  He was crying—for her.  That wasn’t weakness.  She had no reason to mock him.  How could she take it back?  Unsay it?  Baby could mean something sweet.  Something tender.  Maybe he knew that.

   “I’m going to call you baby from now on!”  She nearly convinced herself.

   “Hurry up, baby!  The sun’s setting” She dashed toward the stairway—another chance to show him she could keep up.

   “Can I kiss you?”  The words caught Beautiful off guard.  She’d denied him her hand at the top of the stairs.  But his hands—strong, careful—still lingered in her memory.  She wanted him to kiss her.  She’d never met anyone like him.

    But… she’d made herself a promise.  She would only kiss one man—the man she loved.  She’d only say I love you to that man.  Once she said it, she could never say it to anyone else.  She’d never betray her husband like that.

    It really was a marvelous day—maybe even the best of her life.  But it was only the first.  Much too early to say.

    She’d promised to only kiss one man.  But…. She offered Seeker her cheek.  If he’d kissed other girls, that was his business.  A tingle bloomed where his lips touched her skin.

    “I’ll miss you,” he teased.

    “No, you won’t.  I’m going to visit you in your dreams.”

    And the dumb boy actually believed her.

    Beautiful was surprised to find herself dreaming of Seeker.  She held his hand tightly as they walked through the pastures, passing Shepherds and Pilgrims.  She was free to do as she pleased—unbothered by their glances.

    When they reached an orchard, he picked an apple—red and luscious—and handed it to her.   She took his clasp-knife, sliced a piece, and offered him the first bite.

   He stared at her with an intensity that made her feel—well, beautiful.  Maybe for the first time.  She leaned in to give him the kiss she’d denied. But she woke up first.

    Her heart was pounding.  That was close.  Did dreams count?  It was her dream, after all.  No one would know.  She didn’t even have to tell Seeker.  

    She hoped he’d dreamt of her.  She really did.  She needed to stop making promises she couldn’t keep.

   When Beautiful woke, the sky was still dark, a faint silver glow brushing the edge of the horizon.  She lit a candle and stared into the mirror.  Carefully, she brushed her hair, coaxing the curls back in place.  One night of sleep and her hair was as wild as Miss Cheerful’s.  Well, maybe not that bad.

    She didn’t want to wear the same dress again—but she didn’t have many.  It wasn’t about impressing Seeker.  She just needed something good for exploring ruins.

    When did Seeker eat breakfast?  She wasn’t sure.  Better to get there early—just in case.

    She set two places.  One for her—and one right beside it.  As she waited, the thought struck her.  Two plates?  What was she thinking?  He’d know she’d been waiting for him.  She reached to whisk one away—and froze as he stepped into the doorway.

    “Good morning, baby,” she said, trying not to glance at the second plate.  She eyed the day-old bread.  “It’s not apples, but it’ll have to do.”  She felt very clever at her private joke.

    He sat down in front of the second plate.  So—he noticed.  Oh well.  His hand drifted to hers.

    “Not here, I said!”  Maybe she should let him—she still remembered how his hand felt in the dream.  But she pulled hers away anyway.

    “What is it you do in that tower, Seeker?” she said, keeping her voice light.  Not light enough.  Too eager.  He’d be suspicious for sure.

    He picked up on it—of course he did.  She’d just let it slip that she’d noticed him before.  She scrambled to cover.  “Everyone knows, little baby.”  She threw in little to make it sound less… endearing.

    “Come and see, baby,” he teased.

   How dare he call her baby?  “Don’t call me baby!”

   Beautiful hung back, careful not to let Seeker see how eager she was for their little adventure.  Let him lead.  He seemed happy to.

    “Here’s the Dusty Parlor,” he said.  Well, obviously.

      They came to a doorway, blocked by rubble.  “The Interpreter showed Christian many things in the rooms on the other side.” 

     Did he think she didn’t know the history of the ruins?   He could be so obnoxious.  “And Christiana,” she added.

    He shot her a puzzled look.  She knew something he didn’t.  She’d show him—after dinner.

     “This is where the tour ends.” He stopped in front of a crumbled wall, no taller than she was.

    Why would he bring her here only to stop?  Didn’t he know that all good things take effort?  She would show him.  She grabbed her dress in one hand and started climbing the wall. 

    She hauled herself up—harder than she expected.  Her arms strained, slipping a little.  No way she was asking for help.

    She landed on the other side and called back, “Are you coming, little baby?”  She grinned.  That ought to show him.

    “Don’t call me…” he started.

    She giggled.  He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

    She dashed up the stairs to the tower door.  Locked.  That was it?  The end of their adventure?  She yanked on the handle—it didn’t budge. Too early.  It couldn’t be over yet.

    He walked over, calm as ever, pulled a clasp-knife from his satchel, and flipped it open.  She’d never seen it before—she was sure of that.  And yet… he’d given it to her in her dream.  Curious.

   He slid his knife into the crack between the door and frame—smooth, like he’d done it a thousand times.  The door swung open.  She just stared.  What else didn’t she know about him?

    She held out her hand, waiting.  But he was already bounding up the stairs without her.

    “I’m waiting…” she called.  He could be so oblivious.  Did he want to hold her hand or not?

    He retraced his steps without a word, and their fingers found each other.  Hand in hand, they started up the stairs.  There wasn’t as much room as she’d expected—she was pressed right up against him.  But she didn’t let go.  She could feel his heartbeat—slow, steady, strong—echoing through her.  She felt safe.  Her own heart answered his, beat for beat.

    What was at the top of the tower that had him intrigued?  Her curiosity was killing her.

    She lit up.  Books.  So, he was a warrior poet?  Maybe he was her type after all.  Ridiculous.  She’d been positively absurd the last few days.

   She ran her finger across the spines.  The Measure of a Man.  The Hidden Well.  The Yoke and the Plough.  He really was a deep thinker.  One title stopped her—written in a script she didn’t recognize.  

   “What is this one?” she asked.

    “That is the New Testament,” he replied.  “It’s in Greek.”

    Warrior poet.  Like Odysseus.  Of course he could read Greek.  But she had to be sure.

   “How do you say…” she hesitated for half a second, then blurted “I love you.”  That didn’t count.  She said it, sure—but she didn’t mean it like that.

   The dumb boy said “Ah-gah-PAH-oh.”

   He had said it.  And she liked hearing it.  No one had ever said that to her before.

    “Thank you!”  She laughed to herself.  She was getting good at this.  But… she shouldn’t be cruel.  Not to him.

   That night Beautiful went to Seeker in the dream—this time on purpose.  He was already there, waiting.

    “It’s really you, isn’t it?” she whispered.

    He nodded, eyes gentle.  “You kept your promise.”

    She seized his hand without hesitation—right there in front of the cottage.  This was their dream.  Their rules.  No one could stop them.

    “You can hold my hand here,” she said, lifting her chin.  “Nowhere else.”

    He nodded.

    They raced down the stairs toward the ravine, her laughter chasing after the wind.  She skipped across the stream, rock to rock, with no fear of slipping.   The Stately Palace rose beside her—grand and dignified—but she barely glanced at it.  Who cared about ancient halls?  She had her Odysseus.  They wound along the ravine, the stream leaping beside them in playful bursts.

    Seeker dropped onto a smooth rock and let his boots drift through the cascading stream.  He laughed.  “Try this out!” he called.

    Beautiful stepped in without hesitation, unconcerned about her leggings or shoes.  The luminous water was cool, bright, and impossibly clean.  It curled around her like wind, flowing through her fingers and around her ankles without leaving a trace.  She twirled through it, laughing.  Together they danced beneath the waterfall, the water around them—gentle, alive, and brimming with joy.

    Beautiful settled beside Seeker and leaned into his chest—solid, steady, warm.  A soft sigh escaped her lips.  If only this night would never end.

    At last, the time came to leave.  Seeker leaned in to kiss her.  This was her dream—she could do whatever she wanted.  But it was real.  It counted.  She turned—not to meet his lips, but to offer her cheek. 

   Beautiful awoke with a start—the sun already halfway up the sky.  She’d slept like a baby.  Then the panic hit.  What would Seeker think?  She rushed to brush her hair.  Splashed water on her face.  The common room was empty.  Heart racing, she bolted for the pasture.  There he was—talking to Kind, like nothing was wrong.

    She could see the unguarded affection in Kind’s eyes.  If Kind liked him, he couldn’t be half-bad.  Right?

    Kind teased her about being late.  Fair enough—she was terrible at judging time.  But this time, it really wasn’t her fault.

    “You can’t keep me up all night like that anymore,” she whispered to Seeker.  Her cheeks warmed.  She really hoped Kind hadn’t heard—she didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.  She leaned closer, lowering her voice even more.   “You have my days, that should be enough for you.” But not enough for me.  She wisely kept that one to herself.

    Had Kind just invited them to celebrate the Prince’s Birth?  She turned to him, brows lifted in a silent question.

    “You and Seeker are always welcome in my tent,” he said.  “Both of you.”  He looked at her like he knew.

   When she turned, Gracious was laughing at something Seeker had said.  Companion had definitely been a bad influence on him!

   Christmas Eve had finally arrived—she’d been counting the days.  Would he like the music box she’d had made for him?  He loved music, and she’d managed to find out his favorite song without raising his suspicions.  Sometimes, he really could miss the obvious.

    He loved it, of course.  And she loved her new handbag.  He must’ve noticed her old one—but now, she didn’t care.  Her warrior poet was a craftsman, too.  Would he ever stop surprising her?

    She’d loved the meal with Kind and his family, and the service had left her heart aglow.  Now she sat with Seeker under the Christmas Star, firelight fading to embers.  What a perfect night.  If only it could last forever.

    She woke to Seeker’s lips on hers.  That didn’t count—he had kissed her.  No… she wanted it.  She leaned in and kissed him back, soft and certain.  That counted.  

    She let go.  

    And when they kissed again, she didn’t hold back.

   Beautiful woke to the sun rising over the horizon, a light frost dusting the ground.  The sheep grazed contentedly around her, unfazed by the chill.  Warmth still radiated from the campfire’s embers.  Seeker’s arm was around her—and she nestled in closer with a soft sigh.

    Seeker opened his eyes and smiled.  She gazed into those big, brown eyes—so full of tenderness.  Reaching up, she drew his lips to hers and kissed him, light and lingering.

     He looked at her, eyes searching hers.

     “I love you,” he said.

     No.  No.  No.  No.  

    Why did he have to ruin the moment?  She had promised—promised she’d only ever tell one man she loved him.  The kiss part?  She added that later.  Because deep down, she knew she would love the man she kissed.  And she did.  She loved Seeker.  With all her heart.  But she couldn’t say it.  Not now.  Not yet.  “I love you” was forever.  And she didn’t even know if…

    Some words shouldn’t be spoken.  He should know that.  Shouldn’t he be able to read her heart?  She loved him.  Did he really need her to say it aloud to believe it?   What was wrong with him?

Her temper flared—hot and sudden—but she caught herself, breathing it down.

    “When did this happen?” she asked, calm on the outside.  She was sure of it.

    “When you climbed the wall,” he stammered.  “When you tricked me into saying it the first time—I love you.”

    “Do you even know what love means?”  she demanded.  “Think of every reason you love me—and make a list.  Give it to me.  A month from now.”  She hesitated, then added, “We need a break.  Time to think things through.”

     Her heart sank.  Why had she said a month?  That was forever.  A week would’ve been enough.  Long enough to think.

    This was his fault.  She stood, fists clenched and walked away—leaving Seeker alone beside the cold, gray embers.

***

    Seeker sat frozen, staring at the cold embers.  What had just happened?  She loved him—he was sure of it.  And yet, she was gone.  A month.  Maybe forever.

   Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them back, stubbornly refusing to let them fall.  Only babies cry.  He made himself a vow.  He would never cry again.  Never.

    Just then, Tirzah came out of the tent wiping the sleep from her eyes.  “Still here, Seeker?”  She paused.  “Where’s Miss Beautiful?”

    “I ruined the perfect night.  Funny thing is, I don’t even know what I did wrong.  And now she’s gone.”

   Tirzah wheeled, leveling a piercing gaze at him.  “Don’t be a dummy, Seeker!  She loves you—everyone can see it.  Except you.  She will never leave you.  Not ever.”

    Doubt filled his mind.  If only he could be as sure as Tirzah.

    Beautiful sat on her bed, tears streaking her cheeks.  She clutched the handbag he’d made, pressed tight to her heart.  She wanted to go to his room—to apologize.  But what would she even say?  She had counted every day.  It had been exactly seven.  She couldn’t wait another.  

    She opened the door, stepped into the hall… then stopped.

    No.  She would wait.

***

      Seeker paced his room, back and forth, back and forth.  He couldn’t think—couldn’t even read.  The list sat on the table, untouched.  He had a hundred—no, a thousand—reasons to love her.  And not one written down.

    He opened the lid of the music box and let the melody spill into the silence.  It had been a week.  He missed her.  Desperately.  How was he going to last a month?

    He reached for the door.  He’d go to her.  Say he was sorry.  But for what?  Loving her?

    He paused, hand on the handle.  She’d said a month.

    Seeker couldn’t stand it anymore.  He grabbed his staff and headed out—Kind always knew the right thing to say.  It’d been a whole week since they’d spoken.  It’s not like he had a reason for not going sooner.  Kind was sure to give him an earful for that.

    The air was chill, the sky heavy with clouds, as Seeker trudged the Narrow Way.  In the distance, a woman in a slate-colored dress and veil walked alone.  Three brutes emerged, blocking her path.  Seeker stiffened, heart lurching.  They circled her.  He broke into a run.

    The scene from Beautiful’s Book flashed into his mind—Christiana and Mercy, ambushed in the Way.  The ill-favored one had promised to “make women of you forever.”  But the King had sent a Deliverer.  There would be no Deliverer this time.  There had been no Evangelist for him.  No Good-Will.  No Interpreter.  There would be no Deliverer for her, either.  There was only him.

    A sharp cry escaped his lips—he couldn’t hold back.  They turned.  He sprinted toward them, staff raised and swung with all his strength.  The blow landed clean—cracking against the nearest thug’s skull.  The man dropped like a stone.

    One of the brutes had the veiled woman by the arm.  “I’ll have my way with you once I finish with this runt,” he growled.  He shoved her to the ground and turned on Seeker.

    Seeker swung his staff, but the brute blocked it and knocked it from his hands.  A vision of Blunt in Stupidity flashed through his mind.  Fear surged—he wasn’t a fighter, and now he was unarmed.  But he had no choice.

    Fury welled up inside him.  He clenched his fist, drew it back, and hurled his weight into the punch.  The brute’s nose crumpled, blood spraying.  Seeker stooped, grabbed his fallen staff, and turned—just in time to see the last one running.

    Seeker held out his hand to the young lady trembling on the ground.  “Are you all right, Miss…”

    She pulled back her veil, and a wild mess of black curls tumbled free.  Her eyes were swollen, her face streaked with tears and dirt.

    “Beautiful?”  She was a mess—but she was still Beautiful.

    Beautiful sprang to her feet and fell into Seeker’s arms.

    “I love you, Seeker.”

    Seeker stood stunned.  This was the last thing he’d expected today.

    Lightning flashed in her eyes.  “I said I love you, you dumb boy!”

    She looked so adorable when she got like that.  

    “When did this happen?” he teased, heart racing.

    Beautiful stared at him, speechless.

    For a moment, they just looked at each other, then they both broke out laughing.

    Then they kissed.  It was a new beginning.

    Beautiful leaned into her Deliverer as they walked.  She didn’t need a mirror to know—her face was smudged with dirt, her eyes swollen from a week’s worth of tears.  Not because of the brutes.  She hadn’t stopped crying since she walked away from Seeker.   Her hair was wild—she hadn’t even brushed it before slipping out to hear Kind speak.  No one was supposed to see her.  That was what the veil was for—to hide the tears.

    Seeker didn’t even notice—he just looked at her with love in his eyes.  Her Deliverer.  She had cried out to the King, just as Christiana had long ago—and He had heard her.  She never doubted He would.

    The King had sent him.  The thought sent a shiver through her.  To walk with her.  Her heart ached for Christiana—she never knew what it was to walk beside Christian.  Beautiful clutched Seeker’s hand.  She would never let go.  Never. 

    Fair-Glance and Cheerful stood talking in front of the cottage.  Fair-Glance looked at their intertwined fingers—disapproving.  Beautiful didn’t care.  Cheerful beamed at her.

    “You’re a mess, Beautiful,” he said.  “But you’re still Beautiful.”  A mischievous glint lit his eyes.  “To me.”  Then with a teasing shrug he added, “I’ll wait.  While you… freshen up.”

   Her temper sparked—just for a second.  But his eyes danced, full of mischief and tenderness.  She loved him.  No doubt at all.

    Beautiful lifted her chin and closed her eyes, waiting.  She opened them again.  What was he looking at?  Pay attention!  Without another thought, she grabbed his head and pulled his lips to hers—right there in front of the cottage.

    “Go,” he urged, voice quiet but sure.  “I’ll be right here waiting, Baby.”

   She didn’t protest.  Baby.  She liked the sound of it—more than she wanted to admit.  That word belonged to him now.

   Beautiful poured water from the pitcher into a basin, then dipped a wash towel and gently wiped the smudges from her face.  She brushed her hair with care, then paused to twirl one of her curls around her little finger—Seeker adored her curls.

    Her favorite dress was laid out on the bed.  It wasn’t fancy, but it was still beautiful.  As her fingers brushed a ring on a silver chain—the one Secret had given her with the King’s invitation—her memory stirred.

---

   Beautiful busied herself sweeping the floor of the little house in Dark Land.  Her mom would be home from the fields soon, and together they’d prepare dinner before her dad returned from the ocean.

    She had barely set aside the broom when a knock echoed at the front door.  The man who stood there wore a simple, finely made cloak of deep royal blue, and around his neck hung a slender chain bearing the seal of the King.

   “I am Secret, and I dwell with those who are on high,” he said, his voice quiet but compelling.  “The King invites you to journey to Beulah as a Pilgrim.”

   “How can I journey to Beulah, seeing as I am just a girl, and I have no one to walk with me?”

    “Have you no friends or family?” Secret asked.

    “I am only the baby,” she said.  “My brothers and sisters left years ago, and my parents refused to go with them.”  Her fingers curled around the edge of her skirt.  “What chance do I have?”  She glanced toward the window, as if there was nothing to see.  “And my friends—none would leave this place.”

    Secret handed her the King’s invitation.  On it was written “Beautiful,” sealed with the signet of the King.  Then he took her hand and placed a small velvet pouch in it.  Inside was a golden ring, set with a deep black onyx.  It was clearly not meant for her—much too large for her small fingers.

    Secret smiled.  “The King will send one to walk with you.  That ring belongs to him.”  

   Beautiful bowed low. “Please tell the King—I accept his invitation.”  She turned the ring over in her hand, studying it.  “When I find him, I will give it to him.  And I will love him.”  Her eyes blazed.  “And only him.”

    He nodded—not in simple agreement, but as witness to her vow.  He handed her a small ornate wooden box.  “Godspeed, Beautiful, daughter of the King.”  And with that, he was gone.

---

    Beautiful changed into the dress she’d laid out—the red and black one she’d been wearing when she met Seeker.  She slipped the necklace over her head, and tucked the ring into her dress, close to her heart.  It belonged to Seeker now.  He just didn’t know it yet.

   She dabbed on a touch of perfume from the carved, ornate box the King had given her.   The sweet fragrance of lilies filled the room.  She ran the brush through her hair one last time, making sure every strand was in place.

    Yes, she was aware of the time.  How long had she kept him waiting?  It didn’t matter.  She had to be perfect for him.  

    When at last she stepped into the common room, Seeker greeted her with a smile—the same smile that had captured her heart in the wheat fields.

    Beautiful walked beside Seeker, hand in hand, resisting the familiar urge to dash ahead and make him chase her.  Not today.

  Together they walked down the stairs, her hand still in his.  She never got tired of the view—waterfalls spilling from the distant mountains into the stream below, carving its way through the ravine.

    She knew exactly what was coming—he thought she hadn’t noticed the small velvet box hidden in his other hand.  And yet, her curiosity buzzed inside her, impossible to quiet.  She glanced at him, amused—he was trembling.  Poor boy.  This was the same man whose fists had sent brutes running just hours ago.  And now he trembled at her.  A girl who barely reached his shoulders.

    Relax.  You’re doing fine.   He stopped at the stone where they’d sat the very first day.  This is where their adventure had begun.  Where she’d accidentally blurted out husband.  Somehow, even then, she’d known.  No.  She’d known the moment he smiled at her in the wheat fields.  He had seen her.

    He dropped to one knee.  He could really, really be ridiculous sometimes.  This was so cliché.

   “Beautiful,” he said, “will you…”

    She leaned in.  Yes?  She waited.  And then waited some more.  Her heart pounded.  She couldn’t take it.  She sat down on the stone—the very one where she’d given him her extra sandwich.  Funny, he never seemed to think that was odd.  She pulled him down beside her.

    She slowly, deliberately took off her shoes and dangled her toes in the water, letting the coolness wash over her.  Then she pulled off his boots and dropped his feet into the stream beside hers.  Water splashed all over her.  She didn’t care.

    He still didn’t say anything.  How long was he planning to keep her in suspense?   Unable to take it anymore, she snatched the ring case from his hand.

    “You wanted to give me this?” she said, flipping the lid open.

    She gasped.  It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen—a delicate band of the purest gold, set with diamonds that gleamed with an otherworldly light, dancing like the water her toes dangled in.  She counted them.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six.  Seven.  Seven lustrous diamonds.  Where had he gotten this?

    No.  She didn’t care where it came from.  It was hers now.  She leaned in and kissed him.

    “Yes, Seeker—I will be your wife!”

    He just sat there smiling, not saying a word.  It was starting to test her patience.

    “Well, don’t sit there like a dumb boy.  Put the ring on my finger!” she snapped, her tone warm.  Tender.

   Beautiful sat sideways on her bed, legs tucked beneath her, counting the soft strokes of the brush through her curls.  She would be perfect for Seeker tonight.  A ridiculous thought.  The way she looked had nothing to do with the dream.  Or did it?  Was she more beautiful there if she felt more beautiful here?  Or did the dream reflect how Seeker saw her?  She would ask him tonight.

    She slid off the bed, bare feet peeking from beneath her cotton nightgown to touch the smooth wooden floor.  She tiptoed over and blew out the candle.  Moonlight bathed the room in a soft glow—almost as bright as day.  She closed her eyes and tried to will herself into Seeker’s dream.  But sleep wouldn’t come.

    She thought about her days with Seeker—the adventure he had led her into.  That would never end.  They would share bedchambers in Palace Beautiful.  He would be her Great-Heart, guiding her safely through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  

    But they were empty words—she couldn’t see it.  She tried to picture her wedding day, but the image wouldn’t come.  She could see Kind with his Book and Seeker standing there.  But where was she?  It wasn’t what she saw that made her stomach twist.  It was what she didn’t see.  Her parents.

    She sat bolt upright.  In all her joy, she’d forgotten about her parents.  They would never let their baby girl marry a penniless Pilgrim.  It doesn’t matter, she pleaded in her mind, tears spilling down her cheeks.  I love him.  He loves me.  She would run away with him.  No.  She couldn’t.  That was impossible.

    Her ring caught the moonlight, gleaming brilliantly in the quiet glow.  Her ring.  It wasn’t just a promise to her—it had become a symbol of her vow.  She would never take it off.  She reached for the other ring at her neck.  A promise from the King.

    Still empty words.  She sobbed.   Sleep wouldn’t come.   She would go to him—he would understand her heart.  She froze.  He couldn’t see her like this.

    Wife.  The word echoed in her mind.  Husband.  Just words… right?  She would walk with him—every step.  Even if not as wife.  Would he understand?  I can’t marry you.  But I can be with you.

    She continued to cry, but not to sleep.

    Seeker lay still, the sun warming his skin through the diamond-paned windows.  For a moment, everything felt perfect.  Then he sat up, heart racing.  He hadn’t met Beautiful in their dreams last night.  It was the first night they hadn’t shared a dream since he saw her in the wheat field.  Had she waited for him by the stream?  What would she think?  She’ll understand.  She always does.

    He hurried down to the common room.  She wasn’t there yet.  He set out a plate for himself and placed another beside it.  When he looked up again, she stood in the doorway, her posture graceful, shoulders back, yet her eyes were swollen.  She’d been crying.

     She moved gracefully across the floor and settled beside him.  Her hand found his, soft and gentle.  But sadness flowed from her touch.   He had sensed her sadness that first day.  But nothing like this.

    “Beautiful, I’m sorry,” he said quickly.  “I don’t know what happened.  How long did you—”

    She lifted a finger, silencing him.  “Seeker, I couldn’t… I can’t—”  Her voice cracked, dissolving into a sob.   She tried again, softer, heartbroken.  “Seeker, I can’t marry you.”

    Her words hit like a slap.  “What?  Why?”  His voice rose edging out the hurt.  “You were happy—we were happy!  What happened?  What did I do wrong?”  He stared at her, bewildered.  “You didn’t even ask why I wasn’t there.  It’s not like I stayed away on purpose!”

    Lightning flashed in her eyes, fierce and beautiful.  “Listen, Seeker,” she demanded.  “Stop trying to put everything into words.  Feel my heart.  You have to learn how to feel my heart!”

    The fire in her eyes vanished as quickly as it came.  She leaned in, pressed a kiss to his forehead, then tugged gently on his hand.  “Come on,” she whispered.  “Let’s not be late to Kind’s teaching.”

    The diamonds on her finger caught the light—and his eye.  His chest tightened.  What kind of game was this?

***

    They walked the Narrow Way, hand in hand—but this wasn’t the Beautiful he knew.  She didn’t try to run ahead.  She felt distant, like she was somewhere else entirely.  Her steps had no life in them.

   “Hurry up, slowpoke,” he teased.  No response.  Not even that flash of lightning in her eyes.

    He was miserable.  He wanted to say something—hold her, comfort her.  But everything he did just seemed to make it worse.

    He was relieved when they reached the pasture.  Kind hadn’t started teaching yet.  Seeker chose a spot near the back.  She sat down beside him and nestled close with a soft sigh.  He’d learned the secrets of the ancients in the tower—but he’d never figure her out.  No, not in a thousand years.  Her hand gripped his arm so tightly it hurt.  He didn’t pull away.

    Kind read from his Book, “Do nothing through contention or vainglory, but in meekness of mind let every man esteem others better than himself.  A faint smile touched Beautiful’s lips.  Kind glanced her way, voice gentle.  “Or every woman than herself.”

    Seeker felt the flutter in her chest where she leaned against him.  Kind spoke of the Prince, and she hung on every word.  He ended with, “Meekness isn’t thinking less of yourself.  It’s thinking of yourself less.”

    When Kind’s teaching ended, the distance crept back in.  They ate lunch together in silence.

    “Seeker, I’m tired,” she said quietly.  “I’m going to rest in my room for a while.”

    They stood in the doorway.   He couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Beautiful, I love you.  With all my heart.”

    “Me too,” she whispered.

He leaned in to kiss her.

    She turned, offering her cheek instead.

    Seeker waited for Beautiful to come down from her room.  She never did.  Will she meet me in the dream?  She did, but something was off.  Outside, winter had arrived—but in the dream, autumn clung to the trees.  Reds, golds, and oranges still flamed on every branch.  And yet, the colors looked faded.  Dimmed.  No birds sang.  Not one.

    They visited all their places—the stream, the waterfalls, the orchard…  but something was missing.  Every step felt… hollow.  No spark.  No fire.  Only the ache in his chest, sharp and hot.  

    There’s got to be something I can say.  He racked his brain.  I got nothing.

    They sat in silence for a long time.  Then Beautiful turned to him.  “Seeker, I have something to tell you.”

    Finally.  She loved him.  He knew that.  But something was wrong.  Maybe now she’d say what it was.  He ran through everything again.  Nothing came to mind.  What did I miss?

    “But not here,” she said softly.  “I can’t do this to you here.”

    The blood drained from Seeker’s face.  She’s going to leave me.  He opened his mouth to speak—to plead.  He reached for her hand—but she was gone.  Just like that.  

    Alone.

***

    Beautiful had made up her mind.  Kind’s words still echoed in her heart.  She was selfish—wanting Seeker’s love so desperately.  Greedily.  But she couldn’t give all of herself.  Not yet.  Maybe not ever.  He deserved more.  There were so many beautiful Pilgrims—girls who would love him better than she ever could.

   She went to him that night.  She wanted to savor every moment.  Stretch the time.  Burn it into her memory, every glance, every laugh.  But her guilt ruined it all.

    She’d be cruel.  Make him hate her—so he could forget.  He’d move on.  And she would carry her love in silence.  Alone.  What would it be like… seeing him with someone else.  Another girl… hand in hand.  No.  She couldn’t even picture it.  It was too much.

    As they sat in silence, she turned the words over in her mind.  Not here.  Not this place.  Not our dream.   It had to stay untouched—sacred.  A place to return to.  To cry.  Guilt surged again.  Still thinking about herself.  Still not about him.  But she needed this much.  Tomorrow, she promised herself.  I’ll tell him tomorrow.

    The next morning, she chose her plainest dress.  No perfume.  She considered leaving her hair wild—like Miss Cheerful.  But Seeker loved her curls.  Let him look at them one last time.  When this was over, she’d talk to Kind.  More selfishness.

    She spent all morning thinking where to tell him.  Someplace that meant nothing to him.  Nothing to her either.  She couldn’t bear that.

    She set out a plate, then another beside it.  One last breakfast before he was gone—her final act of selfishness.  He stood in the doorway.  Tall.  Strong.  Defiant.  Not the sad boy from her dream.   Good.  That would make this easier.  Her heart ached with love for him.  At least she’d have this image—to hold on to when everything else was gone.

    He didn’t touch the plate.  Just beckoned.  Headed for the door—toward the Tower.  No.  Not there.  She caught his hand, tugged him off course—away from the Tower.  Away from the stairs.  And definitely not the stream.

    His hand resisted—just for a second.  But he followed.  Through the wheat fields.  Where they first smiled.  No.  Not here.  Across the Narrow Way stood an abandoned farm.  Here.  Broken fences.  Weeds choking the ground—like the words caught in her throat.

    “Seeker, this isn’t working.  Leave.  Forget about me.  Be happy.”  It was done.  Not beautiful.  But it served.

    He stood there, his eyes as cold as ice, as hard as steel.  “Good.  I don’t need you.  I don’t love—”

    She gasped cutting him off mid-sentence.  Then the tears came—loud, broken, unstoppable.  How could he?  Her last ray of hope—gone.  She crumpled, shuddering.

    His arms wrapped around her—strong, unmoved.  “Don’t cry, Beautiful.  You’ll be fine.  There are a million men who’ll love you.”  No sympathy in his voice.  Just arrogance.  She stayed in his arms.  Just for a breath.  Even this pain—she’d hold on to it.  Then he pushed her away.

    “Goodbye,” he said, with finality as he turned away.

    She collapsed.  Briars bit into her palms.  Only then did she feel it—the bitter January cold.  A thorn caught on his ragged jacket and tore it with a harsh sound.  She saw him shiver.

    She’d done this to him.  Made him a man.  But she’d shattered the heart of the poor boy she loved.  There was nothing to cherish in this.  Nothing she could live with.  She had to make it right.  Then she remembered.  The jacket she’d sewn for him.  In secret.

   “Seeker—Seeker, wait…” she called after him, pleading.  “I can’t stand to see you cold like this.”

   “Please Seeker,” she whispered, voice trembling.  “Before you leave me… I have something I want you to have.”

***

    Seeker sat next to the hearth, wooden cup trembling in his hands.  He took a sip of the spiced wine—still warm.  She’d poured it before slipping away upstairs.

    He’d had hours to prepare.  To harden his heart—be the man she wanted him to be.  Had he convinced her?  Maybe she would stay.  But now he wanted to cut out his own tongue for those cruel words.  He wasn’t prepared for her response.  It had taken everything—everything—not to fall apart with her.

    She appeared with a coat in her hands.  “I made this for you.”

   It was soft and warm, the seams stitched with small, careful precision.  It fit him perfectly.  She beamed.

    “Can we try it out?” she asked sweetly.  “Take me to see the cascades—I hear they are frozen.  And beautiful.”  A mischievous grin lit across her face as she dashed for the door.  “Try to keep up!” she called over her shoulder.

    It was as if nothing—absolutely nothing—had happened that morning.  He would never understand her.  Not in a million years, but he loved her. 

    And in that moment, he made up his mind.  He would never let her go again.  Ever.

***

    The days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, until spring returned to the Realm of the Interpreter.  Seeker and Beautiful were always together—and never once tried to leave each other.

    Now and then, Seeker would ask Beautiful to be his wife.  Sometimes she said yes.  But by day’s end, it always turned to no, and a quiet sadness would return to her eyes.  Yet no harsh words ever passed between them.

    And so, the days passed, and their love and devotion only deepened.  She never once removed the ring with its seven radiant diamonds.  To Seeker, she remained as much a mystery as ever.

    The day began like any other.  Seeker woke with the dawn, washed his face and hands in the basin by his bed, and went downstairs for a modest breakfast of fresh-baked bread and water.  Then he made his way to the tower.

    His mind swirled with verb conjugations.  He had just finished reading about the life of the Prince in one ancient tome and had begun learning the alphabet of another.

    As he stepped out of the cottage, a song drifted from the wheat fields—sweet and melodious, the birds singing in perfect harmony.  His thoughts of study vanished.  He had to find the source.

    He rounded the corner and saw her—walking gracefully through the wheat fields, her delicate fingers brushing the ripened grain, pausing now and then to pluck a golden stalk in perfect rhythm with her singing.

    Her hair flowed gently in the breeze, long black strands whipping across her face.  Her lips moved softly with the melody.  Then she paused mid-word, catching sight of him.  He had never seen such beautiful lips.

    His eyes locked with hers.  Were they twinkling or dancing?  He smiled.  She smiled back at him.  His smile widened.  He couldn’t stop himself.  He felt like an idiot.  Then she beamed.  Her face lit up, outshining the sun.  Her beauty made the moon pale by comparison.  He couldn’t think.  He couldn’t breathe.  He was lost in the radiance.

   Time seemed to slow down as she walked towards him.  She poked him in the stomach with her index finger.

    “I’m Beautiful,” she said matter-of-factly.   Never had a name fit more perfectly.  Everything about her whispered it.  Declared it.  Beautiful.

    “Yes, you are!”  Had he really said that out loud?  What a fool.  

    Surprise flickered in her eyes, and she took a small step back.  Her gaze dropped, and she giggled.  A moment later, her smile returned in a flash.

     Say something.  Say anything.  “Do you want to go see the stream together?” he stammered.  “Maybe tomorrow?”  Where had that last part come from?  He really wasn’t thinking straight.

    He’d made up his mind.  Her eyes weren’t just twinkling—they were dancing.

    “What’s wrong with today?” she shot back, already sauntering toward the stairs.  “Try to keep up!”  

  Seeker stood there stunned for a heartbeat.  Then he caught his breath and followed.  She seemed so carefree.  So alive.  And fast—he nearly had to run to keep up.

    At the top of the stairway, she stepped on a slick rock—her foot shooting out from under her.  She flailed for balance, her arms outstretched.  He caught her hand, pulling her upright before she could fall.  She gave him a sheepish grin and started to pull away.  But he didn’t let go.

    Her hand was small in his.  Soft as silk.  She looked down at their joined hands, glanced away, and giggled.  His heart skipped a beat.  She was so cute when she did that.  He started to let go.  Slowly.  But she shifted her grip, threading her fingers through his, holding tightly.

    Hand in hand, they descended the stairs, each step placed with care.  Their hearts beat together, the rhythm pulsing through their joined hands.  Down they went.  Step by step.

    The ravine opened before them.  The stream rushed over cascades, winding away until it vanished into the trees.  Waterfalls plunged from the mountains, crashing into the stream below, mist rising in cool, drifting clouds.  The Stately Palace stood across the water, untouched by time.  

    It was all stunning.  But he saw only her.

    The way down was long.  But not long enough.  He was holding hands with the most beautiful girl—Beautiful. 

    And in that moment, he wished the stairs would never end.

    Seeker and Beautiful sat on the banks of the stream.  The water gleamed in the sun, dancing playfully around smooth stones.  Across the water rose the proud silhouette of the Stately Palace.  He thought back to the story he’d read in his Book.  He could almost see the valiant warrior overcoming insurmountable odds to win the prize he desired.

    The Interpreter had spared no expense to teach a simple truth: you must fight for the things you dearly want.  He thought of the parable he’d read in the study—the merchant who sold everything he owned to buy one perfect pearl.  He had never met anyone quite like her.

    Beautiful had taken off her shoes and was dangling her toes in the water.  She set her handbag down on the rock beside her and pulled out a small linen parcel, bound neatly with twine.  With careful fingers, she opened it, revealing two sandwiches—spiced meat and cheese tucked between slices of Miss Cheerful’s morning bread.

    “Funny,” she muttered, almost under her breath, “I thought, make one for your h—” She stopped abruptly, her face flushing bright red.  She dropped her gaze and laughed softly.  He would never get tired of that.  “Ridiculous,” she exclaimed.  “What a notion!”

    Seeker shared a story Companion had once told him.  Nobody could be quite as funny as Companion.  She laughed—and the sound was more melodious than music.  

   He passed her his canteen.  It had been Companion’s—a parting gift before he left for home.   She pressed it to her lips—those gorgeous lips—took a sip and handed it back.

    “Hold still,” she said, wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth with her handkerchief.   A tingle lingered on his skin where she touched him.

    He sighed.  This was the best day of his life.  Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped in agreement.

   Seeker and Beautiful talked and laughed for hours by the stream.  The shadows began to lengthen.  Time was slipping away. If only this day would never end.  He knew he would never forget it.

    Beautiful leaned against him.  She told him about the King’s summons, how her journey had begun, and how she had slipped and fallen into the Slough of Despond.  “I can’t forget how disgusting the mud felt,” she said.

   Seeker nodded, lost in her eyes.

   “I came from the Dark Land,” she added, her voice softening.  She spoke about her childhood and how hard times had been.  Sadness crept into her eyes.

    For the first time, he truly saw her.  Beneath all that unapproachable beauty was a sadness she kept hidden.  She’s just like me.

    As she kept speaking, tears began to slip down her cheeks.  He took the handkerchief from her hand and gently wiped them away.

    It didn’t seem possible.  How could someone so beautiful carry such sorrow?  A single tear escaped his eye.

    Without warning, lightning flashed in her eyes.  “Don’t cry!” she snapped.  “Only babies cry.”  Then, just as quickly, the fire vanished.  She blinked surprised by her own outburst.  Her expression softened, and a playful gleam returned.   “I’m going to call you baby from now on.”

    “Hurry up, baby, the sun is setting.”  Beautiful sprang to her feet and dashed toward the stairs.

    Seeker sat there, stunned.  I don’t think that means what she thinks it does.

   It took Seeker and Beautiful twice as long to climb the stairs as it had to descend.  They stopped often, catching their breath, laughing at each other.  Their hands never parted the whole way up.

    At the top of the stairs, she gently slipped her hand from his.  “Not here,” she said softly.  “Someone might see us.”

    He let go, reluctantly.  Who cares if someone sees?

    He slowed his steps, dreading the cottage door.  At last, they reached her room.  She offered him her hand.  He took it, gazing into her eyes.  Those beautiful almond eyes, shining just for him.  He held on to the moment, fixing it in his memory.

    “Can I kiss you?”  The words were out before he could stop them.  Regret hit instantly.  How could he be so awkward?  How could he ruin the perfect day?

    “Not my lips,” she said, lightning flashing in her eyes.  She glanced away, her cheeks flushing pink.  Then she turned and offered him her cheek.

   “I’ll miss you,” he said, trying to extend the moment.

   “No, you won’t.  I’m going to visit you in your dreams.”

   When Seeker woke, the sunlight felt more golden.  The birds’ song was sweeter.  singing of the birds was sweeter.  But most of all the nearby wheat fields carried a fragrance steeped in memory—Beautiful’s memory.

    She kept her promise.   They spent hours together in his dream—wandering meadows, feeding each other apples in the orchard.  But even so, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

    When he entered the common room, she was already there.  She had set a plate next to hers—and was waiting.

    “Good morning, baby,” She glanced at the day-old bread. “It’s not apples, but it’ll have to do.

   He sat beside her and reached for her hand, but she pulled it away with a disapproving glare.

    “Not here, I said!”

They ate together talking and laughing.  As he finished his last bite of bread, she gave a small tilt of her head toward the door.

    “What is it you do in that tower, Seeker?”

    “How do you even know about that?” He blinked.

    “Everyone knows, little baby,” she said with a smirk.   “You go there every single day.”

    She’d seen him before.  Of course.  It hit him.  He’d seen her too, at Stern’s gatherings.  He just hadn’t noticed.  She always slipped in late and left early.  He wondered at himself.  How had he seen her all those months and never noticed?

   “Come and see, baby,” he teased.

    “Don’t call me baby!”

    Seeker and Beautiful walked side by side.  This time she hung back, letting him lead.  They climbed the stairs past crumbling statues and stepped onto the smooth marble floor.

    “Here’s the Dusty Parlor,” he said.

   “It does seem pretty dusty,” Beautiful said with a nod.  “Maybe one of these days you should try the pitcher and broom trick.”  She laughed—a light, delightful sound.

   He pointed toward a doorway, now sealed by fallen rubble.  “There are more rooms on the other side.  The Interpreter showed Christian many things in them.”

    “And Christiana,” she said, her eyes shining.

    “Christiana?”  Seeker blinked.  There was nothing else to show her.  The rubble blocked the way forward.  “I guess this is where the tour ends.”

    Challenge flared in her eyes.  In an instant, she gathered her dress in one hand and scrambled over the wall.

    He stood there, mouth open.  In that moment he knew—he loved her.

    “Are you coming little baby?” she called through the wall.

   “Don’t call me—” He stopped short.  He could hear her glare from the other side of the wall.

    By the time he’d scaled the wall, she was already at the top of the stairs, standing in front of the locked door to the tower.  He hurried after her.  He took out his clasp-knife, slid it between the door and the jamb, and lifted the latch with practiced ease.

   A spark of admiration lit her eyes.  “You are full of surprises!”

   He was halfway up the first flight of stairs when he stopped.  Only his own footsteps echoed in the stairwell.  He looked back—she was still standing in the doorway, hand stretched out to him.

    “I’m waiting,” she said wistfully. 

    He retraced his steps.  She grabbed his hand without hesitation.  Then she sighed.  The stairway was too narrow to hold hands—but she didn’t let go.  Her body pressed close as they climbed, and his heart thundered in his chest.  Surely, she could hear it.

    When they reached the top, her face lit up with delight.   She crossed the room and picked up his Book from the desk.  It fell open to a page marked by a slip of paper—a child’s drawing of a strange bird.  “What’s this?”

    Seeker smiled.  “It’s a puffin.  My kid brother drew it for me.”

    She stood there for a long moment, just looking at it.  Then she looked at Seeker.  Something shifted in her eyes.  He wasn’t sure what it was.

    She ran her delicate finger over the spines of his book and paused at H Καινή Διαθήκη.

    “What is this one?” she asked.

    “That’s the New Testament,” he replied.  “It’s in Greek.”

    “And you can read it,” she stated—it wasn’t a question.

    “Some.”

    “OK, then tell me, little baby, how do you say ‘I love you?’”

    He paused.  He didn’t want to show off.  “A GAP A O,” he said pronouncing each syllable with care.

    A look came into her eyes—one he hadn’t seen before.  It was a strange mix of mischief and satisfaction.

    “Thank you!” she said.

    There was no doubt now.  He loved her.

   When Seeker and Beautiful entered the common room, Miss Cheerful looked up from the hearth.  “Hello, Seeker-for—” she stopped short, spotting Beautiful.  A knowing smile spread across her face.  “Hi, Beautiful!”

    “Stew again,” Beautiful sighed.  But her eyes still shone.

    While they ate, Seeker found himself distracted.  She traced her lips with her finger—more than once.  He’d never seen lips like that.  His eyes wandered.  The glint in hers, the shape of her cheekbones, the faint freckles splashed across her nose and cheeks.

    A thought rose, unbidden.  Maybe she wasn’t the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.  As if she could read his mind, she beamed—and the room lit up.  No.  She absolutely was.

   “Tell me, Seeker, about your book.  The one you bookmarked with the picture of, what did you call it, a puffin?”

    “It’s about Christian.  He came from the City of Destruction, but he couldn’t stay because his burden was too heavy to bear.  So, he left his—” 

    Beautiful interrupted him.  “No, little baby, I know about Christian.  I want to know about you.  What does the book mean to you?”

   “I read it when I was young—maybe ten years old.  It’s my favorite Book.  I always saw myself as Christian, falling to Apollyon but refusing to stay down.  ‘Do not gloat over me, my enemy!’”   

    Her smile continued to light the room.

    “It gave me courage to leave Uncertain,” he said, voice softening. “But…”

    She leaned forward, her eyes steady.  “Yes?”

    He swallowed. “But nothing has been what I expected.  Companion says times change—but still.  Where is Good-Will?  And look around, Beautiful—what happened here?  And…”

    She nodded and rested her hand on his.

    “Sometimes I wonder,” he said quietly. “Christian walked alone.  He had Faithful, but he was killed in Vanity.  And later, Hopeful.  But his poor wife and children—how could he leave them behind?”  He hesitated.  “I don’t even know their names.”  He fell silent for a long moment.  Then, almost to himself, he said, “I don’t want to be lonely.”

    She took his hand and led him gently to the hearth.  “Wait here, little baby.”  When she returned, she sat beside him, holding a black leather book with silver letters embossed on the cover.

    “Her name was Unkind,” she said.  “His sons were Matthew, Samuel, Joseph and James.”

    Seeker sat up.  “What?  How did you—?”

    She handed him the Book. 

    He opened to the first page:

    COURTEOUS COMPANIONS,

    Some time since, to tell you a dream that I had of Christian the Pilgrim, and his dangerous journey towards the Celestial City, was pleasant to me, and profitable to you.  I told you also what I saw concerning his wife and children, and how unwilling they were to go with him on pilgrimage.

    “Graceless didn’t leave her,” she said.  “She refused to follow.  You know what’s worse?  She kept her sons from going too.”  She paused.  “But that’s not the end.”

    Seeker leaned in, eager for more.

    “That book is about Christiana.  As Graceless became Christian, Unkind became Christiana.  He walked true to the path.  And she followed… eventually.  And her sons.  And their wives, Mercy, Phoebe, and Martha.  And their children.”

    “Can I…” his eyes shone with excitement, “read it?”

   “Yes, baby.  It’s yours.  Not just read—it’s my gift to you.”

   He gazed at her.  For the third time today, he knew.  He loved her dearly.

    That night Beautiful visited Seeker’s dream again.  They talked and laughed together, wandered the pastures, rested beside the streams, and danced beneath the waterfalls.  Hours passed like minutes.  Seeker didn’t want to leave—and she didn’t seem to want to either.

    Seeker sat upright, sunlight flooding his room.  He hurried to the common room, but Beautiful wasn’t there.  He waited.  She didn’t come.  His head dropped, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.  Had he only imagined she cared?  He ate his breakfast in silence, then made his way to the pasture.

    A group of Pilgrims sat gathered around Kind as he finished his teaching.  “Take care, when you think you stand, that you do not fall.”

    Steadfast and Gracious stood in the crowd, so he made his way to them.

   “Have you seen Beautiful this morning?” Gracious asked.

   Could she know?  He shook his head.  “No, I haven’t seen her.”

    He turned to Steadfast and blurted out, “I think Beautiful likes me.”

    “What makes you think that?”

    “We’ve spent hours talking.”

    Steadfast chuckled.  “Then you don’t know her very well.  She loves talking.  Just ask Gracious.”

    His heart sunk.

    Kind came hurrying over toward him.  “Seeker!  Seeker!  Where have you been?  I haven’t seen you in ages.”

    Seeker laughed, in spite of himself.  “Kind, it’s only been two days.”

    Kind shrugged.  “Sometimes, two days can feel like a long time,” he said, eyes twinkling.  “Liora wants you to come celebrate the Prince’s Birthday with us.  It’s a big event for us shepherds—we feast and exchange gifts in His honor.”

   Kind glanced to Seeker’s side.  “You can bring your…”  He paused, choosing his words.  “Friend, too.”

    “Late again, Miss Beautiful,” Kind said in mock exasperation.  “We really have to work on that.  And you too, Seeker.”  He gave them a knowing glance.  “You missed a good one—if I say so myself.”

    He wasn’t listening.  Beautiful stood beside him, breathless.

   She tugged at his sleeve and lowered her voice, “You can’t keep me up all night like that anymore.”  She whispered, careful that Kind wouldn’t misunderstand.  Then with a sweet smile, she added, “You have my days.  That should be enough.”

    Steadfast and Gracious stood next to them.  He leaned in close to Steadfast, chuckling, “You’re right.  I don’t think Beautiful likes me.”

   Not so very quietly that Gracious didn’t overhear.  She laughed softly, eyes twinkling at Beautiful.

  The days passed like a dream.  Seeker and Beautiful were inseparable by day—she sat with him as he studied, and they read her Book together.  Sometimes she couldn’t resist visiting him in his dreams.  But he always made sure she had enough rest to wake refreshed the next morning.

    At last, Christmas Eve arrived.  When they reached Kind’s tent, Liora greeted Seeker with a warm hug.

    “Hello, Miss Beautiful,” Tirzah said, smiling sweetly.  Then she turned her piercing eyes on Seeker.  “It’s about time.”

   They ate a humble meal together by candlelight, then stepped outside.  Around a nearby campfire, the shepherds were already gathering.

    Kind began to speak:

    It came to pass in those days that the ruler of Vanity determined to tax the world.  And Joseph went up to Sincere to be taxed with his betrothed wife, Mary, who was with child.

   Now when they arrived, her time came to give birth, and she brought her firstborn son and laid him in a manger, for there was no room for them in the inn.

    Now there were shepherds in the Delectable Mountains watching their sheep by night.

    And a Shining One appeared to them, and the glory of the King shone around them, and they were sore afraid.  Then the Shining One said, “Don’t be afraid.  I bring you good news of great joy for all people.

   “Today, in Sincere the Prince is born who will save his people.    

   “And this will be the sign to you: you will find the baby, wrapped and lying in a manger.”

    And suddenly with the Shining One was a multitude praising the King and singing.

    “Glory be to the King in the highest heavens, and peace to earth, good will to men.”

   When the Shining One was gone, the shepherds went and found the baby, wrapped and lying in a manger, just as he said.

    Kind paused and gestured toward a bright star shining in the sky, which had appeared while he was speaking.

    When Emmanuel was born in Sincere, Wise Men came from afar, following His star.  The star went before them until it stopped at the place the baby was.  When they entered the house, they found the baby with his mother, Mary, and they fell down and worshipped Him.  They opened their treasures and presented Him with gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

    The shepherds began trading small gifts.  Seeker gave Beautiful a handbag he had made for her with his own hands.  And Beautiful gave Seeker a music-box—it played his favorite song.

   One by one, the shepherds left quietly.  Kind and Liora bid Seeker and Beautiful good night and invited them to sit by the fire as long as they liked.

   They sat there long after the fire had died, the embers glowing faintly in the dark.  Beautiful fell asleep leaning against him, and Seeker nodded off beside her.

    He woke to find his lips inches from hers.  The fragrance of wheat fields on her intoxicated him.  Her breath, slow and steady, brushed against his face.  He leaned in and kissed her, tenderly.

    He pulled away and gazed at her sleeping face—her hair, her eyes, her lips.  Oh, her lips.  She opened her eyes and smiled—the smile he loved so much.  The sky seemed to light up, dimming even the Christmas star.  She leaned in and kissed him, then slowly pulled away.

   They stared, lost in each other’s gaze.  Then they both leaned in and kissed passionately.