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Redemption of Eva

Redemption of Eva

Chapter

Beautiful — Chapter 1

July 15, 2025 by K. Blackthorn

    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.

Filed Under: Chapter

Seeker — Chapter 3

June 29, 2025 by K. Blackthorn

    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.

 

Filed Under: Chapter

Seeker — Chapter 2

June 23, 2025 by K. Blackthorn

   The Dreamer was puzzled.  The tower stood just as he’d seen it from the waterfalls with the Interpreter—but His House was in ruins.  This was where he’d heard the Beautiful song.  He was sure of it.  Things had changed since he’d been here as a child—a lot.  Beelzebub’s Castle, abandoned.  The Interpreter’s House, broken.  And where was Good-Will?  Something felt vaguely familiar.  He watched intently as Seeker-for-Truth disappeared into the cottage.

***

    A fire roared in the fireplace of the common room as Seeker entered the cottage, its light flickering across plaster walls and wooden beams.  A pot of stew hung over the flames, the scent rich and comforting.  Bowls and wooden spoons were laid out on a long table with benches, and baskets of fresh-baked bread were set nearby.

    A young woman not much older than Seeker met him, her hair wild—curls sticking out in every direction. “Companion! You rescued another one.”  She rushed toward Seeker with arms outstretched, to welcome him, then stopped short, wrinkling her nose.  “You smell disgusting!”

    Companion chuckled.  “Seeker, this is Miss Cheerful.”

    “Seeker?  You look hungry.  Let’s get some food in you.”  She stopped and wrinkled her nose again.  “Not smelling like that you don’t.  Follow me, Seeker-of-Baths.”  She threw her head back and laughed boisterously, the sound echoing through the room.   

    She started toward a doorway on the far side of the room but stopped, crossed to the fireplace, and used her apron to lift a large kettle.  Then she turned to Companion.  “You have a spare set of clothes while I wash those?”  She pointed to Seeker’s muddy outfit, wrinkling her nose again.  “They should fit for now—though they might be a bit loose across the chest.”  She giggled. 

   Companion laughed.  “I guess the stream’s going to have to wait.”

***

    Miss Cheerful led Seeker to a small room with a stone floor, a drain trough, and a wooden tub bound in iron hoops.  On a wooden bench sat a neatly folded towel, a worn linen cloth, and a small crock of rosemary-scented soap.  She handed him a bucket and pointed to the door.

    “There’s a barrel of fresh water outside,” she said.

    She emptied the kettle into the tub.  When he returned with the bucket full, she refilled it.  “Another!”

    Companion entered with a bundle of clothes.  She snatched them from his hands, set them on the bench, and handed him the kettle.  “On the hearth.  Shoo!”

    After a flurry of bustle and shouted orders, Seeker found himself standing before the steaming tub.

    “Be quick, supper’s waiting.  Leave your clothes on the floor.  Don’t even think about putting them on the bench.”  She shut the door behind her, then called through it.  “Take your time!  Make sure you get nice and clean!”

    The warm water soothed the aches of the road as he scrubbed every bit of the Slough mire from his skin.  He left his clothes on the floor, just as Miss Cheerful had told him.

***

   When he returned to the common room, they were all waiting.  Companion introduced him to Faint-Resolve, a tall slender man with gray streaks in his mustache and a perpetual cross expression.  And to Miss Fair-Glance—pretty in a plain sort of way, with long, straight black hair.  Miss Cheerful sat next to her, beaming at him.

    Companion bowed his head and gave thanks to the King for the food.

    “And thank you for sending us Seeker,” Miss Cheerful added.  A mischievous grin crossed her face.  “And that he smells like rosemary now!”

    The stew was plain but hearty, warming him deep into his bones.  He bit into the bread—simple but satisfying, soft inside and crisp at the edges.  Filling his tin cup from the pitcher, he drank deeply.  There is nothing like cool water to the thirsty.

   They spoke of Seeker’s journey.  Of Companion and Faint-Resolve’s work at the Slough under the orders of the King, how they missed their wives, and when their service would end so they could return to them.

   Several times Faint-Resolve looked at Miss Fair-Glance out of the corner of his eyes.  No, it was probably his imagination.  Companion didn’t seem to notice—but she did.  Each time, she looked away and blushed faintly.  He pushed the thought aside.  It had to be his imagination.

    “Well, I’m off to bed now,” Companion said with a yawn.  “It’s a long walk back to the Slough.”

    Faint-Resolve stood and followed, and soon after, Miss Fair-Glance took her leave as well.  With everyone gone, Miss Cheerful rose and led him to his room.

    “Sleep well, Seeker,” she said and left him alone.

    The room was small but welcoming.  Wooden walls, darkened with age, held the lingering warmth of the cottage.  A single window let in the cool night air.  Its half-closed shutters creaked softly, stirred by the breeze.  

  The bed, a simple wooden frame, held a straw-filled mattress and a thick wool blanket.  On a small table, a single candle flickered.  He placed his book there gently and set down his satchel.

   He blew out the candle, and within moments of lying down, he was fast asleep.   

    Seeker woke, fully rested.  The warmth of morning sunlight filtered through the diamond-paned window, casting streaks of gold across the room.

    His clothes, clean and folded, waited on a chair just outside the door—still faintly warm from the hearth.  He changed out of Companion’s clothes, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and descended the stairs to the common room.  On the table sat a basket of bread, a crock of fresh butter, and knives for cutting and spreading. 

    The morning was still, with only faint sounds drifting in from outside.  There was no one in the common room, not even Miss Cheerful, so he sat down at the table alone.  

    He cut off a thick slice of bread and spread it with golden butter.  The crust was crisp and the butter melting as he bit in.  He sighed in satisfaction.  Then he poured water from the pitcher into his tin cup, the sound gently breaking the silence.

    Companion and Faint-Resolve must have returned to their work mending the Slough, which left him alone to explore the realm.  He’d go to the stream.  No, first the Cross.  But before either, he would uncover the mystery of the Interpreter’s ruined house.  During last night’s conversation, he’d learned that the Interpreter’s presence was only temporary.  Or so everyone believed.

    By the time he finished his breakfast, his mind was made up—he would find out what was inside the tower.  A floorboard creaked as he crossed to the door.  A gentle breeze greeted him as he stepped outside, fresh and earthy, carrying the melody of a songbird.

    The ruins looked just as they had the night before—crumbling walls, scattered stones, and the lone tower still standing, drawing his gaze, almost calling to him.  He took a slow breath, then stepped forward.

***

   Seeker ascended the worn steps leading to the Interpreter’s House, where a floor of broad flagstones, cracked and weathered by sun and rain, rested atop the rough-cut stones of the foundation.  The entryway had no door.  The roofs were gone.  And the ashlar walls, once proud and smooth, had crumbled, leaving behind piles of moss-covered rubble.

    His steps left footprints in the thick dust coating the floor.  Dusty Parlor, indeed, he thought wryly.  Stairways climbed to open air.  On the far side of the room, a doorway was completely blocked by fallen stones.  A wall had crumbled to half its height.  If he stood on his toes, he could just make out the other side.

   It was a long room, most likely a dining area, though no tables or chairs remained.  At the back, a remnant of the second floor still stood—wide oak planks supported by large timber joists—and just beyond it rose the tower.  He reached up, grasped the rough stones, and hoisted himself to the other side.  

   He crossed the room, loose stones crunching under his feet, and entered a long hallway.  At the far end he saw the blocked entrance near where he’d climbed the wall.  The hallway led deeper into the house, ending in a small room with a stairwell of wooden steps.

    As he climbed, a stair creaked under his weight.  He stopped and stood very still.  Wind moved through the ruins, creating faint echoes.  But the wood did not break or crack.  He continued until he reached the second floor and stepped out cautiously.  The floor held firm.

   In front of him rose the lone tower, with a door set in the side.  His palms were sweating.  Dropping all caution, he strode across the wooden floor until he reached it.  His eyes widened.  The granite was untouched by age, and the door stood solid, with only a hint of tarnish on the iron banding and the handle.

    He pulled on the handle, then pushed.  The door didn’t give.  He stood looking at it for a long moment.  He knew what to do—but should he?  He examined the knob, then the jamb, and hesitated.  Then he reached into his satchel, pulled out his clasp-knife, and opened it with a satisfying click.  Carefully, he slid it between the door and jamb, avoiding any damage to the wood or the iron.  A soft pop, and the door swung open.  He smiled in silent satisfaction.

***

    A narrow stairwell of marble stairs led upwards for four floors, if his count was correct, with shafts of sunlight pouring through small windows, lighting the way.

    When he reached the top, he gasped in delight.  This was beyond his wildest dreams—he stood in a study.  An ornate rug spread over the wood floor.  On one side stood a couch, on the other a desk and a sturdy chair.  Bookshelves leaned, heavy with time.  Yet not a speck of dust touched the room.

    On the desk were a quill, ink, and a stack of paper.  But what truly caught his attention were the books.  There were ancient tomes in unfamiliar languages, dictionaries, and references.  Three titles stood out from the rest:  The Hidden Well, The Measure of a Man, and The Yoke and the Plow.   Truly, this was a treasure he could never have imagined.

    Windows were set in each of the four walls.  He crossed and peered through the warped glass of the one facing north.  The entire valley spread out before him—cascades and waterfalls tumbling from the mountains into the ravine.  In the pastures below, sheep grazed, and shepherds moved in the distance.  He stood quietly, imagining their voices and the soft bleating of the flock.  Beyond them were orchards—perhaps apple trees—and a thin stream that traced through the rolling hills.  He searched for the Hill of Deliverance, strained his eyes for the Cross.  But it was too far.  He would walk there.

    As he turned to take another look at the books before leaving, he noticed something he hadn’t seen in his earlier enthusiasm.  A small, purple, velvet case, sat on the desk.  He picked it up, and beneath it lay a note written in elegant penmanship:

Seek and you will find.

-I

    Inside was a gold band set with seven brilliant diamonds, catching the light and shimmering with an intensity unlike anything he had ever seen.  It was small—too small to fit any of his fingers except his pinky, and even there it only reached the knuckle.

    The note was for him—he could feel it deep inside.  And the ring, even if it didn’t fit, had been waiting for him.  Seek and you will find.  And the books were for him, too.  He picked up the black leather volume with seven raised bands on the spine, with unfamiliar letters.  He would return, learn to read it, and uncover its secrets.  He slid the book back into place and tucked the velvet case into his satchel.

    Then he turned and left.

    When Seeker left the Interpreter’s Study, he secured the door behind him with practiced ease—holding the latch up with his clasp-knife, pulling the door shut, and slipping the knife free from between the door and the jamb.  The latch clicked into place.  He walked away, steady in the knowledge that his treasures lay safe within.

    He left the ruins behind, passed through the wheat fields, and returned to the Narrow Way.  Beyond the Interpreter’s House, lush pastures spread wide, their grass swaying gently in the breeze.  Sheep grazed in the open, lifting their heads now and then to offer soft bleats.  The morning sun warmed his back as a breeze tugged at his tunic, carrying the earthy scent of pasture—tinged with wool and the faint sweetness of distant wildflowers.

    Dark canvas tents, weathered by sun and wind, lay scattered across the fields—the homes, he supposed, of shepherds tending their flocks.  A voice rose across the open land, deep and unwavering.  A strong man stood tall against the vast sky, his crook planted firmly in the earth.  Around him, travelers and pilgrims had gathered, some standing, others seated on grass and smooth stones, all listening intently to his words.

    “…in conclusion, my friends, always remember ‘beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing.’”  A soft chorus of assent rose from the crowd as he finished speaking.

    As he drew closer, Seeker spotted Companion among the crowd.  Companion turned at once, his face lighting up.  “Seeker!”  He gave him a quick once-over, grinning.  “You look rested—and much cleaner.  Come on, I’ll introduce you to Stern.”

    A man with chestnut hair, a prominent nose, and piercing eyes stood speaking with Stern.  He was short, though it was easy to miss—he carried himself with such presence, such effortless command.  At his side stood a lovely, slender woman, with long black hair flowing down to her waist, her hand resting on his arm.  She was half a head shorter, gazing up at him with eyes full of quiet admiration.

   Companion slowed his step and lowered his voice.  “That’s Steadfast and Gracious.  Don’t be put off by them.  He can be… well, a bit abrupt sometimes.  He chuckled searching for the right words, “They are kind of… old fashioned.”  The way he said it hinted toward weird.  “But when it comes to love, you won’t find a better example.”

    “Stern, this is my friend Seeker.  He comes from Uncertain.”

    Stern extended his hand.  It was calloused from hard work, his grip firm without being harsh.  His eyes were gentle, his smile warm—a striking contrast to the broad shoulders and powerful arms that framed him.

    “Seeker, great to meet you.”  Steadfast spoke before Stern could get a word in, then rolled right back into the conversation, now looping Seeker in.   “Definitely wolves in sheep’s clothing.  You have to pay attention, Seeker.  Times have changed.  This realm used to be a haven for pilgrims.  But now?  The cottage lets anyone in.  Wolves walk freely.  They may look fair on the outside—but you can tell.  By the little things they say.  By glances.”

    Seeker nodded as Steadfast spoke on.  But his thoughts drifted to Faint-Resolve’s secretive glances at Miss Fair-Glance.  Was that who Steadfast meant?  Unease stirred within him.  The words felt edged, a little too quick to judge.  Stern’s face gave nothing away.  He simply nodded again.

    Companion stepped in.  “Well, I’ve got to head back to the Slough.  You’re in good hands with Stern—and all of the shepherds, really.  I’ll see you when my shift’s over.”

   Gracious gave Seeker a warm smile, then turned to Steadfast. “Honey, let’s have him over for dinner.”

    Steadfast agreed with a hearty nod.  “Throw another bean or two in the pot!” 

    Warmth spread through him.  First Companion.  Then Miss Cheerful, Faint-Resolve, and Miss Fair-Glance.  A new life, with new friends.  But first things first.  The Cross still waited.  He thanked them with a smile and promised dinner next time, cheerfully.

    Seeker continued his trek northward, crossing a bridge over a small stream until he reached a place where the mountains narrowed, and the way was fenced in.  Wall of Salvation.   But it was crumbling, broken in places.  The path climbed gently up a hill, with an opening off to the side.  Hill of Deliverance.  But no Cross. 

    This unsettled him.  Surely this was the place.  He scanned the hilltop.  A sweet fragrance drifted in the air.  The summit lay empty, marked only by lilies swaying in the wind.  Birds sang, light and lilting yet strangely solemn, in harmony with the rustling petals.  As if remembering.

    He descended into the Tomb.  The stone was cool to the touch, smooth and lifeless beneath his fingers.  His footsteps echoed under him.  Empty.  But of course, it’s empty.  It’s supposed to be empty.

   He stepped out.  The mountains cast long shadows across the path.  The clean mountain air held both a sense of peace and a strange, aching absence.  He scanned the horizon.  No sign of the Cross.  This must be the place.  And it was gone.  He didn’t know how to carry that knowledge. 

    He scanned the horizon again, searching.  Still no sign of the Cross.  In the distance, across the ravine, a quaint village lay nestled in the mountains.  A side path led to it, crossing the ravine by an arched stone bridge, proud and enduring.  On this side rose a majestic grain silo and beside it a massive treadwheel, its gleaming form turning in steady, ceaseless motion.

    He knelt and gently brushed a lily’s white petal.  So fragile, so soft.  Nothing like the rugged cross he had expected.  Unease filled his heart.  He turned and left quietly, deep in thought.

***

    Bewilderment swept through the Dreamer as he watched Seeker-for-Truth.  There might be reasons—Good-Will’s disappearance, Beelzebub’s Castle abandoned, even the Interpreter’s House in ruins.  Hadn’t the Interpreter brought him here to show him all that?  But this?  This was beyond reason.  The Cross was the center of his Dream Lands—perhaps even the axis the world turned upon.  And it was gone.  In the hundreds of times he had visited, it had always been there.  Always.

    And the treadwheel?  The grain silo?  A distant hum rose from the machine—steady, almost mechanical in its precision.  He had never seen this before.  Not the grain silo.  Not the treadwheel.  He blinked—suddenly he was standing beside it.  And what he saw disturbed him.  The device was not fitted for horses, but for men.

    This was no tool of labor.  It was an instrument of cruelty.

     When Seeker arrived back at the cottage, Miss Cheerful greeted him with a wave.  “Just in time for dinner, Seeker.  Grab a bowl and some stew!”

   At the table, Faint-Resolve sat stiffly, scowling, his shoulders tight with unease.  Across from him was a man Seeker hadn’t seen before—handsome, well-dressed, with immaculate blonde hair, a well-trimmed mustache, and piercing blue eyes.

   “…you should have seen how she wiggled and giggled.”  The man leaned back, relaxed, eyes flickering with amusement.  “Her face might be kissed by the sun,” he added in a lower voice, “but her breasts—soft, and pale as cream.”   

   “Shame!” Faint-Resolve snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.  “You call yourself a Pilgrim?”  

   “What?” A hurt look crossed the man’s face.  “I serve this King just like you.  I can’t help if I’m weak for shepherd girls.”

    Seeker’s bowl clattered as he set it down on the table and took a seat beside Faint-Resolve.  He shifted uncomfortably, and toyed with his stew, stirring without appetite, eyes fixed on his bowl.

    “I know you,” Faint-Resolve said, his voice steady but tight.  “Aren’t you the son of Lechery, called Lechery yourself?”

    “I didn’t take her honor.”  Lechery protested, but he didn’t deny the name.  “And I promised her. If anything were to happen to my wife, I would marry her.”

   “Shame.”  Faint-Resolve said again, softer this time.  “There’s no place in the cottage for the likes of you.”

    Seeker’s face began to burn as Stern’s warning echoed in his mind—then Steadfast’s words followed.  He’d assumed Steadfast had meant Faint-Resolve.  And he’d condemned Steadfast for being judgmental… when it was he who had judged unfairly.  All along, Steadfast had been speaking of Lechery.

   “My friend,” Lechery said, having regained his composure.  “It’s you who don’t understand the King’s grace.”  He smirked.  “Besides, if she let you, you’d be no different than me.”  No names spoken, but he lingered on the word she, as if Faint-Resolve knew exactly whom he meant.  “But she only likes the attention.”

     Faint-Resolve’s face flushed red.  He opened his mouth to speak but only sputtered.  No words came.   

    Lechery picked up his bowl and stood. “He who is without sin, let him cast the first stone.”  He gave a slight nod.  “Good day.”

    Neither spoke.  They just finished their stew in silence, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air.

    Days passed into weeks, and weeks into months.  Seeker spent his days in the Interpreter’s Study.  Reading, learning the languages of antiquity, and poring over the ancient tomes to uncover their secrets.

     He was always by Companion’s side.  They became close friends, sharing meals and long conversations.

    Evenings were spent in fellowship—with Miss Cheerful, Faint-Resolve, Miss Fair-Glance, Steadfast and Gracious, and many other Pilgrims who came through the cottage.

   He debated Lechery and other travelers in error.

   Often, they gathered in the pastures around Stern, listening to his quiet wisdom beneath the open sky.

    The day came when the King summoned Companion. His assignment in the Slough was finished, and he was returning to his family.  They stood outside the cottage, Companion’s pack slung over his shoulder.

    “I’m going to miss you, Seeker.”  Then he grinned.  “But my wife misses me more, you know.”

    Seeker nodded.  He swallowed the lump rising in his throat.  His eyes stung.  He thought back to the Slough of Despond and remembered his despair.  And wondered if he would ever find another friend like Companion.  He was happy for him.  These days had been hard for Companion, and he knew it.

    Companion placed a hand on Seeker’s shoulder.  “Guard your heart, Seeker.”  His voice grew quiet, his expression solemn.  “There are places much worse than the Slough to fall into.  Much worse.”  He paused as if weighing whether to say more.  “I, of all people, know that best.”

    The silence stretched—just long enough for the warning to settle deep.  

    “I will, Companion.  I will.”

    Suddenly, the clouds rolled back, and a ray of sunlight lit Companion’s face.  He brightened and said something lighthearted.  Seeker laughed.

    Then Companion turned and walked alone toward the Narrow Way.

    Seeker woke up early the next morning and waited for the sun to rise.  He climbed the tower, as he always did, but he couldn’t focus.  Restless, he wandered out to the pastures.  And there, the loneliness found him.

    A lone sheep stood apart, bleating into the morning stillness.  From a distance, the flock answered her call.  She turned and ran toward the sound.

    He followed her.  When he reached the flock, he found Stern seated on a rock.  Beside him sat another shepherd—his hair and beard gray, but his posture youthful and his eyes shining with quiet life.

    “Seeker,” Stern said, looking up with a smile.  “I’m glad you’re here.  This is Kind.  He’ll be tending the flock while I’m away.”

    Seeker’s heart sank.  Stern was leaving?

    “My family and I are heading to the Delectable Mountains for a short time,” Stern said gently.  “But we’ll be back.”

   “Stern was telling me about Companion,” Kind said, his voice warm. “I’m sure you miss him already.”

    Seeker nodded.

    “Liora’s cooking breakfast,” Kind said, “Come on.  She’s waiting to meet you.”

    Seeker looked to Stern.  Stern nodded.  “Go on.  We’re not leaving for several days.  I’ll see you tomorrow?”

    Kind spoke enthusiastically as they walked—he had plans for Seeker—the Harvest festival, Prince Emmanuel’s Birthday, breakfasts, suppers.

    The fragrance of cooking grain and wild herbs drifted to Seeker as they approached the humble canvas tent.  A young girl spotted them, then ducked inside.  “Mom!” she called, tugging Liora out by the hand.

    Liora stood there, poised and elegant, yet entirely approachable, with eyes that matched her husband’s in kindness.

     “Heya, Seeker.”  The girl looked up at him with piercing gray eyes.  “Oh, don’t look so surprised.  Everyone knows you.  You just need to get your nose out of your books.  Or listen.”  She laughed.  “I’m Tirzah, by the way.”  And just like that, she was gone.

       The three of them ate breakfast together and talked.  Well, Seeker talked.  Kind and Liora had no end of questions for him.  And somewhere along the way, Seeker forgot he was lonely.

Filed Under: Chapter

Seeker — Chapter 1

June 23, 2025 by K. Blackthorn

    The Dreamer viewed the ceiling of his bedroom through the brackets of his fingers to assure himself of reality, and let the Dream take him.  He drank deeply from the River of Life and inhaled the fragrance of lilies.   The Interpreter was there.  A wild cherry tree.  His throat tightened at the memory of a dear lost friend.

    Memories surged as he walked together with the Interpreter.  He gagged at the stench of burning human flesh—Faithful condemned to die in the pyre in Vanity.  Adrenaline pumped as blood dripped in his eyes, the taste of iron in his mouth, standing back-to-back with Great-Heart, sword glistening in hand, corpses of goblins, satyrs, and dragons littering the ground around them.    

    The monstrous Apollyon stood arrogantly before the Dreamer.  Christian stood with him, smoke whirled around him, sparks flashed, and sulfur choked the air.  He blinked.  Lady Evadne charged the gates of Hell, clad in the full armor of the King, defying the Great Red Dragon himself, fighting for Lord Peregrine, Dread-Lord Beelzebub by her side.

    He wasn’t sure why he’d returned to the Dream Lands—he hadn’t set foot here since he was a child.  He had changed, and the Dream had too.   The Interpreter had more to show him.

   Howls of wolves surrounded them in the forest of Danger.  Something was wrong with Palace Beautiful, but he couldn’t tell what.  The oppressive feel of Deceit, and a command.  Never forget. 

    A Beautiful song filled the realm of the Interpreter.  But his once magnificent House lay in ruins.  He blinked.

    He stood in a town he’d never been, didn’t recognize.  Uncertain.  And saw a young man, Seeker-for-Truth.  He didn’t know how he knew the names—the Dream just worked that way.          

   Seeker-for-Truth closed his Book and laid it on his bed next to the satchel, his clasp-knife, a tin cup, a loaf of bread, and a small pouch of coins.  Seeker, as his friends called him—not that he had many of those—had saved up weeks to make the journey, often going without food to do so.

    This was all he owned in the world.  All he’d been able to scrape together since his parents had dumped him in this forsaken town.  This time he would make it, at least as far the Wicket Gate. 

    His ears burned at the memory of past failures to leave.  First time he had thrown up while passing through the bad part of town.  Hadn’t even gotten out of Uncertain.  Last time the lack of roads unnerved him.

     He picked his Book back up.  No, not in the satchel.  He tucked it into his jacket.  Christian may have had a burden, but at least he had a path. And Evangelist.  He had nobody, but he had a plan.  Lord Peregrine had led Lady Evadne by the stars—the Bear and the Hunter.  He wished he had enough money to buy that book.  One day he would, he promised himself.  The Book he had–the one nestled near his heart called his destination “the City in the North.”  Should be easy enough to orient himself by the sun.  And he knew the stars.  Day or night he had a guide. 

   He slung the satchel over his shoulder and set out.  There was nothing here to hold him.  No wife or children to cry after him.  No neighbors to chase him, trying to convince him to return.  The landlord has seemed grateful when he’d given him an extra month’s rent to find a new tenant and had wished him God-speed.  He could have bought the book he wanted with that money—but it was the right thing to do.

    The sun had barely appeared over the horizon.  If all went well, he’d reach the Slough of Despond by noon.  Once he found the steppingstones, he’d eat lunch and then cross—very carefully.  With any luck he would sleep at the Interpreter’s House tonight.

***

      The walk across the Valley of Destruction was more pleasant than he had expected.   Rolling fields spread out before him, grass and wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze, and small clusters of trees breaking the open land.  Birds sang, and clouds drifted serenely across the blue sky.  He raised his face to the warmth of the sun, now halfway up the sky.  The Slough should be just up ahead.  Just a little further.

    But the fields stretched on, and the sun kept climbing.  His heel rubbed inside his boot and began to burn.  The soles of his feet ached.  His legs grew heavy.  He briefly contemplated turning back—but he’d come so far already.  It was probably further back than forward.  Besides, he had no place to go back to.  Well, there was…  No, he thought, never back to his parents.   Better to drown in the Slough than that.

    He crested a small rise and saw it—a vast river snaking across the valley, blocking his way forward.  

He blinked and rubbed his chin.  This was not supposed to be here.   His Book never mentioned a river.  But then again, Christian had started from the City of Destruction.  And he wasn’t exactly sure where Uncertain was.  If he couldn’t afford a book, he certainly couldn’t afford a map.

    He scanned the length of the river and couldn’t find a place to cross.  No bridges.  No ferries.  It was too wide to swim, and even if he wanted to, he didn’t dare.  The swift current churned up yellowish mud and swirled in dizzying whirlpools, and it stank of rotting vegetation.  If he stepped foot in it, he was sure he’d never be found.  Not that anyone would come looking.

   There was only one way forward.  He started following the river.

    Seeker made up his mind—he’d follow the river.  But which way?  The overhead sun gave him no guidance.  Right seemed to wind back toward the way he’d come, so he went left.  But with the twists and turns, it was hard to tell.

   He had a dim memory of a river cutting the City of Destruction in two.  He’d cry every time he had to cross the bridge—the mud and the stench scared him.  That was long ago, a whole different life before Uncertain.  But the smell was the same.

    His boots sank into the damp earth where the water occasionally lapped the banks.  It muttered to him, telling him he was going the wrong way.  That he was a fool to set out on this journey.  Other times it just meandered in stubborn silence, its eddies swirling in mockery.

    The shadows lengthened, but still there was no way across.  In the distance stood an ancient tree, shimmering silver in the afternoon light.  He raised his eyebrows and picked up his pace, weariness forgotten.  

   A hush fell over the land as he approached it.  Its trunk was gnarled and broad, and the bark had a subtle glow, as if light lingered just beneath the surface.  Though it grew firmly on the river’s edge, its massive roots plunged deep into the water.  A mist clung to them, curling in a soft, shifting veil.

    From its mighty frame, great branches stretched to the sky, limbs reaching high, untouched by the passage of time.  Its leaves were tipped in silver, catching the light with a delicate radiance.  Among the branches, small, round fruit nestled in the shade, pale skins faintly lustrous.  

   The fruit seemed pleasant and good to eat, but Seeker hesitated, calling to mind a passage he’d scanned in The Forager’s Manual, Being a True Description of Plants Fit for Sustenance.   The peddler had let him hold it long enough to see the warning—Eating unknown berries can be fatal.  Another useful book once he had money—if he could find it again.

    His stomach growled.  He started to reach for the bread in his satchel but stopped.  No time.  The sun was already beginning to sink in the west, and still no way across this damn river.  He’d stick to his plan and eat when he reached the Slough, not before.    

    As he turned to leave something caught his eye.  A branch just within reach—perfect for a walking stick.  This was worth taking time for.  Not only would it quicken his pace, but it would also serve as a staff, just like Lord Peregrine’s.  No telling what creatures lurked in the dark if he ended up walking by moonlight, too.

    He snapped the branch off at its base and whittled the smaller twigs with his clasp knife.  He hefted it and tapped it twice on the ground.  The bark was rough in his palm, but it was solid and sturdy.    Thus equipped, and armed he continued on his way, steps lighter

   A warped and brittle wooden bridge spanned the muddy water just up ahead.  Behind it stood a village, its sagging buildings leaning at odd angles, the sinking sun casting long shadows over the uneven streets.  He knew where he was—the Town of Stupidity.

    No one actually chose to live in Stupidity, unlike Carnal Policy, where if you just work hard enough, you can have that dreamed-of estate.  You’re sent here for failing.  But not for just any failure—complete failure.  Like gambling away your life savings in Vain Delights or getting drunk and beating your family.  Some, though, are here through no fault of their own, like losing an arm or leg in an unlucky accident. 

    Even the name was stupid.  Town of Stupidity.  But nobody quite knew if calling a shabby village a town was an act of stupidity itself, or just for a good laugh.

    Staff in hand, Seeker stepped onto the bridge. It creaked, groaned, and gave under his feet—then cracked, forcing him back. He swore under his breath.

    The stench of stagnant water rose from ruts and puddles, mixing with the faint mustiness of decayed wood and the acrid smoke of poorly tended fires.  Water dripped from a leaky roof, slow and irregular.   Occasional muttering.  Distant chatter. 

    Best not go through that.  But the sun was setting in the west, and the cool evening was settling in.  He had no choice.

***

    He turned from the bridge and set out through town when three figures emerged from an alleyway, moving with slow, casual confidence.  Their presence unsettled him.  He tightened his grip on his staff.

    The tallest among them, a man with a broad frame and dull, heavy features, smirked.  “Where you off to in such a hurry, traveler?”

     He swallowed, keeping his voice steady.  “I’m just passing through.  I have no business here.”

    The second, thinner and wiry, tilted his head.  His eyes flicked to Seeker’s staff, and then to his coat.  “No business, eh?  That’s a shame.  We like visitors who bring business, don’t we, Blunt?”

    “That’s right, Slip.  We does.”

    The third, a hunched figure with shifting eyes muttered something under his breath, barely audible, as if speaking to himself.  The other two didn’t acknowledge it.

    Seeker shifted his stance, planting his staff firmly in the dirt.  “Let me pass.”

    Blunt let out a short, amused laugh, “Oh, did you hear that, Mutter?  He has a stick.”   Before Seeker could react, he lunged forward, striking the staff aside with one powerful swing of his arm.  The force of it wrenched Seeker’s grip, sending a jolt up his arms.  The staff hit the ground with a thud.

    “Not so mighty now, are you?” Slip chuckled, stepping forward.  His hand darted toward Seeker’s coat, rifling through its folds.  He twisted to resist, but Blunt shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back.

    Mutter reached into Seeker’s coat and pulled out the worn, leather-bound book.  He flipped through the pages with blank disinterest before holding it up to Slip.

    Slip raised an eyebrow.  “What’s this?  A book?”

    Blunt scoffed, unimpressed, “Words won’t feed you.”

    He lunged, but Slip shoved him back again.  Mutter, apparently having lost interest, let the book slip from his fingers, letting it fall carelessly onto the ground.

    Blunt held him fast. Seeker twisted, but the man’s fingers dug deep into his arms. Slip rifled through his satchel and pulled out a loaf of bread. He took a bite, then spat it out. “The book might’ve tasted better,” he said, dropping it and smashing it underfoot.

    Slip reached into the satchel and pulled out the pouch, weighing it in his hand. Coins clinked softly. He laughed, careless. “More like it.”

    His throat tightened.  He lunged for the pouch, but Slip shoved him back. He staggered forward—Blunt punched him in the mouth, and he hit the mud hard. Dust filled his mouth, bitter and dry, mixing with the stink of the unwashed thieves, sweat, and the moldy air of the town. “Why don’t you take my clothes too?” he shouted.

    Mutter’s lips moved, but what came out was a string of nonsense.  Blunt and Slip nodded—then burst out laughing, and turned and disappeared down the alley.   Their voices trailed off, swallowed by the rot of the town.

    He slammed his fist into the mud. It gave with a wet, sucking sound.  He’d worked so hard for that money, and it was gone.  He grabbed the muddy bread and dropped it again, stomach turning. A frog croaked from a nearby puddle.  Something passed through him—humiliation, maybe, but at least they’d seen him.

    He picked up the Book, wiping mud from the cover and smoothing pages splattered with dirt. It wasn’t ripped. Still readable. He breathed a quiet thank-you and tucked it into his coat, close to his heart.

    He grabbed his staff and set off again, following the river. The sun had set, but staying wasn’t an option. His eyes caught every flicker, every shifting shadow. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding once the village was behind him.   

    The river curved into the twilight’s gloom, and he followed. 

    Seeker quickened his steps as the fading sunlight cast long shadows.  Not far from Stupidity, he reached the source of the river: the Slough of Despond, where waters bled out from the mire, murky with what the bog could no longer hold.

    The Slough stretched before him, dark and treacherous.  Mist clung to the reeds, and blackened pools shifted silently.  The stench of decay, damp earth, and rotting vegetation pressed in, a hint of stagnant air catching in his throat.

    Today was not going according to plan.  He’d been robbed.  The sun was down, and his stomach growled—reminding him of the bread he’d left in the mud. The far side was lost in darkness. Unlike in his Book, there were no steppingstones.

    There was nowhere to rest—not even a tree in sight. The air carried a damp chill.  Laughter drifted from Stupidity, low and mean. It tangled with the sucking squelch of mud, the ripple of distant water, and the whisper of reeds in the wind.

    Just beyond where the Slough spilled into the river, scattered patches of solid ground broke the surface. Not enough to cross the Slough—but enough to reach the far bank.  He tapped the ground with his staff.

    He took one step. The ground was soft, but it held. He took another—his boot slipped, and he barely caught himself before his other foot plunged into the muck.  He tested the ground ahead, but his staff found no bottom.  The cold, sucking mire closed on his legs.  Damp crept through his clothes as he tried to turn, each step dragged heavy by the mire.  Mists thickened around him, obscuring the blackened pools.

    He stood very still.  Beneath him, the shifting mud gurgled softly.  Reeds rustled in unseen currents.  Mist wrapped around him, cold and clinging.  The stench of decay grew stronger as the mud stirred—stagnant water reeking of rot.  The air thickened in his mouth, musty and damp, almost choking.

    He was thankful he carried no burden, unlike Christian in his Book.  Still, he sank.  Standing still was no use. He listened—for laughter drifting from the village.  Not so mighty now.  Was that his imagination?  He turned, trying to face Stupidity, to retrace his steps.  But the sound echoed, impossible to place.

    He was waist-deep in mud, darkness pressing close. Fog shifted, faintly lit by unseen sources. Shadows moved within it. Distorted shapes rippled through the water. The mire fell silent, broken only by his labored breathing, the slosh of movement, an occasional ripple, and the dull squelch of sucking mud.

    “Help!” he cried.
    Help? the Slough echoed back, as if mocking.
    A bittern boomed somewhere deep in the mist, its call hollow and mournful, like a drum struck underwater.

    The more he struggled, the faster he sank—chest, shoulder, neck.

    His feet touched bottom. Then his staff followed. He relaxed for a second—then gagged on the thick stench of rot, the bitter tang of sweat and stagnant air, fog pressing against his lips like a foul vapor. Slime flooded his mouth before he could catch a breath. He threw his head back to cry out, but only a gurgling sound escaped.

    With no sun, moon, or stars to guide him, he fixed an invisible point in his mind and pushed toward it.  There was no choice.

    Hours passed.  Maybe days.  He imagined the sun rising and setting.  Again.  And again.  With the fog so thick, there was no way to know.  There was no end.

    The relentless cold of the mire seeped into his bones.  He couldn’t remember warmth.  Not even sunshine.  His legs were lead.  Muscles screamed.  Fatigue pressed down.  Even his eyes sagged with the weight of it.  Each step drained everything he had. 

    Step.  One more.  Just one more.  He inched toward that invisible point.

    If he stopped, he would die. He didn’t care. Couldn’t. Had to. He would just rest his eyes. Just for a second. Light washed over him. And then—everything faded.

    Companion rolled up his bedroll and sifted the ashes of the campfire with his boot, ensuring no embers remained. He’d sent his men back to the cottage the afternoon before, but something inside—he couldn’t name it—had urged him to stay one more night.  He packed the last loaf of bread into his satchel, slung the waterbag over his shoulder, picked up his staff, and set out.

    He followed the edge of the Slough, surveying their progress.  It had been a good week, all things considered.  They’d dumped thousands of cart-loads of the King’s best instructions into the mire to mend it—yet it looked no different.

    A robin sang a sweet, melancholic tune. Companion whistled along. The faint scent of wildflowers lingered in the morning air, almost enough to cover the stench of the Slough.  Something caught his eye.

    A young man lay motionless, face-down in the mire at the edge of the Slough, his clothes caked with mud.  Companion rushed to his side, knelt, and gently turned him over, listening for breath.  He was still alive.

    Without hesitation, Companion stepped into the Slough.   The mud gurgled and shifted with a sluggish, sucking sound.  He lifted the young man from the mire, heedless of the mud soaking into his clothes, and carried him to the grass.

    He lifted the young man’s head and slid his bedroll beneath it, then took a cloth from his satchel, dampened it with a few drops from his waterbag, and gently wiped the Slough’s filth from his face.  His skin was pale and cold, chilled by the Slough’s mire.

    He’d just coaxed a small fire to life when he heard a ragged inhale behind him. The young man sat up, rubbing his arms. Companion passed him the waterbag. He took a sip, then huddled close to the fire.

    “Looks like you’ve seen better days…”

   “Seeker-for-Truth.  My friends just call me Seeker.”

   “I doubt this was what you were seeking,” His eyes twinkled as he gestured toward the Slough. “I’m Companion.”

    Seeker nodded.

    “How did you find yourself in this… situation?”

    “I was trying to get to the Wicket Gate.  I came from the City of Destruction.”

    “Strange way to get to the Wicket Gate.  Didn’t you see the bridge?”

    “Bridge?”  Seeker seemed confused.  “The sun was setting, and I’d been robbed… in Stupidity.”

    “That’s quite the detour.”  He laughed.

    A stubborn look crossed Seeker’s face. There was something he wasn’t saying—but Companion didn’t press the point.

    “Well, Seeker, you’re in luck. I’m passing by the Wicket Gate. You can even walk with me all the way to the Interpreter’s House, if you want.”  He reached into his satchel and handed Seeker the loaf of bread.  “Eat, my friend.  You have a long road ahead.”  He paused.  “But it’s nothing compared to the Slough. That, I promise.”

  Seeker opened his eyes.  For a moment, he thought he was still in the Slough.  No—he was lying on grass, his head propped up.  He was deathly cold.  His hand shot to his chest—his Book was still there.  He coughed and sat up.

    A man squatted beside him, tending a small fire.  He introduced himself as Companion.  There was a twinkle in his eyes—not mocking, but more like a ray of sunlight breaking through bright clouds.

    Seeker wasn’t quite sure why he’d said he was from the City of Destruction.  But something in Companion’s gaze—steady, knowing—made it impossible to hold the rest back.  His story came pouring out, or at least the part about his journey.  There was no judgment in Companion’s eyes.  Only understanding.

    He ate the bread Companion offered and warmed himself beside the fire.

    “Is this yours?” Companion asked, handing him the staff.  “I found it in the mud next to you.”  He nodded toward the Slough.

    Seeker was still weak, but warmth and food had steadied him. So, they set out toward the Wicket Gate—staff in hand.

     A wide, well-trodden path stretched out before them, and Companion walked with steady purpose, sure of his direction. Seeker walked beside him, leaning on his staff for support.

    “The way is different than I expected… I imagined it to be… narrower.”
    Companion laughed.  “Judge a path by where it leads, not by how many people walk it.  But you’re right—this isn’t the Narrow Way.  This path leads to Pretense.”  He paused for effect, glanced at Seeker, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  “Which is where we don’t want to go.   That’s why we aren’t walking that way.”  He pointed back the way they had come.   

    Companion continued, his voice calm and firm.  “I’ve pulled a few people out of the Slough, but not a single one this far off the path.”
    Seeker hesitated.  “I came from Uncertain.  It’s just easier to say the City of Destruction.  No one’s heard of Uncertain.”  Companion nodded.  He didn’t say a word—it was clear he hadn’t heard of it either.  “It’s not exactly a lie.  I do come from the City of Destruction, but…”  He swallowed hard.  “My parents brought me to Uncertain when I was young, and…”
    “Why the Wicket Gate?”
   “Well, there is no future in Uncertain.  And no one welcomed me back to the City of Destruction.  To be honest, I don’t even know the way. Besides…”

    He reached into his jacket and pulled out his Book and handed it to Companion.  “If I can just get to the Wicket Gate, I’ll be certain of the truth.”

    “What about your family?  Didn’t they give you any guidance?”
    “My father told me not to take the journey.”  He let out a bitter laugh.  “I told him that…”  He didn’t finish the sentence.  “Mother, well, she…”  He paused, then smiled.  “I have a little brother.  He’s too young, really.  We don’t get along well anyway.”

    Companion smiled warmly.  “Now I know how you ended up in Despond.  But all that is behind you now.”  

   Companion studied the book in his hands—black leather-bound, the title in gold letters: The Pilgrim’s Progress.  He could tell from the worn edges that Seeker had read it often, but it was well kept—handled with care, even reverence.

    The book opened to a bookmarked page—at the top, the top of the page read: Christian and Hopeful at the River of Life.  The bookmark was a slip of paper, marked with a drawing of a strange bird—black and white, with an orange beak.  He flipped through the book, catching names of familiar places—Slough of Despond, Wicket Gate, Interpreter’s House.

    Storm clouds gathered behind a mountain rising in the distance, its rocky slopes jagged and steep.  Lightning split the sky above it, followed by thunder—low and rolling, echoing from far off.   

    “Look, it’s Mount Sinai.”  Seeker pointed at the mountain, then at his Book.  “Christian got sidetracked at the beginning of his journey.”

    Companion flipped through the pages until he found the part, read in silence, and nodded.

    Winding switchbacks climbed Sinai in an arduous ascent, and an occasional gust of wind carried the faintest scent of charred rock. The village of Morality perched atop the heights, its modest buildings barely visible against the sky. A cathedral steeple pierced the skyline above the clustered rooftops.

    “Now that I see it with my own eyes,” said Seeker, “I wonder how Christian was so easily led astray.”
    “If you come from the City of Destruction, there’s a faint rise—you can’t see what’s clear from here.”  Companion handed the Book back to Seeker.  “Though the path to it is overgrown now—no one wants to brave the climb and the fire.  Don’t judge a path by its difficulty, or, as I said before, by how many walk it.” He pointed at the village at the top of Sinai. “Morality is the way of rules, but the Narrow Way is about relationships.”

    Seeker placed the Book back close to his heart and then looked to the path ahead.

    They passed an abandoned village, its buildings silent and empty as if time had passed it by, while the wind slipped through its streets, stirring dust and dry earth into the heavy air and setting old beams creaking faintly, threatening to collapse at any minute.

    A jagged, rocky hill rose beyond it, crowned by a fortress of dark stone, its walls and towers lined with wooden hoardings—Beelzebub’s Castle.

    This must be the castle from which goblins had rained down fiery arrows at Christian.  Yet Companion showed no alarm; if he noticed it at all, he gave no indication.  Seeker noticed the unnatural silence.  The hoardings stood empty, and no archers manned the walls or towers.  The castle just stood there—dark, lifeless, and ruined, yet still imposing.

    The path passed the village and wound around Beelzebub’s Castle until, at last, they arrived at a crossroads, where the road turned and led back toward the Slough.  A narrower path branched off toward the Castle, where the hill ended in a sheer cliff, affording the fortress a clear view of a small gate set in a wall running to the distant mountains of Sinai.

    Companion pointed at the gate in the distance and said with a grin, “There’s your Wicket Gate.”

    From the distance, everything seemed exactly as his Book described.  The Wicket Gate was small and unassuming, standing in the shadow of Beelzebub’s Castle.  But something seemed… wrong.  Where was the light to guide travelers from the valley of Destruction?  And why was the way no longer guarded?

    Seeker turned to look at Companion, who seemed completely unconcerned and perfectly at ease. Seeing Companion’s calm, Seeker pushed his doubts aside and continued following him as they turned onto the path to the Wicket Gate.

  Stillness filled the air when Seeker and Companion reached the Wicket Gate. Beelzebub’s Castle loomed beside them, its shadow stretching over the path, but there was no sign of danger—no whistling arrows, no growling hounds, only the rustle of the breeze and the soft creak of the gate.

   The Wicket Gate was exactly as Seeker had imagined it—a small wooden door set into the stone wall, with the words inscribed “Knock and it shall be opened unto you.”  But the door was already standing open.

    He stood there staring.  Why was the door already open?  He raised his hand to knock, but what was the point?  He stepped hesitantly over the threshold and looked this way and that. Where was Good-Will?  There was no opposition, but there was no welcome, either.

    On the other side of the gate, he spotted a summer-parlor for the welcoming of Pilgrims, but no one was inside. A layer of dust coated everything—the table, the chair, and the couch. No one had used the parlor for a long time.   

    On the table was a brass trumpet, dusty and tarnished from long disuse. Seeker could almost hear the welcoming chorus celebrating new arrivals, but now it just stood there in silence.

    There was a basin and pitcher.  He could imagine Good-Will washing the dust from a traveler’s feet.  The mud from the Slough had dried on his clothes and skin, flaking away as the decaying odor of the Slough mixed with the stale smell of his sweat—he definitely needed to wash.  But there was no towel, and the pitcher was empty.

    He picked up a small tin cup from the table, his mouth dry with the dust of the road and exhaustion. But there was no water to quench his thirst.

    Companion entered the room, shrugging but with kindness in his eyes. “Times change, my friend.” He took the cup from Seeker’s hands, poured some water from his canteen, swished it around several times, and poured it out. Then he filled it completely and handed it to Seeker.

    The cool water refreshed Seeker. He swallowed every drop and put the tin cup into his satchel. He stepped outside, and the Narrow Way stretched before him, reaching the horizon, straight as a rule could make it.    

    Things were different than he expected, but now he had direction. And he had a friend. He drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh of relief.

   As they left the Wicket Gate behind, a wall rose alongside the Narrow Way, fencing it in.  From the other side, branches heavy with fruit reached over the top, growing from fruit trees in a garden just beyond the wall.

    Seeker paused beside the wall to study the small, round fruit, their pale skins slightly lustrous.  His finger hovered just short of touching one.  “I recognize these.”

    “I wouldn’t eat those,” Companion said.  “Not unless you’re looking for a bad stomachache.”  He pointed toward the looming ruins of Beelzebub’s Castle, dark and imposing beyond the wall. “It’s his garden.  Or at least it was.”

    “In the Valley of Destruction, there’s a tree beside a river.”  He held up his staff.  “I cut this from its branches.  The fruit is the same.  But the tree is larger and older.  Much older.  Ancient.”

    Companion looked at the trees as if seeing them for the first time. “Lignum Scientiae,” he said.  Then he grinned.  “That’s a fancy word for ‘Tree of Knowledge.’  I’ve never seen it myself. Mine comes from the Lignum Vitae.” He held out his staff.

    “Tree of Knowledge?” Seeker ran his fingers along the rough, gnarled wood of the staff in his hands.  “But why would Beelzebub…”

    Companion shrugged. “It’s not evil, you know.  Just… dangerous. Eat a bite and you’ll be fine.  Eat a few and you won’t feel so good. More than that, well… the effects can be pretty bad.”  (like Brazil nuts, lol)

    “Well, let’s not find out. I’d hate for you to have to carry me the rest of the way.” He laughed, turned, and continued down the Narrow Way.

    The path opened into a hidden valley, nestled among the mountains. The air felt clearer here, the light softer.  The wind whispered in reverence, carrying the sweet, fresh scent of fruit blossoms.  A cool breeze swept through the valley like a gentle welcome.

    Wheat fields shimmered in the light, neatly enclosed by strong fences.  In stark contrast, on the other side of the path, the fields lay abandoned.  Golden stalks rustled softly, brushing against each other as they swayed.

    In the distance, a solitary tower caught his eye.  It rose above the treetops, standing clear against the sky.  He turned to Companion and pointed.

    “Yes, that is where we’re going,” Companion said.

     Seeker’s tension eased, and a sudden lightness filled his chest. Something about this place felt familiar—like he had finally arrived somewhere he belonged.

    A wooded ravine cut through the valley, and a stream peeked through the trees, winding southward through the shadows.  From the distant mountains, cascades poured down in ribbons of white, waterfalls crashing into pools below with a low, steady roar.  Mist rose where the water met rock, softening the air.

   The gurgle of the stream mingled with the distant thunder of the falls.  A cool breeze rose from the ravine, stirring the wheat fields and carrying the scent of water—fresh, clean, crisp.  Beneath it lingered a trace of damp earth and moss, the breath of the valley itself.

    As if he could read Seeker’s thoughts, Companion said, “I agree, you definitely could use a wash.”

    The sun was warm, and the stale smell of his sweat mixed with the lingering decay of the Slough, still clinging to his skin and clothes.  The water below looked cool, inviting.

    But the way down into the ravine was steep and perilous.  More than that, it was off the path.  

   “But… are we…?”  He hesitated, then shook his head.  “No, I won’t leave the Way.”

    Companion laughed.  “No, not that way.  There are steps down near the Interpreter’s House.  It’s steep, but it’s worth the climb.”  He gestured toward the ravine.  “There’s a palace built by the Interpreter long ago.  The water is good to drink, and there are pools for swimming.”

    He paused and added with a quiet smile, “This whole realm is filled with things to see.  And it’s one of the few places on the Narrow Way where exploration isn’t just allowed but encouraged.”

    The tower seemed much closer now.  Seeker picked up his pace.

    The tower inched closer as Seeker and Companion walked, until at last it felt near enough to touch.  A side path appeared between the wheat fields, fences lining either side.  The sun was sinking behind the mountains, casting golden beams over the shimmering wheat.

    Seeker’s heart pounded as Companion turned down the path toward the ravine—and the tower.  This was the moment he’d been waiting for.  Just a little further, beyond the clump of trees, and he’d finally be at the Interpreter’s House.  He wanted to run.  But he stayed beside Companion.

    When the Interpreter’s House came into view, he froze.  What was this?  The roofs were gone, the walls crumbling, stones scattered.  Only a single tower still stood, stark against the sky—a remnant of what once was.

    The wind moved through the ruins, stirring up the dry scent of old, broken stone and dust, filling his mouth with bitterness, while the lingering freshness from the stream mocked him.  Somewhere in the distance, a bird cawed.

    The weight of his journey dragged him down.  He was exhausted.  Nothing made sense—the abandoned castle, the empty gate, and the ruined house.  He dropped to his knees.  He wanted to cry, but no tears came.  What did this all mean? 

    Seeker knelt in front of the ruins for a long time, head in hands, mind reeling.  When he finally looked up, Companion stood there, patient, waiting, casual in his stance, unshaken by the ruins.

   “Come on, Seeker.” His smile was easy.  “You can explore later.  Supper’s waiting.”

    Then he saw it.  Beyond the ruins stood a cottage, candlelight warm and inviting in the windows.  Slowly, he rose to his feet, the tension draining from his shoulders.  It wasn’t the stately palace he’d imagined from his Book, but it looked wonderful.

    The door creaked softly as Companion opened it.  The faint scent of stew and warm bread drifted over the smell of dust and old stones.  He looked back once, briefly, drawn by the mystery of the ruins—broken and empty, the wind whispering as if it carried secrets from the past.  Disappointment faded, replaced by curiosity.  Companion stood in the door frame, beckoning.

    Then he knew.  

    He was home.

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