Beautiful lay alone in bed, fear gripping her heart. For more than twenty years, Seeker had always been beside her. Now—silence. She wished Wonderful would come creep into her bed, as she had so many times as a child. The thought of going to her crossed her mind, but she pushed it aside.
She had been worried for Bright—now she had to worry for Seeker as well. He no longer had his Phial to light the way. She prayed the sun was shining on him as he passed through the Valley. It had been days. Surely by now he had found Bright… and soon, they would both be home again.
She tossed and turned for what felt like half the night before sleep at last claimed her—fitful, uneasy, and thin as breath.
Then the air itself seemed to still, as though the whole world held its breath—and a Shining One stood before her. He appeared like sound made visible, a harmony given form. His garments shimmered like woven light—silver threaded with faint hues of rose and pale gold.
“Fear not, daughter of faith,” he said.
The colors around him seemed to move with his voice—each word carried weight, leaving ripples in the air. Her fear melted away. His voice was soft, yet unescapable—ringing with music, as though a thousand harps trembled in harmony.
His face was beautiful yet unreadable—like sculpted flame. His eyes were blue-gray, the color of dawn seen through rain, filled with both promise and sorrow. He seemed at once infinitely near and infinitely far away.
His wings were vast and translucent, feathered with argent light that shimmered as he moved—leaving behind a faint trail of radiance, like moonlight rippling over water.
He took her by the hand and led her out of the city of Vanity, across the Plain of Ease, until they came to the River of Life. Along its banks stood a small cottage, nestled among trees heavy with violet fruit that glowed like amethyst in the soft light. Then he placed a scroll in her hands—its words written in silver, bound with a slender thread of the same.
“Go now—you and your daughter, Wonderful—to the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Your beloved fights for his life there, and he is in need of your help.”
“As you command, my Lord,” she said, bowing low. Then she woke in her own bed, the scroll still clutched to her breast.
Thunder crashed, and the whole house trembled. The scroll slipped from her hands onto the bed as she rushed outside. Over the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the heavens had grown black—lightning tore through the clouds in wild flashes, and the ground quaked beneath her feet.
Wonderful had already loaded a donkey with herbs, bandages, and other supplies for her usual rounds with Mr. Skill. She stood frozen in the doorway, eyes lifted to the darkened heavens, terror etched across her face.
“Come—your father and brother need us,” Beautiful said.
Wonderful nodded, fear still glistening in her eyes. She slung her satchel over her shoulder and together they set out.
The city was in chaos. Some stood frozen, staring toward the Valley; others ran wildly through the streets, colliding with them as they passed. Many had already barred their doors and shuttered their windows against the storm.
They left the city behind and pressed on, step by step, toward the mountain pass that led into the Valley. The nearer they drew, the clearer the sounds of battle became—the clash of steel, roars and shrieks echoing through the heights. Wonderful guided the donkey with a firm hand, whispering soft words of comfort as it trembled beneath the weight of the noise.
Fear not. The Shining One’s words settled deep in Beautiful’s heart, steadying her spirit and filling her with quiet courage.
Suddenly, the thunder and the lightning faded, and even the ground grew still. A deathly silence fell over the plain—no cry of bird, no whisper of wind. A terrifying void.
They came to the gap between the mountains. Before them lay only darkness—thick and impenetrable. Still, they pressed on.
Wings stirred overhead, and the clouds drew back. Sunlight poured over the Valley, illuminating the path before them.
They moved carefully, step by step, avoiding the snares and bones that littered the way. The donkey balked, ears pinned and trembling yet still followed—reluctant but obedient to the gentle pull of Wonderful’s hand.
The body of a giant lay sprawled across the path, headless and still. Nearby, Wrath’s severed head stared upward, its face locked into a grotesque sneer—as if death itself had only deepened his hatred.
Not far ahead, two figures lay in the dust—one motionless, the other bent low over him.
“Daddy!” Wonderful cried, letting go of the rope and racing forward.
Beautiful froze. Bright lay still on the ground, and Seeker was draped over him, sobbing without restraint. For a heartbeat she couldn’t breathe. Was he dead? No—no, he couldn’t be.
Wonderful took command. “Light a fire,” she said, pointing to the bundle of wood on the donkey, then to a kettle and waterskin. She pressed the back of her hand to Seeker’s forehead, assessing the heat before pulling a small packet from her satchel.
“This will bring down his fever—and counter the poison,” she said, handing it to Beautiful.
Then she knelt beside Bright. Yarrow first—to stop the bleeding. She worked quickly, her mind moving faster than her hands. Splints for the bones—several were broken. Comfrey once they’re set. She reached for her pouch, sorting through the familiar scents of earth and leaf. Balms for the cuts, salves for the bruises…. And there—the faint, sickly trace she dreaded most. The mark of Plague. She knew it instantly, just as Mr. Skill had taught her.
Beautiful cradled Seeker in her arms. His face was pale, streaked with tears.
“Bright’s going to be fine, Daddy,” she whispered.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. He swallowed the medicine Beautiful held to his lips, and little by little, color began to return to his cheeks.
Bright’s eyes fluttered open. His lips moved faintly. “Wonderful,” he murmured.
When Wonderful was certain Bright could be moved, Seeker helped him onto the donkey. Together, they left that Valley behind—forever.
