Bright began to nod as dawn crept over the valley. As usual, he had kept watch through the night, guarding the flock from coyotes, and slept during the day. Most nights his presence alone was enough to keep the predators away, but now and again he had to drive them off with his staff.
A sickening stench of rot and bile rolled through the air, so strong it turned his stomach. Bright jolted upright. The dawn silence shattered—low, animal growls, ragged wheezing, and piercing shrieks echoed across the pasture. The sounds weren’t coming from the dark mountains.
He snatched up his staff and rose to his feet, squinting toward the Valley of the Shadow of Death. The morning glare burned his eyes, but then—he saw it. It was like nothing he had ever seen before.
It was a skeletal monstrosity draped in blood-soaked cloth that clung to its decaying frame. Its flesh was pale and leathery, stretched tight over bone so that every rib and sinew showed beneath. Long, spindly limbs ended in claws like razors. Its head was shaped almost like a coyote’s—but twisted, grotesque—its gaping maw lined with jagged teeth that dripped fresh blood.
Its body was shaped like a man’s, yet it crawled on all fours with a jerking, convulsive gait—as though forcing itself into a feral posture its bones could scarcely endure.
It lurched toward the flock in a sudden burst of speed. Bright froze in horror as it reared on its hind legs—taller even than Giant Wrath—and slashed at a ewe. One swipe, and the creature’s claws tore her down. Then it dropped back to its crawling, spasmodic stance. But it didn’t feed. It didn’t drag its kill away. Instead, it flung itself among the others, striking at them in a frenzy of mindless violence.
The flock scattered in panic, but the beast was faster. It pounced on one sheep, then another, rending them apart with its teeth and claws.
Bright shouted, but the creature didn’t even flinch. He ran toward it, his heart pounding like a hammer in his chest. The stench of rot and blood gagged him. He swung his staff, striking the beast square across the back. It didn’t turn. It only kept tearing through the flock.
A foul poison seeped from the beast’s wounds, hissing where it touched the ground. From the place his staff had struck, a sickly miasma rose, curling through the air. The stench clawed at Bright’s throat, and he fell to his knees, coughing as the fumes closed around him.
The beast swung a claw at him, but Bright rolled aside just in time. It wheeled with a snarl and lunged after the fleeing sheep.
It was over before he even knew it had begun. The flock had scattered, and the beast was gone—but the carnage remained. Sheep lay strewn across the grass, bleeding, choking, gasping out their last breaths.
Bright fell to his knees beside the nearest sheep, bitterness twisting his gut. She lay still, unnaturally quiet, her wide, pleading eyes fixed on him.
Bright slammed his fist into the earth and cried out—a long, broken sound that tore through the valley.
***
Seeker had seemed unsettled when he came home from work the night before.
“There’s talk of a new giant roaming the Valley,” he’d said quietly. “Plague. They say it rose out of Doubting—something unlike anything anyone’s seen before.”
Beautiful’s mind raced. Would Seeker be safe crossing the Valley to work? Would any of them be safe here? She’d seen Wrath punch through the walls of Palace Beautiful as if they were paper. These walls would never stand against that. Could the Phial keep Plague away as it had Giant Wrath?
And Bright—he insisted on staying out with his sheep all night. The coyotes and bears were bad enough. But now this? She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him.
–
Seeker kissed her and was halfway to the door when a scuffle broke out outside. Bright burst in—wild-eyed, hair in disarray.
“It didn’t even eat them!” he gasped, face flushed. “Just senseless slaughter.”
“Slow down, Bright,” Seeker said, stepping toward him. “What happened?”
“A beast attacked—but it didn’t come from the mountains,” Bright said, his voice trembling. “It came out of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Huge—and nothing like anything you’ve ever seen.”
“Plague,” Beautiful whispered, swallowing hard.
Bright closed his eyes, shuddering at the memory. “That’s right,” he whispered. “When I struck it, sickness oozed out—like the air itself turned foul. There’s no fighting something like that. Even from behind I was taking harm. I can’t imagine standing before its claws and fangs.
Cold fingers of dread crept around Beautiful’s heart.
“It was fast—so fast that even Giant Wrath seemed slow and lumbering by comparison.
“We have to go,” Beautiful said.
“Go? Where?” Seeker asked, shaking his head.
“Forward,” she whispered. “Even if we wanted to climb the Hill of Difficulty again, there’s nothing for us behind.”
“I can’t leave my flock,” Bright protested.
“I can’t lose you either,” Beautiful said, her voice breaking. “We have to go.”
Seeker’s face drained of color. “The Valley of the Shadow of Death…”
“We’ll have to face it sooner or later,” Beautiful snapped.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and Comfort peeked inside.
“Come in, Comfort,” Beautiful said.
“Have you heard?” Comfort asked quietly. “About Plague?”
“We have to leave,” Beautiful replied, her voice firm but breaking.
“If we travel light, we can reach Vanity by nightfall,” Comfort said.
“I’m not leaving my books,” Seeker replied. “And what if we don’t make it? We’ll be without food.”
“You’ll carry your books—and our things,” Beautiful said sharply. “The rest of us will take as much food as we can manage.” Her eyes flicked to Bright. “You too.”
Wonderful burst into the room, eyes bright. “I’m not little anymore. I can carry as much as Bright!”
All eyes turned to Seeker. He drew a slow breath. “All right. We leave in an hour.”
***
The Dream blinked and I stood within the Celestial City. For all the times I had wandered the Dream, never once had I passed through its gates. The streets shone like burnished gold, and the walls glimmered with every kind of precious stone.
A river, clear as crystal, flowed through the city. I knew it at once—the waters of Beulah, the same River of Life that had wound before the Delectable Mountains and through the Interpreter’s ravine in the valley below.
As I followed the river’s course, faces seemed to glimmer beneath the light—familiar, beloved. I was certain I saw Christian and Christiana walking arm in arm, their laughter carried faintly on the air. Yet I did not stop until I reached the river’s source.
It flowed from a throne of lapis lazuli, gleaming like the heart of heaven. The One who sat upon it shone with a brilliance too great to behold. Before the throne burned seven mighty lamps, and a rainbow encircled it like living light. Lightning flashed across the sky, and the sound of thunder rolled through the heavens.
Six-winged dragons of breathtaking beauty circled above, crying out, “Holy, holy, holy!” Strange beings with four wings and faces of an ox, man, a lion, and an eagle lifted harps in their hands. Beneath them turned living wheels—wheels within wheels—rimmed with eyes that watch in every direction.
Before the throne knelt Michael the Archangel.
A voice like the sound of many rushing waters flowed from the throne. “Set a watch upon the Valley of the Shadow of Death. My son and daughter have suffered enough at the hands of that place; not a single hair shall fall to the ground.”
Michael bowed his head. “As you command, Your Majesty.”
Then I saw Michael gather a legion of Shining Ones. He lifted his hand and commanded them to descend into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, to stand guard and suffer no harm to come to Seeker, Beautiful, or their house. And he charged them to keep silent and remain unseen.
And Sariel his brother went before them, shining a light upon their path, that their feet should not stumble.
***
Seeker shivered as they stepped into the Valley of the Shadow of Death. The air was unnervingly still—almost peaceful. The siren’s songs were hushed; no wings beat above, no fiends howled below. Yet the silence felt watchful, as if the darkness itself were holding its breath. Before them, a soft light glimmered, marking the way, and Seeker raised the Phial to strengthen the glow, its radiance joining the light before them.
Seeker frowned in quiet wonder. What was that light? Were there other pilgrims ahead? Yet each time they paused—to rest, to tighten a strap—the glow halted just beyond them. And when they moved again, it moved with them.
To their right yawned the great abyss—the pit that led down to Hell itself. As they walked, Seeker spoke softly of how Apollyon had risen against Perry and Eva, and how he had dragged Perry into the depths. And how Eva, returning to the Palace Beautiful, had clad herself in armor, taken up sword and shield, and followed her love into Hell—striking down countless fiends as she descended.
Of the sulphureous bog that fumed on their left, Seeker said nothing.
–
Step by step they kept to the Narrow Way until at last they reached the far side. The going had been easier—much easier—than they expected, but none of them wished to linger.
Seeker turned to them. “Be vigilant. We’re coming to the dangerous stretch—pits and snares. We stay together.”
Merry squirmed in Wonderful’s arms. “No, Merry,” she said, holding him fast.
–
They were not prepared for what lay before them. The ground ahead was buried in mangled corpses, heaped in rotting, putrid mounds—Plague’s handiwork laid bare. The pits were long since filled and spilling over. In the few places where bodies did not cover the earth, pools of blackened blood had gathered, glistening faintly in the ghostly light.
Bright doubled over and vomited. Wonderful stood trembling, eyes wide with terror. Beautiful swayed, and Seeker caught her before she could fall.
The light ahead flickered, then went out. Seeker’s Phial flared brighter in the darkness, its glow trembling in his hands.
“There’s no way forward,” he said quietly.
“And we can’t go back,” Beautiful’s voice broke, thin with panic.
“That leaves one choice,” Seeker said, his voice steadier than he felt. “Giant Pagan’s cave. It should be close—abandoned long ago.”
They picked their way carefully over the bodies until they reached the foot of the mountains, where the dark mouth of a cave yawned before them—much larger than the one on the Hill of Difficulty. A rough palisade of splintered beams and broken spears half-blocked the entrance. With effort, it could be dragged into place to bar the way and give them some measure of safety inside.
Ash and dried blood clung to the wood. The air was thick with iron and decay. Seeker ran his fingers along one of the shattered shafts.
“People fought here,” he murmured.
Beautiful traced the splintered ends, the blackened tips.
“And died,” she whispered.