The sun stood overhead when they reached the spring at the crossroads. It lay at the base of the Hill of Difficulty. Seeker unstrapped their burdens from the donkey and let it wander to graze before the climb ahead.
Seeker hoped to reach the Arbor before sundown and rest there for the night. With Beautiful and Bright’s pace, he wouldn’t attempt the summit. Taking the paths around the mountain—through the Crags of Destruction or the Forest of Danger—was never an option.
Beautiful spread a cloth and set out bread and cheese. She dipped Seeker’s tin cup into the cool water of the bubbling spring and handed it to Bright.
While they ate, four men emerged from the Crags of Destruction—rough-bearded, hard-eyed. Seeker reached for his staff.
The leader pointed at the donkey. “Take it,” he barked.
Seeker stepped in front of Beautiful and Bright. One robber moved toward the donkey. The others closed in on their belongings. He swung hard. His staff cracked against a man’s ribs, the sound of wood on bone ringing sharp. A club struck him from behind. He staggered. The staff slipped from his hands as he fell. A boot slammed into his side and drove the breath from his chest.
Beautiful cried out, clutching Bright in her arms. Comfort stepped between them and the men, wrapping her arms protectively around them both.
“Looky what we have here,” one of the robbers called, holding up the bag of gold.
Another slit the canvas with his knife. Seeker’s books spilled onto the ground. “Books,” he scoffed.
A third ripped open the other bags. Their contents scattered across the dirt. A plate clattered on the stones and cracked in two.
Seeker pushed up on his elbow, rage burning through the ache. He lunged again, but a blow sent him sprawling face-first in the dirt.
Moments later they were gone—leading the donkey away with their gold and provisions. Their footsteps faded, leaving only the bubbling of the spring and Bright’s frightened sobs.
Beautiful rushed to Seeker’s side. Shards of their dishes lay scattered on the ground. One of Bright’s toys, a small wooden soldier, lay on its side with an arm broken.
Seeker reached for his staff, chest heaving, eyes burning with fury. “They’ll pay for this,” he growled. He started toward Destruction, but Beautiful caught his hand and held him back.
“Stop, Seeker,” she begged. “It’s only things. We can’t lose you too.”
Seeker drew a long breath and let it out slowly. His heart still raced. He sank onto the grass, fighting to steady himself. His breath came ragged and uneven.
“Okay,” he whispered.
***
Beautiful stitched together the torn canvas the robbers had left, fashioning a pack with straps for Seeker. She quickly made two smaller bags for herself and Comfort. Bright put on a brave face and insisted on carrying one too, though Seeker tucked only a few of his toys inside.
Seeker carved a small sign: Beware of robbers from Destruction. He fixed it to a branch and drove it into the ground, laying their broken dishes at its base.
Beautiful and Comfort helped him shoulder his great burden and slung their own bags across their backs. Together, they began their ascent.
Years at the tread-wheel had not prepared him for this. Within a dozen steps his chest was burning. His heart pounded, and he could not catch his breath. The path was rocky. Sharp stones pressing through his boots. More than once he slipped on loose gravel, and at last he fell to his hands and knees and needed help to rise.
The sun beat down on them, and sweat ran freely, soaking his clothes. His mouth tasted of iron from a split lip in the fall.
Up the path he heard Bright wailing, “I’m dying, I’m dying!”
Beautiful, panting, snapped at him, “You’re not dying, Bright. Just… breathing… hard. Like Mama.”
Beautiful turned to Seeker. “Let’s… take a break.”
Seeker agreed, thankful though he hid it. He leaned forward, easing the weight of his burden from his shoulder. Beautiful and Bright sat on a rock, drinking from his canteen. He didn’t dare sit. If he did, he knew he’d never get back up.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had started his journey more than ten years before, and yet here he was—clothes worn thin and torn, a huge burden on his back. Just like Christian at the start of his journey. Only unlike Christian, he thought bitterly, he was climbing the Hill of Difficulty.
