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.
