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.
