Seeker woke aching from head to heel. His eyes were puffed near shut, his skull pounding with every heartbeat. His right wrist was bound in a crude splint—two sticks strapped tight with bandages; the bone set beneath.
He pushed himself upright on the straw mattress, a wheeze tearing from his chest, ribs protesting. The musty air of the ruined palace closed in around him. Two walls leaned half-crumbled, the roof long gone. Yet enough of the ceiling clung stubbornly overhead to offer a scrap of shelter, should the rain come.
Bright perched beside the bed, a storybook open in his lap. His head shot up. “Daddy!” he cried. “Daddy’s awake!”
“Daddy!” Wonderful echoed from across the room, her little voice bright.
Beautiful stepped through the doorway, eyes shining. She swept her hand wide. “Welcome to House Beautiful,” she said.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Seeker groaned, pressing a hand to his ribs. Yet a chuckle slipped out anyway. “How long… how long have I been out?”
“You had us worried,” Beautiful said, a faint crease between her brows. “Three days. It’s a miracle you’re still alive after what Wrath did to you.”
“How… how did you manage?” Seeker stammered.
“I went to the cottage, but they turned me away.” She drew a slow breath. “So, I did what I could.”
Seeker groaned, bracing as he pushed himself upright. Pain flared in his ribs. Beautiful’s hand came down on his shoulder, steady but firm. She shook her head.
“You need to rest. I’ll bring you something—” her mouth twitched “—well something you can eat.”
Seeker ate the bread Beautiful set before him, then pushed to his feet and swung his satchel over his shoulder.
“Seeker—” she began, protest sharp in her tone.
He cut her off, voice firm. “We have to be ready if he comes back.”
Bright walked beside him with a slight limp, and together they explored the palace.
“I’m sorry, Bright,” Seeker said. “Did the giant hurt you badly?”
“Bright put on a brave face but nodded. “He hurt my foot.”
“We have to find the armory, Bright. My staff—the Staff of Opinions—has no effect on him. With armor and a sword, we might stand a chance.”
Together they picked their way through the rubble, weeds pushing through the cracks, nettles choking the corners, birds nesting in the hollowed niches. Time had not been kind to Palace Beautiful.
As they searched, Seeker told Bright how Christian had once been outfitted with sword and shield, breastplate and helmet—how he’d fought Apollyon for days and, in the end, sent him fleeing.
They moved down what remained of the main hall. Near the entrance, the doorway to a side room was blocked with rubble. Seeker set to work, slowly clearing the way through.
Bright tugged at his sleeve. “Daddy, can I have a sword, too?”
Seeker gave a faint smile. “We’ll see, Bright. We’ll see.”
With the way cleared, Seeker stepped inside, Bright scrambling behind him. His guess had been right—this had been the armory. But only ghosts remained where racks once held weapons and mannequins bore armor. Worm-ridden fragments of wood littered the ground, and scattered pieces lay strewn across the floor.
A sword jutted half-buried in the rubble. Seeker flexed his fingers—thankful the giant it was his off-hand the giant had broken. He gripped the hilt and pulled it free. The blade’s surface was mottled with a coat of brown-red.
The hilt felt firm in his hand. He swung it in a sharp downward cut. The blade, brittle after centuries of neglect, sheared off mid-swing. Bright flinched. Seeker stared at the jagged stump, stunned.
A shield lay on the floor, faint etchings of a cross still visible. Seeker nudged it with his boot; it rang hollow. But when he set his weight on it, the shield crumbled to dust.
This had been the armory. Now it was the graveyard of one.
“We’ll have to find another way, Bright.”
Bright only nodded.
***
Seeker sat beneath a tree on the bluff, staring out over the Forest of Danger. The woods stretched below him, dark and endless, their canopy rolling like a sea of green until it dissolved into shadow.
He took out his pipe, turning it over in his hands, but left it empty. Closing his eyes, he breathed a prayer to the King.
“Keep my Beautiful, Bright, and Wonderful safe from Giant Wrath,” he whispered. “I have no weapon to stand against him, and we have no place to hide.”
Fatigue pressed down on him until his head began to nod. Drowsiness blurred the edges of his thoughts, and he slipped into a waking dream.
In the dream, a Shining One descended from the heavens—head and shoulders taller than any man. His robes of green and gold rippled like living light. Four mighty wings arched from his back, shimmering in hues of green, gold, and white.
In his hands he bore a staff, a serpent coiled around its length, two wings outspread at the top. His face was gentle, radiant with compassion, framed by flowing auburn hair. His eyes shone like emerald fire.
“Greetings, Seeker-for-Truth,” he said. His voice rang deep and resonant, like a great bell borne on the wind. Each word fell clear and deliberate, flowing with the ease of water over polished stone.
Seeker trembled, the brilliance searing his eyes. He dropped to the ground, face pressed to the earth, as if struck lifeless. Then a hand, firm yet tender touched his own. Power surged through him, steadying his knees as the Shining One lifted him upright.
“Do not fear,” the voice rang—deep, clear, carrying like music on the wind. “Your prayer has been heard. I am sent to help you.”
“My lord,” Seeker pleaded, his voice raw, “will you stand with me against Wrath? I have no sword, no armor. My body is bruised and broken, and the staff I carry is worthless in my hand.”
The Shining One answered, each word ringing with measured weight: “Hear the words of the King: steel and shield are but vanity before Wrath. Only forgiveness has the power to undo him.”
“Teach me this forgiveness,” Seeker whispered, his voice trembling—yet laced with a fragile thread of hope.
“Day by day, you have fed Wrath’s strength. When Beautiful yawned at your wedding. When Jabal twisted his terms—each moment gave him ground. And when Wrath rises, no weapon of yours can strike him down.”
“But I don’t know how,” Seeker whispered. His throat tightened. “There are wounds I cannot forgive.”
“It is not you who forgives—but you must yield to it. If you strike Wrath, he will only swell in power. But if you release forgiveness with tears, he will flee.”
The Shining One placed a small phial in Seeker’s hands. His voice rang clear: “Not one tear of yours has fallen in vain. The King has gathered them all, and here they are kept—every drop held in this vessel.”
The Shining One clasped Seeker’s hand. A warmth coursed through him, loosening the ache in his body, steadying the beat of his heart. “Peace be upon you, and upon your house,” the angel said, each word resonant as a bell toll. Then the light faded, and he was gone.
Seeker woke with a start. What a curious dream. Yet in his hand lay the crystal phial. He lifted it, and at the bottom two—perhaps three—teardrops glimmered. His hand went to his ribs. No pain. Carefully he unwound the splint and flexed his fingers. Whole. Healed.
***
Beautiful leaned against Seeker as the firelight flickered across his face. Bright played on the floor with Wonderful, their laughter carrying softly through the chamber. Somehow, Seeker’s bones had mended—yet he offered her no explanation. She didn’t press him. Her eyes lingered on the bruise still dark across his forehead—horrible, stubborn, ugly, refusing to fade.
From the darkness beyond the ruins, heavy footsteps thundered through the night.
“He can’t get in,” she whispered, though a shiver still raced down her spine.
The footsteps drew closer—then a thunderous slam shook the walls. Another crash, and the stone crumbled. Giant Wrath forced his way inside. Bright screamed. Wonderful wailed. Beautiful froze where she stood, her body shrinking back, powerless before him.
Seeker rose to his feet and walked straight toward Giant Wrath, every step measured, unhurried. A flicker of confusion crossed the giant’s face.
“You have no power here,” Seeker said, his voice calm.
Wrath barked a contemptuous laugh and hefted his club high. “Funny man,” he sneered.
Seeker reached into his jacket and drew out the phial, lifting it high. A brilliant light burst forth, flooding the ruins brighter than day. Wrath staggered back, his club clattering from his hand as he crashed to the ground, hands thrown over his eyes.
Seeker stepped forward.
“No…” Wrath gasped.
“Go—and never return,” Seeker said, raising the phial high.
The giant reeled to his feet, howling in agony, then turned and fled, vanishing into the night.
***
Now I saw in my dream that Seeker and his family dwelt for a season in Palace Beautiful, and in those years Bright and Wonderful grew. During that time Giant Wrath made no attempt to trouble them.