The Dreamer was puzzled. The tower stood just as he’d seen it from the waterfalls with the Interpreter—but His House was in ruins. This was where he’d heard the Beautiful song. He was sure of it. Things had changed since he’d been here as a child—a lot. Beelzebub’s Castle, abandoned. The Interpreter’s House, broken. And where was Good-Will? Something felt vaguely familiar. He watched intently as Seeker-for-Truth disappeared into the cottage.
***
A fire roared in the fireplace of the common room as Seeker entered the cottage, its light flickering across plaster walls and wooden beams. A pot of stew hung over the flames, the scent rich and comforting. Bowls and wooden spoons were laid out on a long table with benches, and baskets of fresh-baked bread were set nearby.
A young woman not much older than Seeker met him, her hair wild—curls sticking out in every direction. “Companion! You rescued another one.” She rushed toward Seeker with arms outstretched, to welcome him, then stopped short, wrinkling her nose. “You smell disgusting!”
Companion chuckled. “Seeker, this is Miss Cheerful.”
“Seeker? You look hungry. Let’s get some food in you.” She stopped and wrinkled her nose again. “Not smelling like that you don’t. Follow me, Seeker-of-Baths.” She threw her head back and laughed boisterously, the sound echoing through the room.
She started toward a doorway on the far side of the room but stopped, crossed to the fireplace, and used her apron to lift a large kettle. Then she turned to Companion. “You have a spare set of clothes while I wash those?” She pointed to Seeker’s muddy outfit, wrinkling her nose again. “They should fit for now—though they might be a bit loose across the chest.” She giggled.
Companion laughed. “I guess the stream’s going to have to wait.”
***
Miss Cheerful led Seeker to a small room with a stone floor, a drain trough, and a wooden tub bound in iron hoops. On a wooden bench sat a neatly folded towel, a worn linen cloth, and a small crock of rosemary-scented soap. She handed him a bucket and pointed to the door.
“There’s a barrel of fresh water outside,” she said.
She emptied the kettle into the tub. When he returned with the bucket full, she refilled it. “Another!”
Companion entered with a bundle of clothes. She snatched them from his hands, set them on the bench, and handed him the kettle. “On the hearth. Shoo!”
After a flurry of bustle and shouted orders, Seeker found himself standing before the steaming tub.
“Be quick, supper’s waiting. Leave your clothes on the floor. Don’t even think about putting them on the bench.” She shut the door behind her, then called through it. “Take your time! Make sure you get nice and clean!”
The warm water soothed the aches of the road as he scrubbed every bit of the Slough mire from his skin. He left his clothes on the floor, just as Miss Cheerful had told him.
***
When he returned to the common room, they were all waiting. Companion introduced him to Faint-Resolve, a tall slender man with gray streaks in his mustache and a perpetual cross expression. And to Miss Fair-Glance—pretty in a plain sort of way, with long, straight black hair. Miss Cheerful sat next to her, beaming at him.
Companion bowed his head and gave thanks to the King for the food.
“And thank you for sending us Seeker,” Miss Cheerful added. A mischievous grin crossed her face. “And that he smells like rosemary now!”
The stew was plain but hearty, warming him deep into his bones. He bit into the bread—simple but satisfying, soft inside and crisp at the edges. Filling his tin cup from the pitcher, he drank deeply. There is nothing like cool water to the thirsty.
They spoke of Seeker’s journey. Of Companion and Faint-Resolve’s work at the Slough under the orders of the King, how they missed their wives, and when their service would end so they could return to them.
Several times Faint-Resolve looked at Miss Fair-Glance out of the corner of his eyes. No, it was probably his imagination. Companion didn’t seem to notice—but she did. Each time, she looked away and blushed faintly. He pushed the thought aside. It had to be his imagination.
“Well, I’m off to bed now,” Companion said with a yawn. “It’s a long walk back to the Slough.”
Faint-Resolve stood and followed, and soon after, Miss Fair-Glance took her leave as well. With everyone gone, Miss Cheerful rose and led him to his room.
“Sleep well, Seeker,” she said and left him alone.
The room was small but welcoming. Wooden walls, darkened with age, held the lingering warmth of the cottage. A single window let in the cool night air. Its half-closed shutters creaked softly, stirred by the breeze.
The bed, a simple wooden frame, held a straw-filled mattress and a thick wool blanket. On a small table, a single candle flickered. He placed his book there gently and set down his satchel.
He blew out the candle, and within moments of lying down, he was fast asleep.
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.
When Seeker left the Interpreter’s Study, he secured the door behind him with practiced ease—holding the latch up with his clasp-knife, pulling the door shut, and slipping the knife free from between the door and the jamb. The latch clicked into place. He walked away, steady in the knowledge that his treasures lay safe within.
He left the ruins behind, passed through the wheat fields, and returned to the Narrow Way. Beyond the Interpreter’s House, lush pastures spread wide, their grass swaying gently in the breeze. Sheep grazed in the open, lifting their heads now and then to offer soft bleats. The morning sun warmed his back as a breeze tugged at his tunic, carrying the earthy scent of pasture—tinged with wool and the faint sweetness of distant wildflowers.
Dark canvas tents, weathered by sun and wind, lay scattered across the fields—the homes, he supposed, of shepherds tending their flocks. A voice rose across the open land, deep and unwavering. A strong man stood tall against the vast sky, his crook planted firmly in the earth. Around him, travelers and pilgrims had gathered, some standing, others seated on grass and smooth stones, all listening intently to his words.
“…in conclusion, my friends, always remember ‘beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing.’” A soft chorus of assent rose from the crowd as he finished speaking.
As he drew closer, Seeker spotted Companion among the crowd. Companion turned at once, his face lighting up. “Seeker!” He gave him a quick once-over, grinning. “You look rested—and much cleaner. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Stern.”
A man with chestnut hair, a prominent nose, and piercing eyes stood speaking with Stern. He was short, though it was easy to miss—he carried himself with such presence, such effortless command. At his side stood a lovely, slender woman, with long black hair flowing down to her waist, her hand resting on his arm. She was half a head shorter, gazing up at him with eyes full of quiet admiration.
Companion slowed his step and lowered his voice. “That’s Steadfast and Gracious. Don’t be put off by them. He can be… well, a bit abrupt sometimes. He chuckled searching for the right words, “They are kind of… old fashioned.” The way he said it hinted toward weird. “But when it comes to love, you won’t find a better example.”
“Stern, this is my friend Seeker. He comes from Uncertain.”
Stern extended his hand. It was calloused from hard work, his grip firm without being harsh. His eyes were gentle, his smile warm—a striking contrast to the broad shoulders and powerful arms that framed him.
“Seeker, great to meet you.” Steadfast spoke before Stern could get a word in, then rolled right back into the conversation, now looping Seeker in. “Definitely wolves in sheep’s clothing. You have to pay attention, Seeker. Times have changed. This realm used to be a haven for pilgrims. But now? The cottage lets anyone in. Wolves walk freely. They may look fair on the outside—but you can tell. By the little things they say. By glances.”
Seeker nodded as Steadfast spoke on. But his thoughts drifted to Faint-Resolve’s secretive glances at Miss Fair-Glance. Was that who Steadfast meant? Unease stirred within him. The words felt edged, a little too quick to judge. Stern’s face gave nothing away. He simply nodded again.
Companion stepped in. “Well, I’ve got to head back to the Slough. You’re in good hands with Stern—and all of the shepherds, really. I’ll see you when my shift’s over.”
Gracious gave Seeker a warm smile, then turned to Steadfast. “Honey, let’s have him over for dinner.”
Steadfast agreed with a hearty nod. “Throw another bean or two in the pot!”
Warmth spread through him. First Companion. Then Miss Cheerful, Faint-Resolve, and Miss Fair-Glance. A new life, with new friends. But first things first. The Cross still waited. He thanked them with a smile and promised dinner next time, cheerfully.
Seeker continued his trek northward, crossing a bridge over a small stream until he reached a place where the mountains narrowed, and the way was fenced in. Wall of Salvation. But it was crumbling, broken in places. The path climbed gently up a hill, with an opening off to the side. Hill of Deliverance. But no Cross.
This unsettled him. Surely this was the place. He scanned the hilltop. A sweet fragrance drifted in the air. The summit lay empty, marked only by lilies swaying in the wind. Birds sang, light and lilting yet strangely solemn, in harmony with the rustling petals. As if remembering.
He descended into the Tomb. The stone was cool to the touch, smooth and lifeless beneath his fingers. His footsteps echoed under him. Empty. But of course, it’s empty. It’s supposed to be empty.
He stepped out. The mountains cast long shadows across the path. The clean mountain air held both a sense of peace and a strange, aching absence. He scanned the horizon. No sign of the Cross. This must be the place. And it was gone. He didn’t know how to carry that knowledge.
He scanned the horizon again, searching. Still no sign of the Cross. In the distance, across the ravine, a quaint village lay nestled in the mountains. A side path led to it, crossing the ravine by an arched stone bridge, proud and enduring. On this side rose a majestic grain silo and beside it a massive treadwheel, its gleaming form turning in steady, ceaseless motion.
He knelt and gently brushed a lily’s white petal. So fragile, so soft. Nothing like the rugged cross he had expected. Unease filled his heart. He turned and left quietly, deep in thought.
***
Bewilderment swept through the Dreamer as he watched Seeker-for-Truth. There might be reasons—Good-Will’s disappearance, Beelzebub’s Castle abandoned, even the Interpreter’s House in ruins. Hadn’t the Interpreter brought him here to show him all that? But this? This was beyond reason. The Cross was the center of his Dream Lands—perhaps even the axis the world turned upon. And it was gone. In the hundreds of times he had visited, it had always been there. Always.
And the treadwheel? The grain silo? A distant hum rose from the machine—steady, almost mechanical in its precision. He had never seen this before. Not the grain silo. Not the treadwheel. He blinked—suddenly he was standing beside it. And what he saw disturbed him. The device was not fitted for horses, but for men.
This was no tool of labor. It was an instrument of cruelty.
When Seeker arrived back at the cottage, Miss Cheerful greeted him with a wave. “Just in time for dinner, Seeker. Grab a bowl and some stew!”
At the table, Faint-Resolve sat stiffly, scowling, his shoulders tight with unease. Across from him was a man Seeker hadn’t seen before—handsome, well-dressed, with immaculate blonde hair, a well-trimmed mustache, and piercing blue eyes.
“…you should have seen how she wiggled and giggled.” The man leaned back, relaxed, eyes flickering with amusement. “Her face might be kissed by the sun,” he added in a lower voice, “but her breasts—soft, and pale as cream.”
“Shame!” Faint-Resolve snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “You call yourself a Pilgrim?”
“What?” A hurt look crossed the man’s face. “I serve this King just like you. I can’t help if I’m weak for shepherd girls.”
Seeker’s bowl clattered as he set it down on the table and took a seat beside Faint-Resolve. He shifted uncomfortably, and toyed with his stew, stirring without appetite, eyes fixed on his bowl.
“I know you,” Faint-Resolve said, his voice steady but tight. “Aren’t you the son of Lechery, called Lechery yourself?”
“I didn’t take her honor.” Lechery protested, but he didn’t deny the name. “And I promised her. If anything were to happen to my wife, I would marry her.”
“Shame.” Faint-Resolve said again, softer this time. “There’s no place in the cottage for the likes of you.”
Seeker’s face began to burn as Stern’s warning echoed in his mind—then Steadfast’s words followed. He’d assumed Steadfast had meant Faint-Resolve. And he’d condemned Steadfast for being judgmental… when it was he who had judged unfairly. All along, Steadfast had been speaking of Lechery.
“My friend,” Lechery said, having regained his composure. “It’s you who don’t understand the King’s grace.” He smirked. “Besides, if she let you, you’d be no different than me.” No names spoken, but he lingered on the word she, as if Faint-Resolve knew exactly whom he meant. “But she only likes the attention.”
Faint-Resolve’s face flushed red. He opened his mouth to speak but only sputtered. No words came.
Lechery picked up his bowl and stood. “He who is without sin, let him cast the first stone.” He gave a slight nod. “Good day.”
Neither spoke. They just finished their stew in silence, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air.
Days passed into weeks, and weeks into months. Seeker spent his days in the Interpreter’s Study. Reading, learning the languages of antiquity, and poring over the ancient tomes to uncover their secrets.
He was always by Companion’s side. They became close friends, sharing meals and long conversations.
Evenings were spent in fellowship—with Miss Cheerful, Faint-Resolve, Miss Fair-Glance, Steadfast and Gracious, and many other Pilgrims who came through the cottage.
He debated Lechery and other travelers in error.
Often, they gathered in the pastures around Stern, listening to his quiet wisdom beneath the open sky.
The day came when the King summoned Companion. His assignment in the Slough was finished, and he was returning to his family. They stood outside the cottage, Companion’s pack slung over his shoulder.
“I’m going to miss you, Seeker.” Then he grinned. “But my wife misses me more, you know.”
Seeker nodded. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat. His eyes stung. He thought back to the Slough of Despond and remembered his despair. And wondered if he would ever find another friend like Companion. He was happy for him. These days had been hard for Companion, and he knew it.
Companion placed a hand on Seeker’s shoulder. “Guard your heart, Seeker.” His voice grew quiet, his expression solemn. “There are places much worse than the Slough to fall into. Much worse.” He paused as if weighing whether to say more. “I, of all people, know that best.”
The silence stretched—just long enough for the warning to settle deep.
“I will, Companion. I will.”
Suddenly, the clouds rolled back, and a ray of sunlight lit Companion’s face. He brightened and said something lighthearted. Seeker laughed.
Then Companion turned and walked alone toward the Narrow Way.
Seeker woke up early the next morning and waited for the sun to rise. He climbed the tower, as he always did, but he couldn’t focus. Restless, he wandered out to the pastures. And there, the loneliness found him.
A lone sheep stood apart, bleating into the morning stillness. From a distance, the flock answered her call. She turned and ran toward the sound.
He followed her. When he reached the flock, he found Stern seated on a rock. Beside him sat another shepherd—his hair and beard gray, but his posture youthful and his eyes shining with quiet life.
“Seeker,” Stern said, looking up with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here. This is Kind. He’ll be tending the flock while I’m away.”
Seeker’s heart sank. Stern was leaving?
“My family and I are heading to the Delectable Mountains for a short time,” Stern said gently. “But we’ll be back.”
“Stern was telling me about Companion,” Kind said, his voice warm. “I’m sure you miss him already.”
Seeker nodded.
“Liora’s cooking breakfast,” Kind said, “Come on. She’s waiting to meet you.”
Seeker looked to Stern. Stern nodded. “Go on. We’re not leaving for several days. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Kind spoke enthusiastically as they walked—he had plans for Seeker—the Harvest festival, Prince Emmanuel’s Birthday, breakfasts, suppers.
The fragrance of cooking grain and wild herbs drifted to Seeker as they approached the humble canvas tent. A young girl spotted them, then ducked inside. “Mom!” she called, tugging Liora out by the hand.
Liora stood there, poised and elegant, yet entirely approachable, with eyes that matched her husband’s in kindness.
“Heya, Seeker.” The girl looked up at him with piercing gray eyes. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Everyone knows you. You just need to get your nose out of your books. Or listen.” She laughed. “I’m Tirzah, by the way.” And just like that, she was gone.
The three of them ate breakfast together and talked. Well, Seeker talked. Kind and Liora had no end of questions for him. And somewhere along the way, Seeker forgot he was lonely.