Beautiful was still asleep, her breathing soft and even. Seeker leaned close and brushed a kiss against her cheek before rising. He slung his satchel over one shoulder and started toward the door. Then—like wind over harp strings—a voice stirred in the air: Bring your books. He paused, the sound still trembling in his chest, and with a quiet sigh, shouldered his burden. The weight drew a grunt from him as he stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him.
The weight of his burden slowed him through the crowded streets of the Fair. The noise pressed around him—vendors calling, wheels creaking, laughter echoing off the tents. How had he managed all this before, in the state he’d been in?
He wasn’t even sure the mansion would be there—or what he would find if it was. Still, he followed the path his dream had traced, step by step, until at last he stood before it.
It was just as he remembered—its marble garden walls gleaming where no such thing should stand. Watchmen swung the gates open without a word, as though his coming had been foretold. Within lay a garden overflowing with color, flowers of every kind blooming in ordered abundance. Stone alcoves invited rest among their fragrance. Along the marble walls, roses climbed high—red so vivid they seemed to burn in the light.
Seeker climbed the marble steps and knocked softly. The door opened, and a maiden of radiant purity stood before him—her hair the color of silvered light, her face untouched by time, her eyes deep and still as wisdom itself.
“Why have you come?” she asked. “What is your purpose?”
Could this be Innocent, the one he had read about?
“I seek the truth!” Seeker declared, his voice ringing with conviction.
She smiled, the expression warm yet knowing. “Follow me,” she said. “The Interpreter is waiting for you.”
She led him into a quiet chamber, where a man stood with arms outstretched. He was ancient, yet ageless—his robe plain, yet his bearing regal. The wisdom of ages rested in his gaze, tempered by a gentleness beyond measure.
“Seeker-for-Truth,” he said—his voice quiet, yet carrying the weight of command. “Come. I will show you many things.”
The Interpreter led him into a quiet parlor and bade him set down his burden. Seeker obeyed, unshouldering the pack and laying the books upon a low table. The Interpreter opened one and turned its pages slowly, his fingers tracing the lines as though reading the soul of the text.
“You are a man of much knowledge—deep knowledge.” His eyes shone with quiet approval. “Yet surely you must have read, ‘in much study is a weariness of the flesh.’” A faint smile touched his lips. “When Christian first came to me, he too was burdened—much as you are now. Do you know what caused his burden?
“Guilt,” Seeker replied quietly. “From reading his Book.”
The Interpreter nodded. “The knowledge of truth brings light—and with it, awareness. But awareness gives birth to guilt, for you know what is right, yet find you cannot do it.”
“Only when you are can you do. Knowing alone is not enough. Being and knowing must grow together—or else a man becomes divided in himself.”
“You studied much of wrath in my tower,” said the Interpreter, his gaze steady and searching. “Yet all your knowledge could not spare you or your family from Giant Wrath’s blows. It was only when your being deepened—when you shone the light of forgiveness—that he fled.”
“You had knowledge of Adam-the-First,” the Interpreter continued softly, “yet knowledge did not keep you from becoming his slave in Deceit.”
Seeker’s breath caught. Jabal!
“Did you not read, ‘He that commiteth adultery lacketh understanding; he that doeth it destroyeth his own soul’? And yet you were ensnared by his daughter—Lust-of-the-Eyes.”
Charm! Seeker’s head bowed, the weight of shame pressing him low.
“That guilt you carry,” said the Interpreter, “comes from knowing, yet being unable to do. Your trials on the Hill of Difficulty and in the Valley of the Shadow of Death—these increased your being.”
“I understand,” Seeker whispered.
–
The Interpreter took each of Seeker’s books in turn, opening them and reading aloud from their pages. He led Seeker through many rooms and places, revealing the truth each book contained. And when Seeker understood, he set each one down—leaving them behind, one by one—until at last only three remained: one close to his heart, and two in his hands.
The Interpreter lifted the Book Beautiful had given him and turned its pages with care. “Christiana,” he said softly. “Because of Christian’s faithfulness, she—and her sons—were saved.” He closed the Book and handed it back. “I will not take away Beautiful’s gift.” Then his eyes fell to Seeker’s hand pressed over his heart. “Nor the King’s.”
Then he took up Redemption of Eva. “You wrote this… and will write it,” he said.
A flicker of confusion crossed Seeker’s face.
“I will give you the words again, as I did before,” said the Interpreter. “But I must return it to the peddler, who will sell it to Eager-Mind—who in turn will give it back to you.”
“All that has happened to you, you will write,” said the Interpreter. “Your own Book will rest by the River of Life. The water there is free—so drink and be filled. He smiled faintly, “As one of your own once said, ‘The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up.”
–
Then the Interpreter led him to a chamber called Rest, where soft couches and deep cushions invited the weary to be still. Above the door, words were carved in gold: Come unto me, and I will give you rest.
The Interpreter gestured toward a couch. “Sit,” he said gently. “Rest awhile.” Then without another word, he withdrew and closed the door behind him.
–
Before long, Innocent appeared in the doorway and beckoned him to follow. A bath had been drawn, and fresh garments laid out for him. The trousers were of fine wool, dark gray and neatly pressed; the shirt, white linen, hemmed at collar and sleeve with threads of gold. His boots were soft and supple, yet firm enough to steady his steps.
–
When he returned—refreshed and joyful—to the chamber called Rest, Innocent was waiting.
“The Interpreter invites you to dine with Him,” she said, her tone gentle. She led him to the dining hall, where a simple yet splendid feast was set before him: bread, butter and honey, and nuts—and a bottle of wine, deep red as blood.
So Seeker ate and drank with the Interpreter and with Innocent, and his heart grew very merry. As they shared their meal, the Interpreter unfolded many mysteries, speaking truth and wisdom with gentleness and delight.
Then Seeker gathered his courage and asked the question that had long weighed on his heart. “Why is your House in ruins? And why are you here?”
“The Wicket Gate, Beelzebub’s Castle, and my House once stood in balance with one another,” said the Interpreter. “Remove even one, and the others will surely fall. After the days of Christian and Christiana—by the time of Tender-Conscience and Evadne—great multitudes took up pilgrimage. The more Beelzebub denied, the more Good-Will received, and the more I sent onward to the Cross.
“Then a council of the dragon’s captains arose—Mammon at their head—and they conspired to overthrow Beelzebub. He joined himself to Demas and to Adam-the-First, and together they removed the Cross from the Hill of Deliverance.”
“With no opposition, the Wicket Gate stood wide open—and with the Cross removed, I had no cause to remain in that realm any longer.”
“But what Mammon does not understand is that the Cross cannot be torn down. It is the dying that must come before awakening to the truth.”
“Like Hopeful—here in the Fair,” Seeker said with a faint smile.
“Yes,” the Interpreter replied, his eyes warm. “Like Hopeful.”
–
After they had dined, the Interpreter led Seeker to an armory, where a mighty warrior—much like Great-Heart—awaited. He clothed Seeker in armor supple as leather, light as a feather.
“And yet it is stronger than steel,” said the warrior, his voice steady and sure. “No blade or arrow of any fiend shall pierce it.”
Then the warrior girded Seeker with a belt and scabbard and placed in his hand the Sword of Wisdom.
“I don’t know how to fight,” Seeker admitted.
“It will guide your hands,” the warrior replied.
Then the Interpreter placed the Necklace of Conscience around Seeker’s neck.
“Knowing all things together—remembering yourself—this will keep you from harm.”
With that, he blessed Seeker and sent him on his way.
***
When Seeker returned home, Beautiful and Wonderful were astonished at his appearance. The weariness that had long shadowed his face was gone; his eyes were clear and bright, and the bruise that had darkened his brow had vanished without a trace.
“No bruise, new clothes—Daddy’s a new man,” Wonderful said with a playful smirk, her eyes sparkling with relief.
Beautiful traced a finger along the hilt of his new sword. She smiled softly, lovingly—but a faint shadow crossed her face, as though joy and worry had chosen to dwell together in her heart.
“What is it, dearest?” Seeker asked gently.
“You look wonderful. And Wonderful is better, but…”
“Yes?”
Her voice faltered. “My heart is so heavy for Bright. What if—”
Seeker nodded, resting his hand on the hilt at his side. “Then I will go to him.”
