With a heavy heart, Seeker trudged along the Narrow Way, leaving behind the Plain of Ease—and the cherry tree beneath which his friend now slept. The path ahead blurred; the weight behind him dragged heavier than any burden he had ever carried.
“Where’s Merry?” Bright asked quietly.
“He’s… sleeping,” Beautiful answered, her eyes flat, her voice hollow.
“Mother!” Wonderful hissed under her breath, anger and grief tangled together.
Bright nodded, though his gaze drifted to the ground, unconvinced… and hurting.
They walked on. Silence settled over them—thick, suffocating—as if the very air carried the shape of their loss.
–
Up ahead, Seeker knew from his Book, rose a small hill called Lucre, and near it the Village of Coveting. The Interpreter had told him that Mammon had moved the capital from Vanity to Coveting. And when Seeker saw the city rising before them, he understood why.
It had grown to rival Vanity in size—perhaps even surpass it. At its center yawned the great silver mine, the very pit where Demas had lured countless pilgrims to their ruin. Seeker felt a chill run through him as he looked upon it, a familiar heaviness settling low in his chest.
Or their enslavement. The desire of money is the root of all evil, he thought wryly. They pierced themselves through with many sorrows. The words felt less like a proverb and more like something he was watching unfold before his eyes.
Men and women in tattered clothing trudged in and out of the mine, faces smeared with dust, shoulders bowed beneath the weight of pickaxes and exhaustion. They returned with their backs bent under sacks stuffed with what must have been silver ore—each bundle stamped with the familiar M sigil. The same brand he had seen in Deceit, in Difficulty, in Humiliation. Mammon always left his mark.
In the shadow of the hill sprawled the so-called village where the workers lived. The board-and-batten buildings stirred old memories of Stupidity—where he’d been robbed and left with nothing. He could almost hear the bitterns in Despond again, their harsh calls echoing the voices of Blunt, Slip, and Mutter. But Stupidity had only been a scattering of hovels. This was no village anymore. It had grown into a town—crowded, grim, and sprawling. And rising in its midst, stood a graceful cathedral tower.
The sigh of the oppressed creature. The heart of a heartless world. The soul of soulless conditions. His gaze drifted from the cathedral’s soaring beauty to the weary faces of those shuffling in and out of the mine, their backs bowed beneath sacks of ore. The contrast struck him like a blow—hard and merciless, as heavy as the silver they carried. The opium of the people.
From within the mine came the sound of clapping—sharp, rhythmic, unmistakable. A chill crept over Seeker’s skin. He knew that rhythm.
He could almost hear the faint tink of whetstones striking steel… almost see Charm again in the tall grain fields, keeping time for the mowers as they swung their scythes. For a heartbeat the memory rose so vividly it felt as though she stood just beyond the mine’s mouth, waiting. He swallowed hard and forced the thought away.
“Lunch!” a voice cried out. Crowds surged toward several carts painted with the familiar smile of Delight.
“One per person! There’s enough for everyone!” shouted a man as he handed out loaves of bread.
“Look,” Bright said, pointing at a colorful banner flapping in the breeze—an advertisement for a circus back in Vanity. “I wonder if they have chimpanzees?”
Wonderful rolled her eyes, a soft huff of disbelief escaping her.
Seeker followed Bright’s gesture, taking in the painted smiles, the glittering costumes, the exaggerated promises of marvels and wonders. A hollow feeling tightened in his chest.
How cliché, he thought. Bread… and circuses.
On the other side of the Narrow Way stood rows of timber-frame houses—close enough to overlook the “village,” yet distant enough to pretend they weren’t part of it. And beside them rose a second cluster of homes, smaller but far finer: walled courtyards, manicured hedges, guards posted at each gate. Above them all, a magnificent palace dominated the skyline, marble gleaming in the midday light.
Lord Demas? Seeker wondered. Or Mammon himself?
So this was how Coveting sustained itself. A handful lived behind high walls in effortless luxury while the masses bent their backs in the mines and slept in hovels. One thing bound the whole machine together. The silent mortar between each stone of suffering. Hope.
Hope that maybe, with enough toil, they might someday cross from the “village” to the mansions. Hope that glittered like silver ore and enslaved more effectively than chains.
It all reminded him of the beginning of his journey. Uncertain had been made certain—only now on a vast, sprawling scale. Stupidity, Destruction, Carnal Policy… all of them seemed gathered here, pressed into one monstrous whole.
–
As they continued along the Narrow Way, they came upon a monument set squarely in the middle of the road. It was a woman—frozen mid-stride—her body twisted back toward Vanity. She was made entirely of salt.
Weather had worn the letters from her head, long since faded beyond reading. She stood upon a marble pedestal gilded in gold, and on its front—still untouched by time—were engraved the words: “Be Diligent.”
At the base of the statue lay offerings—coins tarnished by sweat, rusted tools, scraps of parchment covered in hopeful scrawls for prosperity.
“Gruesome,” Seeker muttered.
Beautiful tugged at his hand. “Come,” she said softly. “It’s not much further now.”
Together they pressed on, step by steady step, until at last the grind and clamor of Coveting faded behind them—the shouts, the clatter of pickaxes. Seeker exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders as though a weight had slipped free. He was glad—grateful to leave that dreadful place behind.
Ahead, the land opened wide. And before them stretched a mighty river, clear as crystal, its surface catching the afternoon light like living glass.
A stone bridge arched over the river ahead, its stones warm in the sun. Water flowed beneath it with a soft, musical echo. The air here was different—sweet, light, threaded with birdsong and the distant bleating of lambs drifting across the fields. Bright’s face softened. A faint smile touched his lips.
Lilies dotted the meadows along the riverbank, white petals swaying in the soft breeze. Wonderful knelt beside a cluster of bright green leaves, their scent cool and sharp in the air. “It grows near clean water,” she said.
Fruit trees lined the banks. What looked like wild limes hung in clusters, their skins faintly yellow with sun. Here and there, the pale remnants of last season’s lemons clung to the branches, and small green plums had begun to swell among the leaves.
Seeker dropped to his knees on the bank and plunged his face into the river, drinking deeply. The water was cool—so cool it sent tingles through his arms and spine. He hadn’t felt anything like it since the meal at the Interpreter’s House… and before that, the stream in the ravine.
The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up. The words rose unbidden in his mind—lines from one of his books, which the Interpreter had quoted so unexpectedly.
Water splashed across his face, pulling him from his reverie. Beautiful had waded into the shallows, shoes abandoned on the bank, her laughter ringing like bells over the water. She lifted her skirt to keep the hem dry and kicked up another spray, sunlight dancing in the droplets as they fell.
She caught Seeker’s hand and tugged him down beside her onto a smooth riverstone. Her handbag landed softly at her side as she slipped her feet into the current, toes skimming the cold water with a delighted shiver. Then she reached inside the bag and drew out a small linen parcel, placing it carefully between them.
“Make one for your husband,” she said. Color flooded her cheeks at the word, and she turned her head with a soft, helpless giggle.
“Beautiful…” Seeker breathed.
She looked so damn cute when she did that.
“I love you,” he whispered.
