Seeker hoisted his burden onto his shoulders. Strangely, it felt lighter than it should have. He wore new clothes—Beautiful’s handiwork, stitched with her own hands to replace his worn-out rags. He tucked the Book and his phial close to his heart. Then they set out. Beautiful walked at one side, Bright on the other, staff in hand, while Merry bounded ahead with Wonderful chasing after.
Comfort had taken her leave to visit her father and promised to meet them farther along the Way.
The way down the other side of the mountain was steep—perhaps steeper than the climb up—so they stepped carefully, mindful not to slip.
“Is it called the Valley of Humiliation—or the Valley of Humility?” Bright asked.
“In my Book it’s Humiliation,” Seeker said. “That’s where Christian fought Apollyon. But in your mother’s Book, it’s called Humility. Christiana and her sons had a far better time than Christian did—they even stayed at Prince Emmanuel’s country house. That’s where we’re going.”
“No,” Beautiful said, shaking her head. “They didn’t stay there—it’s only mentioned. And in my Book, it’s definitely Humiliation too.”
“Then why do you call it Humility, Dad?” Bright pressed, looking up at him.
Seeker shrugged. “Maybe it was Redemption of Eva. She didn’t just face Apollyon—she went after the Dragon too, chasing him down into the depths of Hell itself.”
Wonderful darted up, clutching a lily high for Beautiful.
Beautiful’s smile softened. “Thank you, Wonderful.”
Seeker nodded at the bloom. “The Prince’s favorite. They grow wild all through the Valley. He loves the place so dearly that He gives an allowance to keep a house there—so pilgrims may always find welcome.
Bright’s grin broke wide. “I hope it’s nicer than Mama’s Palace.”
They reached the bottom without a slip. Seeker and Bright looked around, searching. No scarred earth, no gashes in the ground, no blood-stained stones—no monument at all to mark some great battle with monsters or dragons.
Seeker only shrugged. “It’s been a very long time.”
At last, they reached a narrow footbridge over a stream winding calm and clear across the valley. Seeker breathed deep—the air was sweet, the soil smelled rich. Fields stretched lush and green before them, lilies scattered across the grass, their white petals dipping and swaying in the breeze.
They followed the stream into the heart of the Valley, where its waters gathered into a deep, still pond, the surface mirroring the sky. Sheep grazed along the banks, pausing now and then to lower their heads and drink, their movements unhurried, untroubled.
There it stood—a country house, modest yet stately. Its whitewashed walls gleamed in the sun; their brightness softened by ivy curling in gentle green along the stone. A golden thatched roof sloped low, as though bowing toward the meadows. Windows latticed with leaded glass caught the light and scattered it across the grass. Fruit trees bordered the garden, branches heavy with apples and pears, while roses clung to the fence, sweetening the air with fragrance.
A wide oak door, darkened with age and polished by countless hands, stood before them. Across its face were carved the words: Welcome, weary pilgrims.
“I think we’re home,” Seeker said.
Beautiful gave a quiet nod. Bright’s grin spread wide. Wonderful bounced on her toes, and Merry answered with a sharp, joyous yelp.
