K. Blackthorn

    Seeker hadn’t told Beautiful about the land.  All day at the tread-wheel, the thought had gnawed at him.  How would he tell her?  Would she be disappointed?

    If only he’d worked harder.  Or spent less.  If only he hadn’t listened to Beautiful—“Buy yourself something delicious,” she’d said.  He could’ve gone to Jabal last week.  No… it wasn’t Beautiful’s fault.  One less book from the peddler—that would have made the difference.

    One more turn of the tread-wheel.  The gears and axles creaked, the handle wobbled in his grip.  He’d gone over it a hundred times in his mind.  Beautiful was right—he was too serious.  You can only tighten so much before something snaps.

    Jabal should have waited just one more week.  He knew that land was his—he shouldn’t have sold it.  The earnest money was only a formality.  Jabal himself had assured him of that.  Heat rose in Seeker’s face, and his grip on the handle tightened.

    Seventy-five gold for the land right beside it?  He’d never be able to work enough to afford that.  That smirk, when Jabal had tapped the far side of the village—was this his plan all along?  Just business.  Seeker’s breath grew ragged.

    He quickened his pace, driving the handle harder, pouring all his ire into the tread-wheel.  Without warning, it snapped from the shaft and sent him sprawling to the ground.

   “Damn it!” he yelled, hurling the handle across the room.  His vision blurred, red seeping around the edges.  He slammed his fist into the wall.  Then watched himself do it again.  And again. 

    Seeker stood there, shaking—stunned at what he’d just done.  Blood trickled down the wall, but the rough stone showed no sign of damage.

    His hand was a different story—bloody, throbbing.  Had he broken something?  His face paled.  What would Beautiful think if she saw it?  How could he explain?

    He glanced at the handle, then the shaft—a screw had come loose.  His shift wasn’t over, but he needed to think.  The mess could wait till tomorrow.  He walked out, heading back toward the village.

***

    Seeker sat on the bridge, legs dangling over the edge.  He reached into his satchel and drew out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco.  Guilt washed over him.  The price of the pipe alone would have made the difference.  He packed the bowl with care, set the stem between his teeth, and struck flint to steel.  The spark caught, smoke curled from the bowl as he drew deeply.  These days it was the only way he could think clearly.  Another secret from Beautiful.  Would she even know him when this was over?

    He turned his problems over in his mind.  A year and a half left.  The work—and the loneliness—were killing him.  And Beautiful was fading, little by little.  There was no way out but through—just grit your teeth and keep going.  He breathed a prayer to the King for help.  The irony wasn’t lost on him—he might be the only man to pray while smoking a pipe.

    People and carts streamed over the bridge, passing without a glance.  Wait—was that Thoughtful?

   “Thoughtful!” he shouted, straightening where he sat.

   Thoughtful turned.  It was him.  He looked at Seeker for a moment, then laughed.  “The beard looks good on you, man.”

    “What are you doing here?”  Seeker asked.

    “Looking for you,” Thoughtful said.  “They told me you’d be in Delight.”

    “They?” Seeker asked, then added, “Mom let you come on your own?”

    Thoughtful gave Seeker’s arm a playful shove, then dropped down beside him, swinging his legs over the edge.

   “What happened to your hand?” Thoughtful asked.

   “Long story,” Seeker said.  He kept his voice low as he told it all, from the promise to Beautiful to Jabal’s change in terms.

    Thoughtful was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the water.  At last he spoke, “They’re screwing you.”

    “Yeah, I know,” Seeker said with a sigh.  “But what am I supposed to do?”

    “You really love her, don’t you?”

    “Yeah,” he said quietly.

    “Hey,” said Thoughtful.  “At least she’s good looking—unlike the other girls you’ve liked.”  A grin crept over his face.  “She actually has—”

    Seeker balled his fist and gave him a light punch on the shoulder.  “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

    Thoughtful laughed.  “Mind if I stick around for a while?”

   “Mom’s fine with it?”

   He shrugged.

    “I’ve got work.”

    Another shrug.

    “If you stay, you’ll work, too.”

    “Sure.”

   “You won’t get paid.”

    “OK.”

   “Deal,” Seeker said.

    Thoughtful grinned.  “Can I get one of those too?”  He nodded toward Seeker’s pipe. 

    “Only if you don’t tell Mom.”

    “I’m staying with Dad now,” Thoughtful said with a shrug.

***

    Seeker and Beautiful walked the fields near Bright-Harbor, hand-in-hand.

    “Just tell her,” Thoughtful had said.

    “Beautiful,” Seeker said at last, “I lost the land overlooking the ravine.”  He lowered his head.

    “I told you already, you dumb boy,” she said.  “I don’t care—so long as we’re together.”  She lifted his chin and kissed him.

    “I’m losing you,” he said. 

    Lightning flashed in her eyes.  She raised her hand, and the diamonds on her ring blazed.  “I’m right here, little baby.”

    “No,” he said.  He turned to face her.  “That’s not what I mean.  It’s the dream – it’s fading.”

    “Yeah,” she said.  “It is for me, too.”

    “I’ve tried everything.  I can’t stop it.”

    “Baby,” she said softly, “it doesn’t matter.  You’ve got a year and a half left.  You’ll finish.  And I’ll be waiting for you—even if the dreams stop.  Never forget that.”

    He tilted her chin and kissed her lightly.

***

    The next morning, Seeker reattached the handle and scrubbed the wall clean.  True to his word, Thoughtful took his place at the tread-wheel while Seeker hauled sacks of grain.  Then they switched.  Thoughtful never complained—not even once.

    They talked, trading stories over lunch and supper.  At night, Thoughtful slept on a bedroll on Seeker’s floor.  The days slipped by, and Sunday came.  Seeker led him down into the ravine to see the stream.

    “Can I stay another week?” Thoughtful asked.  Seeker was glad for the company—almost enough to forget how badly he missed Beautiful.

    Another week passed—then another—until harvest ended and Thoughtful had to return home.

    When their shift ended, a messenger came with a request for them to report to Jabal’s office.  They crossed the village together, and Seeker knocked.

   “Come in.”  It was Comfort’s voice.  She sat at her father’s desk, a ledger open before her.  With a small wave toward the high-backed chairs, she said, “Please—sit.”

    Thoughtful glanced left, then right, before taking the chair next to Seeker.

    “I’ve been watching you, Thoughtful,” she said.  “And I’ve spoken with my father.”

    Thoughtful shifted in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him.

    “We both agree—you’ve worked as hard as anyone here, even Seeker.  In Delight, everyone works hard.”  She smiled.  “And everyone gets paid a fair wage.”  She glanced at her ledger.  “Looks like you’ve earned forty silver.  Take out rent, and that leaves twenty.”  She slid a small pouch of coins across the desk to Thoughtful.

    A broad grin spread across Thoughtful’s face.

    “And Seeker,” she went on, “Since Thoughtful covered half the rent for two months, consider yourself paid up through next month.”

    That evening, Thoughtful treated Seeker to a hearty bowl of stew at the tavern and a fresh-baked loaf of bread.  They washed it down with pints of ale.  Later, Thoughtful bought himself a pipe from the peddler, and the two sat on the bridge, legs dangling over the edge, smoking together.

    “Here,” said Thoughtful.  “Picked this up while you weren’t looking.”  Seeker raised an eyebrow as Thoughtful handed him a book.  The Fool’s Book of Patience.

    “Just what I needed,” laughed Seeker.

    Thoughtful set out early in the morning.   Seeker hugged him tightly.  “I’m glad you’re my brother.  You’ll never know how much this meant to me.”

    Thoughtful smirked.  “Maybe one day you’ll put it in a book.”  Then he turned and walked out of Delight.

    Seeker hurried back to his room, pulled a small pouch from his satchel, and emptied it into his palm.  He counted: six gold, ten silver—plus the five silver from today.  Seven gold in total.  Then he headed to Jabal’s office and knocked twice.

   “Come in.”

    Seeker strode over and placed the pouch on Jabal’s desk.  “Here’s the earnest money we agreed on for the land.  Seven gold.  It’s all there.”

    “Yes,” he replied slowly.  “You wanted Diligent’s land—on the edge of town?”  He opened his binder, flipped to a page near the back, glanced at it, then looked up at Seeker.  “I’m afraid that land is no longer available.”

    “No.  Longer.  Available.”  Seeker repeated the words slowly, as if trying to comprehend.  “What do you mean, no longer available?”

    “Just last week, a buyer purchased the land,” said Jabal.  “He wishes to remain unnamed.”

    “But…” Seeker stammered, “we had an agreement.”

    “Yes, young Seeker, we did.  Seven gold to secure the land—a generous offer for property valued at fifty.  Things would have been different if we were having this conversation last week.”

    “Surely, you can talk with the buyer.  Make him understand how much I need that land—for Beautiful.”

    “I am truly sorry, Seeker,” said Jabal.  “I know how hard you’ve worked this past year.  I only wish things could be different.”

    “But you’re the mayor.  There must be something you can do.”

    “I’m afraid not.  Even my hands are tied sometimes.  But…” Jabal smiled easily.  “This isn’t the only land in Delight.”  He flipped to the next page.  “There’s a plot right beside it—just as fine a view.  Listed at seventy-five gold.  Ten gold and eight silver would secure it.”  He paused.  “But for you, I’ll make it ten.”

    “How do I know you won’t change the price again?” Seeker demanded.

    “My dear sir!” Jabal sputtered.  “Pray, control yourself.  There’s no need to raise your voice.”

    Seeker relaxed his hand—he hadn’t even realized it had clenched into a fist—and laid his palm flat on Jabal’s desk.  “Forgive me, Jabal,” he said.  “It’s just…”

    Jabal waved a hand, then slid the binder across the desk and turned it to face Seeker.  “Delight has other places to build.”  He opened to the first page—neatly sketched plots of land filled the map of the village.  He tapped a spot on the far side, away from the ravine.  “I think you’ll find many lots suitable to your needs here.”

    The next day was no easier.  Seeker quickly learned to eat, even when tired or nauseated—work was twice as hard the next day if he didn’t.  Day-old bread cost half as much—only three coppers—and gave him just enough strength to keep going.  Sometimes Comfort brought him sandwiches at lunchtime, and they would sit and eat together.

    He counted the hours each day.  And the days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday.  And on Sunday, he rested.  He’d read his books.  Sometimes he’d descend into the ravine just to sit by the stream and think.

    The months passed.  He grew stronger, and the work felt lighter—but he was always tired, and his body always ached.  His clothes grew thin, his beard grew in, and most of all, his heart grew heavy.

    He spent every night in the dream with Beautiful.  He clung to every moment, every kiss—but it was never enough.  Each night, she’d whisper, “I love you,” and then he’d wake to another long day at the tread-wheel.

    Seeker managed his money carefully, spending as little as possible.  Seven gold—that’s what he needed for the earnest payment on the land.

    Beautiful would urge him, “Don’t always be so serious.  Buy yourself something delicious to eat.”  So, he did—just to please her.  And now and then, a peddler came through selling books.  The man liked him and always gave him a good price.  Sometimes, Seeker would skip a meal to buy a book instead.  It kept him happy.

    Fall turned to winter, and the mill shut down.  Seeker chopped wood near the edge of the Forest of Danger—some for building new homes in Delight, some for heating the old.  The labor was hard, but he welcomed the change.  At least it wasn’t as monotonous as the mill.  Wolf howls echoed from the forest, but the beasts never came close.

    Seeker spent Christmas in the dream with Beautiful—and her birthday, and his.  Just one more Christmas alone, and they’d be together.  Forever.

    When spring came, he helped plow the fields in the Interpreter’s realm—and planted the seeds by hand.  Funny, he thought.  These were the same fields where he’d met Beautiful, walking among the wheat as if it had always been there.  He’d never considered that someone had to plant it, harvest it, grind it into flour—to make the bread he ate each day.

    As the months passed, their dream began to fade.  The colors grew less vibrant.  Her voice, quieter.  Her face, harder to see.  He spent hours staring at her sketch, trying to hold on to every line—but he couldn’t stop it.

    Harvest came, and he worked in the fields, reaping grain.  The words echoed in his mind, tormenting him, “Hi, I’m Beautiful.”  Was this the spot where she’d first poked his stomach and smiled?  The Interpreter’s tower stood in the distance, calling to him—but there was no time.  Sacks marked with Delight’s smiling face waited to be filled.  Straw to be bound into bales.  Carts to be loaded.

    Harvest ended, and it was back to the mill.  The work wasn’t hard anymore—just boring.  The scent of wheat reminded him of Beautiful constantly.  But in the dream, he could no longer smell her.

   At last, a year had passed.  He finished his shift for the week and Comfort paid him.  He finally had seven gold.  The land would be his.  Just one more year, and he could begin building their home.

    The next morning, Comfort introduced Seeker to the foreman, who led him to the mill across the bridge.

    “Lunch at noon.  Day’s over when the bell rings,” he said.  

    Seeker took his place at the arm of the wheel and pushed.  It was harder than it looked.  The wheel creaked and groaned as it turned.  The fragrance of wheat made him daydream of Beautiful.  He counted each rotation.  One.  Two.  Three… Ten.  Twenty… Ninety.  Ninety-eight.  Ninety-nine.  One hundred.  In endless circles—until he lost track.

    Fatigue set in.  His feet burned.  His back ached.  Still, he walked.  Minutes stretched like hours.

    The first bell rang.  He dropped to the ground with a groan.  Muscles he didn’t even know he had ached.  He took a long draw from his canteen, then pulled away, panting for breath.  His heart raced.

    He blinked, and lunch was over.  Still hours left.  He wanted to weep.  “Only babies cry,” he told himself.  Sweat poured down his face.  He imagined they were tears.  Still, he kept on.  On and on.

    The second bell sounded—mercifully.  Seeker wasn’t even sure he could walk back to his room.

    Comfort was waiting as he left.  She placed a silver coin in his hand.  “You did well,” she said.  “The first day is always the worst.”

    They walked back to the village together.  “It’ll get easier, I promise,” she said.  “Make sure you eat—for tomorrow.”  Before she left, she handed him a loaf of freshly baked bread.

    Seeker ignored her advice and dropped into bed like a dead man.

***

    Seeker still ached—even in the dream.  How was this possible?  But seeing Beautiful made it all worthwhile.  He kissed her tenderly and reached for her hand.

    She gasped in alarm, then gently took his hands in hers.  “Oh, Seeker… what did they do to you?”

    His hands were covered in blisters.

    She kissed his hands again and again.  “Oh, you poor, dear boy,” she exclaimed.  Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto his palms.  Where they landed, the blisters vanished.

    “Do you hurt?” she asked.

    “A little,” he said with a shrug—then winced at the pain in his shoulders.

    “Come,” she said, placing her arm around his waist as she led him from the village to a quiet spot beneath a fig tree.  She sat and pulled him down beside her.  Then she sang softly and rubbed his back, shoulders, arms, and legs—until he felt like a brand-new man.

   Yes.  Definitely worth it.

    That night, Seeker and Beautiful sat together on the beach, watching the waves reach their toes.  She told him about going to the market with her mom, and he talked about his new room—and his work.

    “I found the perfect place overlooking the ravine—where we can start our life.  We’ll sit outside and watch the waterfalls together.”

    “Seeker, you know I don’t care—as long as I’m with you.”

    Seeker looked at her for a moment, then glanced down. “Only…”

    “Yes?” she said, leaning in a little.

    “It’s fifteen gold to begin building.  I thought about it all day.  Four years, Beautiful.  At a silver a day… it’ll take me four years.”

    “This is what you wanted, Seeker.  We knew it would take a long time.”

    “I thought about it all day.  Things are different here.  Eight silver a month for my room.  Even a loaf of bread is six coppers.”  He chuckled.  “I wouldn’t be able to afford a bowl of Miss Cheerful’s stew.”

    Beautiful laughed gently, her eyes lighting up the dream.

    “I thought about it all day,” he repeated.  “If I work hard, I can do it in two years.  It won’t be easy… but I can do it.”

    Beautiful nodded absently.

   “Did you hear what I said?”

   She nodded again.  “I know you will,” she said.  “It’s just… so far away.”

    Seeker followed Comfort into a building at the center of the village.  The office was elegant but not extravagant.  Natural light filtered through leaded-glass windows.  High-quality wood paneling lined the walls.  A landscape painting, a globe, and a bookcase lent a quiet air of authority.  A modestly plush couch rested against one wall, and high-backed wooden chairs stood before a large, solid-wood desk with neatly arranged papers.

    A timeless man sat behind the desk—neither young nor old—with white hair and a dignified bearing that suggested great age and wisdom.

    “Father,” said Comfort, “this is Seeker.  He arrived today.  I assured him you’d be happy to help him build a house in Delight.”

    He looked up at Seeker—stern-faced, though his eyes were amiable enough.  “Seeker, welcome.”

    “Pray, excuse me,” said Comfort.  “I have other matters to attend.”  She curtseyed and left.

    “Tell me, young Seeker,” said the mayor.  “What brings you to the village of Delight?”

    “Sir…”  Seeker began.  But then the mayor stopped him.

   “I’ve been called many things in my life, but ‘sir’ isn’t one of them.  You can call me Jabal.”

    Seeker spoke of his promise to Beautiful—his desire to build a life together with her.

   “Ah, yes,” said Jabal.  “Desire fulfilled is a tree of life.  King Solomon wrote that, thousands of years ago.  Desire was once the name of this village.”  He picked up a black binder and stood.  “Walk with me.”

    He led Seeker through the streets of the village.  “In Delight, everyone does their fair share—and everyone receives their due rewards.”  He pointed to a lovely house with a charming flower garden.  “When Diligent first arrived, he was no different than you.  Look what he and his wife, Dedicated, have built together.”

    As they walked, he pointed out more homes—and told the stories of the people who had built their lives there.

    When they reached the edge of the village, Seeker exclaimed, “Yes—this is where I met Comfort!  And she said you could help?”

    Jabal opened the binder he carried and flipped through a few pages.  “Yes,” he said.  “This land is for sale.  It’s Diligent’s—but as you saw, he doesn’t need it anymore.  Fifty gold—that’s what it’s listed for.  And a cozy little cottage shouldn’t cost more than, say, a hundred.  Ten percent down is standard.  So, fifteen gold, and we can start building.”

    Seeker stared at him.  “I don’t have any money.”

    Jabal put his hand on Seeker’s shoulder and smiled.  “Of course,” he said. 

    They retraced their steps back to Jabal’s office.  “We do the King’s work here in Delight,” he said.  “All work, and all are rewarded.  Even my own daughters work.  If you serve me well—serve the King well—my daughters will serve you well, too.

    “One silver coin per day—that’s the standard wage.”  He held out his hand, and Seeker shook it.  “There is always something to be done.  Milling.  Harvesting in autumn.  Chopping wood in the winter.”  Jabal reached into his pocket, drew out several gold coins, and pressed one into Seeker’s hand.  “A bonus, to help you get started.”

    They met Comfort coming the other direction.  “Daughter,” said Jabal, “Seeker will be needing a place to stay.  Please show him to his room.”

    What a strange dream.  They had wandered the beach as children, picking up seashells.  They’d splashed in the shallows and walked out to a small island at low tide.  He’d written her name in the sand, and they sat together, watching the waves wash it away.  He’d forgotten to tell her about his plan—but no matter.  There was still tonight.

    He wound the music box and let it play until the final note faded, then placed it in his satchel.  He rolled the picture of Beautiful, tied it with twine, and tucked it beside the music box.

    He climbed the tower and selected The Measure of a Man and The Yoke and the Plough, sliding them beside Redemption of Eva and his Book.  That was all his satchel would hold.  When he left, he eased the latch back into place, securing the Interpreter’s study.

    One last lesson from Kind.  Farewells to Miss Cheerful, Steadfast, Gracious—and of course Kind and Liorna.  Then he set out on the Narrow Way.

    He crossed the footbridge over the stream and came to the Hill of Deliverance.  There, he sat among the lilies and gazed at the village tucked into the mountains across the ravine.  A path wound across the plains to an arched stone bridge spanning the gap.  Just beyond it, he would prepare a life for Beautiful.

    He stepped lightly down the far side of the hill.  This was the furthest he had ever gone.   In the distance rose the Hill of Difficulty.  Hill?  It towered above the highest peaks in the Interpreter’s realm, its summit lost in cloud.

    By the side of the path stood a small stone monument.  Three sets of bones were affixed to it, neatly arranged, long picked clean by time.

Here lie Simple, Sloth, and Presumption.
Their hands were idle, their minds empty.
They perished as all who refuse to labor.

    A grim warning.  At the base lay coins, tools, and scraps of parchment.  He picked one up.  It was a prayer for prosperity. 

    At last, he reached the path to the village.  Ahead stood a crossroads—Destruction to the left, the forest of Danger to the right.  The Narrow Way continued straight as ever, ascending the Hill of Difficulty with no turns or switchbacks.  Just straight up, an endless climb.  He couldn’t see the top from here.

    A hush fell over the path as he approached a row of grain towers—pale stone and weathered wood, with brass-ringed hatches and iron spouts.  Each bore a symbol: wheat within a sunburst.  Nearby carts rested under canvas, loaded with sacks marked by a simple circle scored with a shallow groove.

    Tucked beneath a rise in the road stood a mill—blackened timber, a copper-shingled roof glinting like old coins, and a massive turning wheel.  A low mechanical hum filled the air, layered with creaking wood, grinding stone, and the squeal of rope and pulleys.

    A stone-arch bridge spanned the ravine—wide enough for a cart, with no rails, no gate.  Its pale surface had been smoothed by years of passing feet, so old it seemed to vanish into the face of the ravine.  From the forest, the stream flowed beneath the bridge, tumbling into the trees below and filling the air with the sound of rushing water.  To his right, a stream poured down from the mountains, crashing into the waterfall where he and Beautiful had danced so many times in their dreams.

    The village was lit with a soft golden light.  Cobblestone streets curved gently with the hills, lined with pale stucco houses, clay tile roofs, and bright window boxes.  The warm scent of bread drifted from unseen bakeries.  A bell tower chimed nearby.

    He walked through the village, taking it all in—gardens and terraces in full bloom, with lavender, sage, and roses climbing the walls.

    At the edge of the village was a perfect plot of land—just big enough to build a house for the two of them, with a view over the stream winding through the ravine.

    “Lovely view, isn’t it?” came a soft voice from behind.  “Welcome to Delight.”

    She was young and radiant, with a soft, round face and a slight fullness in her cheeks.  Her blue eyes carried a peaceful presence he found soothing.

    “Yes.  It is,” he said, turning to face her. “I’m Seeker.”

    “I’m Comfort,” she said.  “It can be yours, you know—if you want it.”

    “I want to build a home for my bride,” he said.  “And this place—well, it’s perfect.”  He glanced down.  “Only… I’m not even sure how to begin.”

    “Talk with my father,” she said.  “He’ll find a way for you.  Besides, he always needs help.”  She pointed toward the center of the village.  “Town hall—you can’t miss it.  He’s the mayor.”

    “Thank you,” Seeker said.

    “Oh—and don’t be put off by his gruff exterior,” she said, smiling.  “Under it all is a heart of gold.”  She paused a moment.  “Follow me.  I’ll introduce you.”

 

   Seeker found himself once again in Bright-Harbor.  He stood at the edge of the vast ocean, waves crashing against the rocky shoreline.  A young girl stood nearby, feet planted firmly in the sand, waving her fist in the air.

    “Ooooh, look.  Beautiful’s angry.”  Laughter came from a group of boys standing just beyond her.

    “Beautiful?” one boy jeered, laughing.  “She’d look better in the dark!”

    She stood there, trembling in rage, as their laughter faded into the distance.  Her dress barely reached her skinned knees.  Her straight hair—bleached almost blonde—brushed her shoulders.  Lightning flashed across her freckled face.  But there were those unmistakable lips.

    “You… you’re Beautiful?”  Seeker wasn’t even sure it was a question. 

    “Yeah,” she shot back, “do you want a black eye?”  She stared at him for a long moment.  Her fist slowly uncurled.  Realization flooded her face.  “Seeker?  I didn’t recognize you, you dumb boy!”  She beamed—and in a heartbeat the little homely girl turned into a stunning angel.

    “Come on,” she called over her shoulder, already dashing down the shore, “I have so much to show you!”

    He reached for Beautiful’s hand—out of habit. But of course… she was back in Bright-Harbor. Alone again. Just like when he’d left Uncertain.

    What was he even doing? He wanted out of Uncertain—maybe become a Pilgrim, like Christian. But he hadn’t thought beyond the Wicket Gate. Certainly not all the way to the Celestial City. That meant dying. And he didn’t want that. Maybe Beulah. But that was so far away.

    Maybe he just wanted to know the truth. Was Christian’s journey just a story? The places were there—the Slough. Beelzebub’s Castle. The Wicket Gate. Ruins of the Interpreter’s House. But no Evangelist. No Good-Will. No Interpreter. And no Cross.

    When he’d first set out, he thought he had to walk alone. But she had shown him something different. Christian may have walked without Christiana—but Christiana had Great-Heart to guide her. And Matthew, Samuel, Joseph, and James. And there was Mercy. Phoebe. Martha.

    And he had Beautiful. The ring was proof. She’d said the King had given it to her—for him. And she wore the ring from the Interpreter. Was it meant for her? Or had he stolen it? It fit her finger—just like his fit his.

    He missed her chatter. Her boredom. Even her complaining. The birds were quiet—as if they, too, were waiting. Listening for her voice.

    Build a house? He had no idea where to begin. But he’d promised. He didn’t have a choice. Except… he didn’t even know where.

    Were pilgrims even supposed to build houses? Gaius did. And Mnason. Even the Prince—but for others. Christiana and her children had stayed—for years. Maybe. Maybe it was allowed. He wasn’t building it for himself. He was building it for Beautiful. And the babies they would have.

    The City of Destruction lay behind him. It had been three hundred years since Christian left it—and still it hadn’t burned. No fire from heaven. No judgment. But Apollyon’s statue still endured. He looked once more… and turned away. Not there.

    Town of Stupidity? Never. Carnal Policy? Even if Beautiful and he wanted it—they’d never be welcome.

    He stopped at the hollow where they’d slept. Beautiful had packed him a sandwich—with a note. “Sandwich for my Seeker. Love you, Beautiful.” He wanted to lie down and sleep. To join his Beautiful in her dream. Way too early. The sun was barely overhead—and he was halfway back to the Cottage. He was definitely calling her a slowpoke tonight.

    He paused at the place where she’d fallen in the Slough. Why had he laughed? He didn’t think he’d ever forget the hurt look in her eyes.

    Later on, he leaned his staff against the olive tree. A sparrow called out. “Where has your beloved gone?” she seemed to say. He would kiss her feet a thousand times—just to see her eyes dance—if he could go back.

    Maybe he would explore Beelzebub’s Castle. There was so much time. Maybe the answers were inside. What had happened there? No. Not without Beautiful. When he’d insisted on later, he’d had no idea he’d be returning without her.

    He rested at the summer parlor in the Wicket Gate. He could almost see her cleaning. Unbelievable. You’re unbelievable, Beautiful. The pitcher was empty. She’d been right. Someone had stopped here.

    Then it hit him. The village above the ravine—the one he’d seen from the Hill of Deliverance. The stream flowed nearby, and it commanded a view of the cascades and waterfalls. That was the place. And when they were ready, they could continue their journey—up the Hill of Difficulty.

    By the time he reached the Cottage, the mountains had begun to cast long shadows. The common room was empty. He didn’t wait. He hurried to his room—to dream with Beautiful. He couldn’t wait to tell her.

  When they reached the village, Beautiful slipped her hand from Seeker’s and turned to face him.  “Seeker, dear.  Forget what you know about the Dark Land—the sailors, the taverns, the whore-houses.  This is Bright-Harbor.”   She hesitated, choosing her words.  “You can’t hold my hand.  Or kiss me,” she added quickly, “not in public.”

    “Everyone knows everyone here, and rumors spread fast.  We haven’t even arrived, and they’re already talking.  I’m not ashamed of you, Seeker.  It’s just how things are here.”

    Seeker nodded.

    The village stretched along the shoreline.  Waves lapped softly at the sand.  The smell of salt hung thick in the air.  Lanterns lined the coast, casting light across the water—revealing small fishing boats rocking in the dark.

    The houses were small, built with vertical planks and shingled wooden roofs.  Each one had a yard—some with gardens, some with laundry or fishing nets hung on poles—surrounded by whitewashed, waist-high stone walls.

    Beautiful slipped into an alley between two houses, tugging Seeker after her.  She let go when they reached a black-painted iron gate.

    She looked at ease—but still strangely tense.  “This is where I was born, Seeker.”  She pressed on the gate, and it swung open.

    Seeker ducked his head and followed her through.  The yard inside was cozy, but spacious.  The house had a low slate roof and an open porch with sliding doors.  It was finely crafted—but built for survival, not beauty.  Beside it stood a smaller building, and across the yard, a shed and what looked like an outhouse.  He chuckled to himself.  The gate, the buildings—everything was scaled perfectly to Beautiful’s height.

    On the far side grew a well-tended vegetable garden, bordered by rows of fruit trees—dozens of them.  Heavy, orange fruit hung from the branches—fleshy and smooth.  He didn’t recognize them.

    Great-Saint stepped out of the house and took Seeker’s hand.  “You’re finally here.  I’ve been waiting all day.”

    A tiny woman appeared in the doorway—at least a half a head shorter than Beautiful.  But Seeker had never seen a tougher-looking woman in his life.  Wiry, strong—she’d clearly lived a hard life.

    Her hair was short and tightly curled, and the fierceness in her eyes made Seeker flinch.  She glared at him.  “I know why you’re here,” she said.  “I’ll never let you marry her.  You won’t take my Beautiful from me.”

    “Leave!” she shouted.

    “Mom!” Beautiful and Great-Saint exclaimed together.

    Great-Saint placed a hand on Seeker’s shoulder and gently guided him toward the guest house.  Beautiful took her mother’s hand and stepped inside, turning briefly to mouth, It’ll be OK.

    The guest house was small—if he stretched out his arms, he could almost touch both walls.  Aside from a narrow bed, there was no furniture.  Great-Saint left and returned a minute later with a blanket and a pillow.  “Dad’s out fishing.  He’ll be gone most of the night.  Rest now, Seeker.  We’ll see you in the morning.”

    Seeker lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling until sleep finally took him.  This wasn’t how he imagined it would go.

***

    Seeker woke to a kiss on his forehead.  Beautiful was leaning over him, her eyes dancing with amusement.  “Mom made breakfast for you,” she said—then giggled.  “Us.”

    She took his hand and led him into the house.  “Make sure you call her Mom” she said, eyes gleaming.

    She led him into the main room.  A low fire burned in the hearth.  Her mother was already seated at the table in the center.  She glared at him—though something in her face had softened.  But only a little.

    Three places were set—one for Beautiful, her mother, and him.  In the center sat small loaves of bread with thick, dark crusts, and a platter of fish—skin still sizzling, eyes still staring.

    His own eyes went wide.  How had he fallen in love with a fisherman’s daughter and never once considered he’d have to eat fish—for breakfast.

    He leaned close and whispered in Beautiful’s ear, “Any chance you still have coffee in your pack?”  Then, a little louder—stammering, “I’m… not really that hungry.”

    “Oh.  You said you loved me,” she said, eyes sparkling with delight.  “Now prove it.”  She chose the largest fish and dropped it onto his plate—then picked up his fork and pressed it into his hand.

    Beautiful and her mother were both watching him.  So was the fish.  He used the fork to break off a piece.

    “Don’t eat the skin, dumb—” Beautiful glanced at her mom and stopped herself.

    Beautiful pulled the plate toward her, sliced the fish down the center, peeled back the skin, and lifted a forkful of white meat.  Then, using her own fork, she placed it in Seeker’s mouth.

    “Beautiful!” her mother snapped.

   “Mom!” Beautiful snapped back, eyes flashing like lightning.

   “Yum,” Seeker said, trying to sound convincing.

    Beautiful’s mom laughed—and then smiled.  Beautiful turned to Seeker and smiled sweetly.

    Beautiful slid the plate back in front of him.  “Try not to eat the bones.”

    Seeker watched Beautiful eat—he’d never seen her enjoy a meal like this.  She chattered happily between bites.  Maybe fish for breakfast wasn’t so bad after all.

    When he finished the last bite, he set his fork down.   Beautiful jabbed his ribs.  “Thank you, Mom,” she mouthed.

    “Thank you, Mom,” he said quietly.

    “Leave!” Beautiful’s mom shouted.

    Beautiful nearly choked on her laughter, tears streaming down her face.

    “Dad has an extra-special treat for you,” she managed, still laughing.  “You’re going to love it.”

***

    Seeker and Beautiful walked with Great-Saint along the path that followed the beach.  The ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, morning light glistening on the waves.  Overhead, a gull cried out.

    Beautiful reached for Seeker’s hand—but then stopped short.   Great-Saint walked between them, speaking earnestly as they walked.  Then without warning, he stopped.  He took Seeker’s hand in one of his, and Beautiful’s in the other—then gently joined them together.  “What the King has joined together, let no one separate.”

    When they reached a small house on the far side of the village, Beautiful knocked on the door and called out “Tender-Heart!  It’s me—Beautiful!”

    A young woman opened the door.  She was unmistakably Beautiful’s sister—slightly older, with shoulder-length hair.  “Seeker,” she said warmly.  “Come in.  Great-Saint has told me so much about you.”  Her voice was quiet and melodious, but timid.

    What had Great-Saint even said about him?  He hadn’t said more than a dozen words since they met.

    The room was small.  A baby girl played on the floor, toys scattered around her.  Shelves lined the wall, crammed with books.  Tender-Heart motioned to one couch and sat on the other.  Beautiful sat beside Seeker—pressed close, holding his hand in both of hers.

    A man stepped through the door.  “This is my husband, Eager-Mind,” Tender-Heart said.  His appearance was striking—bright eyes and a confident smile.

    Seeker cupped his hand around Beautiful’s ear and whispered, “You never told me your sister’s husband was so handsome.”

    Beautiful laughed easily, “That’s nothing.  Wait till you see Considerate’s husband.  You have a high standard to live up to.”

    Tender-Heart asked how he’d met Beautiful—and how he’d become a Pilgrim.  They talked about Uncertain, his love for music, and his studies.  Then she asked about his Book.

    Eager-Mind sat quietly, nodding as Seeker spoke.  He told them about the book he’d wanted—the one he couldn’t afford from the peddler.  Eager-Mind stood and crossed the room to one of the shelves.

    He took a black leather-bound book, embossed with silver lettering, and placed it in Seeker’s hands.  Redemption of Eva.

   He opened the book and forgot everything else—Tender-Heart. Eager-Mind.  Even Beautiful:

The Great Red Dragon towered over Eva
“You’re back, Lady Evadne,” he hissed. “No matter how many times the Author resets the story, you will never win.”
He sneered, “Lord Peregrine,” he said, the title curling in his mouth like rot. “He’ll always die, Madame. You know that.”
Eva raised the Shield of Faith, sheltering behind it just in time. Then the Dread Lord Beelzebub walked boldly through the fire—and stood at her side.
“Traitor!” spat the Dragon.

    Beautiful shook his arm.  “Seeker!”

    He blinked, “Huh?”

    Eager-Mind repeated, “You can have it.  It’s my gift to you.”

    “Thank you,” Seeker and Beautiful said together.

    Seeker slid onto the floor, settling among the toys.  The little girl smiled at him and offered him a doll.

    “I want to have a daughter, just like her,” he said.

     Beautiful slid beside him, lifted the girl into her lap, and smoothed her hair.  “We will,” she said.  “I promise.”

    Beautiful stood and reached for Seeker’s hand.  “Let’s not keep Dad waiting.  You’ve got a promise to keep.”  Then, more softly— “To me.”

***

    Beautiful’s father was already awake when they returned.  His skin was sun-darkened, rough from years of wind and rain.  He’d removed the cover from the well and was hauling something up with a long rope.

    “Dad caught an octopus, last night.” Beautiful said, her face lighting up.  “It’s a very special treat, you know.”

    Beautiful’s father handed it to her.  It wriggled in her hands, and she squealed with delight.  Seeker’s eyes widened.

    He held out his hand.  Seeker had never felt hands so strong—or so rough. 

    “Seeker,” he said, warmth in his face.  “Come have a drink with me.  Let’s talk.”

    Beautiful’s father led him into the house, sat down on the wooden floor, and gestured for Seeker to do the same.  Along one wall, blankets and pillows had been neatly folded and stacked.

    Beautiful carried a small table and set it between Seeker and her father, then sat beside her father.  Her mother followed, forks in one hand and a plate of octopus in the other.  She placed them on the table and took her seat on his other side.

    It wasn’t even cooked.  The tentacles still wriggled on the plate.  His throat tightened.  He searched Beautiful’s eyes.  There was no teasing this time.  He had no choice.  Eat it… or lose her.

    Her father reached behind him and set a bottle and two glasses on the table.  He pulled the cork, handed Seeker the bottle, and held out his glass.

    Beautiful’s eyes met his.  She nodded.  He filled her father’s glass, then started to pour his own.  She shook her head—mouthing the word no.  Her father took the bottle and filled Seeker’s glass himself.

    Beautiful’s father downed the clear liquid in one swallow.  Seeker did the same.  It burned on the way down—but he didn’t flinch.

    Beautiful’s father picked up a fork, stabbed a tentacle, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully.  Beautiful and her mother each took a fork and began to eat.

    Beautiful seemed to enjoy it.  How bad could it be?  He picked up a fork, carefully chose a piece, and swallowed without chewing.  It latched onto the back of his throat.  He almost gagged.  Beautiful snickered—quietly.

    Her father poured him another glass and handed him the bottle.  Seeker started to pour him a second in return—when her mother snatched the glass away.

    “No,” she said emphatically.

    Seeker took another bite of the octopus.  This time, he chewed.  It didn’t taste bad.  It was just… chewy.  He washed it down with the liquor.

    Beautiful’s father started to pour him a third.

    “Dad!” Beautiful snapped, eyes flashing.

    He ignored her—and kept pouring.

    Seeker swallowed it in one gulp.  Beautiful’s father gave him a long look—and nodded.

    “You love Beautiful.”  It wasn’t a question.

   Beautiful’s mother suddenly screamed.  “I won’t let Beautiful marry him!”

    Beautiful’s father placed a calm hand over his wife’s.  Beautiful slid to the other side of the table and took Seeker’s hand in hers.

    “I love Beautiful.  I always will,” the words came easily—maybe it was the liquor.  “There’s nothing I won’t do for her.  Even if it costs me my last breath.”

    Beautiful’s eyes blazed—brighter than the sun, lighting the room.  Her mother’s eyes softened.  Her father just nodded.

    “Beautiful will stay here.  You’ll return alone,” he said.  “When you’ve built her a home”—he gestured around them— “When you can care for her… come back.  You have my blessing.”

    Beautiful squeezed his hand tight—then stabbed a still-wriggling piece of octopus and shoved it in his mouth.

***

    Seeker woke with Beautiful nestled against his back.  He turned to face her.  She kissed him—long and lingering—until she finally pulled away, both of them gasping for breath.

    “You have to leave today,” she said.  “I wish I could come with you.”

    “We have our blessing,” he said.  “That’s all that matters.  It’s only a matter of time.”

    She sat up and hugged her knees.  “It’s not quite the blessing you think it is, Seeker.”  A cloud passed over her face.  “He knows it will take years.  And he knows…”—she swallowed hard— “you won’t come back for me.”

    “But he doesn’t know you like I do.”

    “I wrote something for you,” he said, digging in his satchel.  Then he laughed softly.  “Or… at least copied a few lines from the Song of Songs.”

Who is she who comes from the South?
As Beautiful as the Moon,
As bright as the Sun,

Come with me,
My love,
My dove,
My purest,

The winter has ended,
And the spring has appeared,
It is the season of song.

Arise,
My Beautiful.
Feed me with apples—
I am love-sick!

The world is filled with beauty…
But none are Beautiful like you.

    A tear glistened in her eye.  “That’s beautiful,” she said.  They sat there, holding hands.  Silence filled the air—thick with heartache.

    “Oh, Beautiful,” he said at last.  “I can’t bear the ache.  I’m going to miss you so much.”

    “It’ll only feel like a few days, baby,” she said.  “You said it yourself.  Besides… I’ll visit your dreams every night.  I promise.”

    “Before you go,” she said softly, “I have something for you.”

    She held up her hand, turning it slightly, letting the light cascade over the brilliant diamonds.  “I wear this as a promise that I am yours.  Never doubt that.”

    She reached into the neckline of her dress and drew out a golden ring, hanging from a fine silver chain.  Turning away, she lifted her hair.  “Help me unclasp the necklace, Seeker.”

    She placed the ring in his palm.  Inset with onyx, it was flanked on either side by engraved trees.

    “The King’s messenger, Secret, commanded me to carry it—until I found the one who would walk with me to the Celestial City.  That it belonged to him.”

    She took the ring from Seeker’s palm and slid it onto his finger.  It fit perfectly.  “That it belongs to you,” she said, her voice full of awe.

    “Wear this as a sacred promise,” she said.  “Not just to me—but to the King.”

   “And remember,” she said—lightning flashing, and sunlight blazing in her eyes—“You are mine.  And only mine.”