Redemption of Eva

    Eva made her way across the valley toward the Rift, Talus at her side.  They passed the body of Giant Chaos, headless and undisturbed.  She had half expected the goblins to have already picked it clean, but they must not have found the courage to venture back out yet.  Perhaps it would buy them some space on the way down.  Best move as quickly as possible.

    She bitterly regretted the pain she’d caused Talus by mentioning Anna.  But it had worked.  Eva wasn’t even sure Anna was the woman Talus grieved over.  The odds of meeting the same woman were a million to one.  But other than the name, the details matched perfectly.  There had been thousands of years of satyrs luring travelers to their deaths.

    And she had no right to blame him, any more than she could blame herself for Anna.  He had simply been there—perhaps doing nothing more than playing the flute for her and her lover.  Talus had nothing to do with her abandoning her husband and choosing her own damnation.  But by the look of his camp, he had left that life behind long ago.  There was no way for her to know what it had cost him.

    She was glad to have him at her side.  Despite his initial reluctance, he now seemed almost eager to walk with her.  Something had come alive in the satyr she’d found awkwardly fumbling to mend the torn handkerchief.

    The scar in the rock was well hidden.  She had to search before she found the place where she had begun her ill-fated descent.  She pointed upward to where the goblin had dropped on her.

    “Careful,” she whispered, just loud enough for Talus to hear.

   “Rats,” he said with a nod.  His voice carried louder than she would have liked.

    She started forward, shield raised and sword ready.  Talus laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and shook his head.  Then he stepped past her, ducking beneath the low entrance.  She couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful.  She remembered the panic this place had stirred in her the last time.

    She studied the broken ledge ahead.  It was empty, almost abandoned.  But she didn’t let down her guard.  Dozens of cracks and crevasses yawned in the rock, any one of them large enough to hide an army of goblins.

    Below, the goblin’s campfires still burned in scattered clusters, but a deathly silence hung over the Abyss, broken only by the occasional shriek of a drake and the never-ceasing moans of the hobgoblins.  Perhaps word had already spread of the heroes who had brought down their champion, Giant Chaos.  She hoped it would stay that way.

    When they reached the ladder leading down, she tugged at Talus’s arm and pointed down and to the left.

    “Drakes,” she whispered.

    He looked at her, puzzled.

   “Wyverns,” she clarified.  She wasn’t sure that was even the right word.

    He still looked at her blankly.

    “Little dragons.  Wings.  Teeth.  Maybe fire.  I don’t know.  Last time I saw three.”

    He might think they were little.  Then again, maybe not.  They couldn’t compare to the Great Dragon, but they were by no means little.

    He gave her a reassuring smile, then pointed into the distance.  A drake circled there, barely visible.  He must have excellent sight.  He certainly possessed an awareness that surprised her.

    They descended the ladder and made their way slowly toward the goblin camps, each step deliberate.  Wooden bridges crisscrossed the ledges below, each spanning to the next as they disappeared into the depths.  No sentry this time.

    Before they reached the bridge, a hobgoblin appeared.  Its ethereal form hung beside the ledge, fading in and out of sight.  Long, ragged hair and tattered robes drifted from its skeletal body as though stirred by an unfelt wind.

    Shame crept into her mind.  The hobgoblin pointed a bony finger at Talus.  He swung his jagged sword, but it passed through the shade as though it weren’t even there.  His sword clattered to the ground.  He dropped to his knees, clutching his head in agony.

    A trail of silver light followed Eva’s sword as she swung at the hobgoblin.  The blade struck with a blinding flash.  The spectre recoiled, staring at her in surprise.  Then it shrieked and flitted from one camp to the next.

    “So much for stealth,” Eva muttered.  She reached a hand toward Talus.  “Are you all right?”

    He was already on his hooves, brandishing his jagged sword, ready to fight.  Goblins swarmed from the camps, hundreds—perhaps even thousands—charging toward them.

    “Bloody ghost.  Bloody rats.”  He muttered another curse under his breath.

    Goblins were already rushing across the bridge toward them.  She smashed her shield into one’s face and thrust her sword at a second.  With her shield, she could hold them off as long as her strength lasted.  More goblins closed in from behind.

    Talus threw back his head and loosed a savage, blood-curdling howl that sent chills through her.  “I have your back, Little-Blade!”

    Good.  Focus on the rats in front of her.  Block.  Swing.  A goblin went down.

    “One!” Talus cried from behind her.  Then: “Two… Three!”

    “Counting, Talus?”  He didn’t answer.

    A hook caught her shield and tugged.  Her boots held firm.  She jerked the shield inward and stabbed the goblin in the gut.  Another lunged at her.  She leaped back just in time.

    A claw dug into her back.  She spun, sweeping her sword in a wide arc.  The blade sliced through the goblin in front of her, then the one behind.  Her shield crashed into another goblin—or two—knocking them to the ground.

    Talus lifted a goblin over his head and hurled it into the Abyss.

    “Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiihyooooooow” the goblin screamed as it vanished into the darkness below.

    “Seven,” Talus announced as the scream faded into silence.  

    The goblins flooded across the bridge.  They were surrounded.  She settled into a deadly dance.  The tattered scraps of leather armor were no match for her sword.  But there were simply too many.  Talus kept them off her back.  Corpses littered the ledge around her.

    “Fifteen!”  she gasped.

    Talus howled in delight “Twenty!”

    The goblins formed a solid wall before her.  They no longer attacked—instead, they pushed.  She leaned into her shield, her full weight behind it.  Her boots anchored her.  A hooked pole snagged her ankle.  But she remained firmly in place.

   “They’re trying to push us over the edge,” she panted.

   Talus seemed to be slipping.  He seized a goblin in each hand and hurled them from the ledge.  Again.  Again.

   “Thirty!” he cried.

    Her arm grew tired, but she kept swinging, slashing, and stabbing.  Blood ran down her arms, soaking her sleeves.  Her dress and armor were splattered with blood and guts.

    “Little-Blade!” Talus shouted, jerking her aside.  An arrow struck where she had been standing.  Then a rain of arrows descended on them.  She ducked beneath her shield just in time as arrows hammered against it with loud thuds.  Talus held up two bucklers he had ripped from the goblins around them.

    Goblins fell around them, arrows jutting from their bodies like pincushions.   The archers fired into the melee without regard for their own.

    “Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine… Forty!” he announced.  Eva had stopped counting her own kills long ago.

    “Go!” he shouted.  He barreled across the bridge, sending goblins flying.  She dashed after him.

    On the other side stood a camp of lean-tos.  A smoke pit, a refuse heap littered with bones, hanging racks, and a roaring bonfire filled the clearing.  More goblins closed in on them.

    Talus snatched a burning log from the fire and swung it.  Howls erupted from the singed goblins.  They circled warily.  The arrows came less often now, but every so often one glanced off Eva’s shield.

    Talus reached into the fire and scooped up glowing embers with his bare hands without flinching.  He took aim and sent them flying.  One by one, the arrows stopped.  Then he turned his aim to the goblins nearest them.  The goblins scattered.  

    “This way,” he said, pulling her after him down a winding staircase of rocks.  Eva slipped.  He caught her.  Down and down they went.  Talus jerked and dropped to his knees.  An arrow protruded from his shoulder.  Eva tried to pull it free, but it was lodged fast.

    “It’s barbed,” she said.  Then she snapped the shaft, leaving only a few inches protruding.  He didn’t cry out.  Didn’t even flinch.

    Another arrow whizzed past them.

    “Keep going,” he said.

   She tugged him to his feet and pulled him forward.  They bobbed and weaved as they continued their descent.

    They came to another camp and another bridge.  Talus had discarded the shields.  His jagged sword was once again in his hands.  He charged, swinging with abandon.  Another heap of goblins lay at their feet.  

    “Fifty,” he muttered, the enthusiasm gone from his voice.

    Goblins spilled down the rocky path toward them.  The bridge ahead was empty.  Eva strode toward it, Talus at her heels.  She was halfway across the Talus yelled, “Run!  Run!”

    Goblins hacked at the bridge ropes behind them with hatchets.  She dashed forward, barely rolling onto the next ledge as the bridge collapsed beneath her.

    Talus was gone!

    A dozen goblins stood before her.  They kept out of reach of her sword, not rushing her.  No retreat.  All alone.  Talus was gone.  Talus was gone!  Hot tears blurred her sight.

    Goblins rushed her from behind, dragging a net over her.  She tried to break free.  But the more she struggled, the more entangled she became.

    She quieted herself.  Searched for Discretion’s words.  Breathed a prayer to the Prince.  Then she dropped her sword and shield and slid her dagger from her sleeve.  The net cut easily.  With several deft swipes, she was free.

    Several goblins charged her.  She aimed for the first one’s eyeball.  It popped out as she drew the dagger back.  Her other hand flashed toward the second.  Stopped short.  No.  Only one dagger now.

    No shield to keep her distance.  She closed the gap toward the second.  Close enough to smell its foul breath.  Stare into its beady eyes.  It clawed at her chest, scraping against her breastplate.  She thrust her dagger beneath its ribs and into its heart.  Warm blood flowed over her hands.  Then she pushed the goblin away.

    Another goblin charged.  An arrow smacked into its chest, piercing its tattered armor.  She froze.  Then leaped back.  No shield to protect her.

    “Fifty-five, Little-Blade!”   Talus stood on a nearby ledge, bow in hand.  Then he fired in quick succession.

    Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine.  Sixty.  She did the counting for him in her head.  Each of his shots found its mark.

    “Talus!”  

    He scrambled down, leaping from foothold to foothold, until he stood at her side.  She sighed with relief.  She’d forgotten he was half goat.

    Then the largest goblin she’d ever seen stepped into the clearing—a big, ugly bastard.  His face was twisted and scarred from countless battles, and he was missing half an ear.

    He was clad in plate armor—tarnished and jagged, but undoubtedly better than anything they’d fought so far.  He held a long, vicious, spiked blade.  Foul-smelling smoke hissed and sizzled from it.

    “Do not let it touch you, Little-Blade.”  

    He didn’t have to say that twice.  Eva slid her dagger back into her sleeve and inched backward.

    Talus notched an arrow and let it fly.  Then another.  The goblin knocked the first aside with his sword.  Then the second.  Talus dropped the bow and drew the sword from his back.

    She stooped and picked up her sword and shield from the net.  Goblins had already begun to gather around them.

    The goblin captain shot them an evil grin and approached confidently.  He swung his blade overhead and brought it down at Talus.  Eva darted forward and caught the blow with her shield.

   “Stay behind me, Talus,” she ordered.  He complied.  “Keep the rats off me.”

    She swung at the captain.  He dodged.  He swung.  She blocked.  She slashed for his neck.  Her blade glanced off his gorget.  He thrust a dagger at her with his off-hand.  Her armor stopped it.

    This wouldn’t be a battle won quickly, like the giant had been.  Remember Great-Heart’s lessons.  Stand.  Hold your ground.  Control the pace.  Aim for the joints.  Patience would win this fight.

    Round and round they circled.  The goblins at the edge seemed unwilling to join the fray.  Good.  Whenever the captain attacked, she blocked, and Talus pressed in.  Careful now, Talus.  Don’t let the poison touch you.  She couldn’t afford to ease the pressure and let him turn his attention to Talus.

    Hours passed.  Or so it felt.  A blow to his armpit.  Another to his knee.  Little by little, the captain slowed.  Finally, he dropped to his knees, panting, his sword on the ground before him.

    “Give me an honorable death.”  The first words the captain had spoken to them.  And his last.  Talus seized the poisoned sword and brought it down, embedding it in the captain’s skull.

“Hold still,” Eva told Talus.  She cut gently around the arrowhead with her dagger until it slid free.  He never made a sound.

   “Rest,” she said.  

    He shook his head.

    “No, Little-Blade.  Rats come back.  Not long.  We move on.”

    He set down his satchel—she hadn’t even noticed he was carrying one.  Then he took out a small carved wooden box.  Inside was a greasy, foul-smelling ointment.

    He dipped his finger into it, reached over his shoulder, and applied it liberally.  Then he rubbed it onto the numerous cuts and scratches covering his body.

   “You were bit?”

   She nodded and took the box from him.  She followed his lead and applied it to the places she’d been injured.  Surprisingly few places.

    Then he withdrew a bag of dried fruit in varying colors.  He offered.  She shook her head.

    “It not make you less,” he said.  “It is from the water behind.  One moon, one fruit.”

    It sounded like the fruit she’d seen at the River of Life.  How had he gotten it?  Could the River of Life somehow flow through—or behind—the Valley of the Shadow of Death?

    She took the bag and drew out several pieces.  Orange, yellow, and green.  She placed one in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.  Life surged through her.  She turned to him.

   “Eat,” she said, handing him the bag.

    “No,” he said.  “He is foul one.”  He pointed at himself.

   “Not he!  You.”  Her voice softened.  “You aren’t a foul one.  Not now.  Not ever.”

    He looked at the fruit, clearly wanting to eat it.  But then fear overcame the longing.  He slipped the bag back into his satchel.

    Her sword was covered in blood.  Like her hands.  And her arms.  And her dress.  And her armor.  She knelt, found a clean spot along the hem of her dress, and began to wipe the blade.

    “Why?” he asked.

    She shrugged.  Great-Heart had explained how important it was to wipe down your blade between fights.  She understood, but didn’t quite know how to make Talus understand.

    He reached into his satchel again.  And pulled out the lace handkerchief.  He held it out to her.  She shook her head.

   “No, it is special to you.  She was special to you.”

    He took her hand and gently placed the handkerchief in it.

   “You are special to me.”

   “Thank you.”

    She took Perry’s hand from her secret pocket and unwrapped it.  Tears rolled down her cheeks at the sight of it.  Then she wrapped it again, this time in the handkerchief and tucked it safely away.

    Then, using the cloth Perry had given her, she cleaned the Sword of Wisdom until it was spotless.

    The Nameless One paused, scratched his horn, and peered into the distance.  Sounds of fighting.  He listened.  The heavy one.  Bloody heavy one.  Why couldn’t he leave the little ones alone?  Eat roots.  Eat berries.  Like him.

    He had tried to give the heavy one roots.  Berries.  The heavy one had tried to eat him instead.  Too many he’s.  Sometimes he wasn’t sure which he he was anymore.  He rubbed the place on his arm where the heavy one had taken a bite.

    He walked softly, placing his hooves with care.  Not too much noise now.  The heavy one fought a little one.  A beautiful one of silver.  With a little blade.  He blinked. A beautiful one can fight?

    He was confused.  Did she fight… or did she dance?  The heavy one could not touch her.  Maybe she was a fairie.

    Silver light curled in ribbons around the beautiful one.  Around the heavy one.  The heavy one pushed her against the rock.  Then… the heavy one’s arm was gone.

    The heavy one was angry.  So angry.  Little ones weren’t supposed to do that.  Then came the rats.  Too many rats.  The beautiful one was bit.  No.  Not his business.

    Then he thought of her.  His heart hurt.  No.  She wasn’t her.  Too many she’s.  The beautiful one was you.  Her was her.  He was… No.  Not that he.  The nameless he.

    Too late.  With a roar, he charged.  He tore the rats from the beautiful one.  That old feeling stirred inside him.  He smashed two heads together.  Ripped an arm from another.  Swung it at the rest.  A war cry climbed into his throat.  No.  Must not become less.

    The rats were on him.  Good.  Rats for him.  Heavy one for the beautiful one.  The heavy one swung his big stick.  He threw a rat.  Crack.  Good hit.  Fun game.  He laughed at his own joke.

    The beautiful silver one held up her plate and stung the heavy one.  Again.  Again.  The heavy one stumbled.  Face to the ground.  She flew.  No wings.  Her little blade took off the heavy one’s head.

    The Nameless One stopped.  The heavy one’s head rolled to his feet.  The rat in his hand whined.  He threw him away.  The rats all scurried away.

    He became afraid.  Very afraid.  Stupid.  Stupid him.  He was a foul one too.

    “Friend,” he said.  “Friend, Little-Blade.”

    “You remember me!” she said.

   He shook his head.  Too many things he didn’t remember.  

   “Then why did you call me…” She looked at her blade.  Then at him.  She smiled.  “Oh.”

    She put her plate on her back.  Took off her helmet.  Hair flowed down like the water behind.  Like her.  Maybe… More beautiful?  He didn’t know.

    “I’m Eva,” she said.  “What is your name?”

    “No.”  He shook his head.  “No.”  He had lost that long ago… When he had…

    She knelt.  Took the hem of her dress.  Wiped her little blade.

   “Why?” he asked.  

   She looked at him.  No fear in her gray eyes.  Gray like the sky.  She laughed. “I’m not sure.  Keeps it sharp?”

    “Come,” he said.  “There are places the ground forgets to close.  Not far.”

    He led her.  She followed.  To his fire.  His food.  His blanket.  He put another stick on the fire.  Poured water into his pot.  Dropped dried flowers into it.  Set it on the fire.

    “I need your help,” she said.

    His help?  Little ones didn’t ask him for help.  Only bad came from that.

    “I will go to the bottom of the Abyss,” she said.  “And… you will come with me.”

    “No.” He took a berry.  Ate it.  So she would know it didn’t bite.  Handed her the bowl.

    She took a handful.  Popped them into her mouth.  Good.  He poured the tea into his cup.  She reached for it.  

    “Brave one,” he said.  “These.  Teeth.  Claws.  Those.  They take your name.”

    “I know,” she said.  “I went.  I lost my name.”

    “But…” he stared at her.  “You came back?” 

    “Yes,” she said.  “I almost died.  I must go again.”

    “Why?”

    “Perry,” she whispered.  “I love him.”  She pulled something wrapped in a cloth from her pocket.  Unwrapped it.  A hand.  “Apollyon did this.”

    Apollyon?!  He was afraid again.

   “No.  I will not help you.”

    She wrapped the hand again and slipped it back into her pocket.  She stood.  Handed him the bowl.  Smoothed her dress.  Turned away.

    She took three steps.  Then turned back.  “I saw her.”

    “Her?”  He stammered.

   “I know all about her.  How you led her astray.  And how she was damned.  Because of you.”

   “How can you know this, Little-Blade?”

    “I know about… the handkerchief.”

    The Nameless One started.  He had never shown anyone that.  Not Little-Blade.  Not anyone.

   “You’ve met her?”

    “Yes,” she said.  “Well… no.  Maybe.  One like her.  I saw a thousand.  Maybe a million more.”

    “I come.  I can… save her?”

    “No.” She shook her head.  “She made her choice.  There is nothing you can do to change her mind.”

    “We try.”

    “No.  I already tried.”  She was quiet a long time.  The fire crackled.  “But you can help me save Perry.  You can save me.”

    He sat.  Thought.  Thought some more.

    “Falling rocks,” he said.  “I remember that.”

     “Falling rocks?”

    “Yes,” he said.  “I lost my name.  All I remember… is rocks falling.”

    Little-Blade thought.  

    “Talus,” she said.  “I will call you Talus.”

    “Talus,” he repeated.  He smiled.  “I like it.”

    Talus walked to an old chest.  Opened it.  Stared inside.  A blade.  He had forgotten it too.  He lifted it carefully.  Held it out for Little-Blade to see.  A long sword.  Twice the length of hers.  Rusted.  Jagged.  Vicious.  Deadly.

   “Come, little one.”  He smiled.  “Let’s save Barry.”

    Eva sat cross-legged on the barren ground, her dress tucked beneath her, wiping her blade the way Great-Heart had shown her.  It barely needed cleaning—she wasn’t even sure she’d drawn blood—but the task gave her time to think.

    She would seek help this time, but she wouldn’t retrace her steps to Palace Beautiful.  Discretion had already given her all the help she could.  The armor and shield had given her the edge she needed.

    Great-Heart couldn’t be far ahead.  If she hurried, she could catch up to him.  But his path lay with Christiana… and James.  And Samuel, Joseph, Matthew and Mercy.  No.  Even if she reached him, he would not be swayed from his mission.  My Lord has entrusted their safety to me.  She would not ask for his help.

    She couldn’t be sure Alecto was waiting for her in Vanity this time.  Memories surged of their fight against Cerberus.  And the stake and fire in Vanity.  It wasn’t a memory she wished to relive.  Perhaps, with her armor, it would go differently.  But she didn’t want to find out.

    She would go to the satyr.  She searched the holes in her memory for his name, but found only emptiness.

    Perry’s hand rested in her lap.  She would not—could not—bear the thought of leaving it behind.  It felt as though her tears would never end.  No matter.  She never wanted them to.

    She gently slipped the ring from his finger and threaded it onto the silver chain beside her lily pendant.  The gold and lapis lazuli seemed made to rest among the silver lilies.  She slipped the necklace over her head once more, letting it settle against her heart.

    Then she wrapped Perry’s hand in the cloth and tucked it into her secret pocket alongside the King’s invitation and Innocent’s mirror.  She remembered the cloth in Perry’s hand at the Palace as he had placed it into hers, and her tears began to flow all over again.   She wasn’t even sure where he had found it.

    She rose, picked up her shield, and followed the Narrow Way onward.  She recognized the flutes of the satyrs, their melody eerily entwined with the moans of the specters.  The air hung heavy with the stench of brimstone rising from the bog on her left.  She almost didn’t notice it anymore.  Almost.

    The other side plunged into the Abyss.  She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.  Looking into the depths gave her vertigo.  Like a hand trying to pull her downward.

    The Valley of the Shadow of Death.  That was what Discretion had called it.  She couldn’t think of a more fitting name.

    “Patience,” she murmured to the hand tugging at her.  “Your time will come soon enough.”

    Step by step, she advanced until she reached the other side.  It hadn’t been half as bad this time.  Ahead lay the pits, snares, and traps.  Without the glow of the Abyss, the way was even darker here.  Almost pitch-black.  Her sight was useless, so she trusted her boots.  Their guidance was faint, almost imperceptible.  But if she quieted her thoughts and listened—really listened—she could feel the path beneath her.

    Her sword began to glow, casting silver light across the valley.  She froze.  Then she dropped into a fighting stance, searching the darkness ahead.  The giant.  She’d forgotten about the giant.

    He leaped toward her, his mighty club raised overhead.  It crashed against her shield.  The impact should have hurled her backward.  But her boots held firm.

    “Little Pilgrim,” he snarled.  “Tonight, I will pick your bones clean for supper.”   He lurched from side to side, his movements jerky and chaotic.

    She mirrored his movements, keeping the Shield of Faith squarely between them.  It gave her the space to hold him a sword’s length away.  Yet she still couldn’t attack.  His reach was longer than hers.

    He swung wildly.  She blocked.  He swung again.  This time she slipped aside and brought her sword down.  His skin was like stone—but nowhere near as hard as Apollyon’s scales.  She felt the blade bite into flesh.  The giant roared and spun toward her, swinging.  Her shield was already there.

    She had only driven him into a frenzy.  Swing.  Block.  Swing.  Block.  He raised his club high overhead and brought it crashing down.  She stepped aside, letting it slam into the ground.

    He lunged.  She sprang back.  Back and forth they went.  He tried to drive her into the traps, but she avoided them.  Barely.

    She started as her back struck the rock face.  The giant’s face twisted in glee.  

    “I have you now,” he gloated, bringing his club down in a two-handed slam.

    She slid between his legs.  The club crashed down.  It wedged fast in a fissure in the rock face.  She unleashed a flurry of blows against his backside.  He howled in fury and wrenched at the club, trying to tear it free.

    Eva didn’t hesitate.  She dashed forward and leaped into the air.  With both hands on the hilt, she brought her sword down with the full weight of her body against his arm.  The blade sliced through skin and muscle, then severed the bone.  The arm struck the ground with a heavy thud.  Blood spurted from the stump, spraying in every direction as the giant howled and thrashed.

    He swung his remaining fist at her.  She parried and thrust.  The blade sank halfway into his belly.  He backhanded her.  She hit the ground hard.

    She sprang to her feet, her ears ringing from the blow.  Half her instincts urged her to finish him now.  The other half whispered patience.

    The giant’s voice echoed across the valley.  A cry of anger.  A howl of rage.  A scream of agony.

   “My children!” he bellowed.  “Avenge Giant Chaos’s arm!”

    Formless shapes stirred in the shadows.  An eye gleamed in the darkness.  Then a goblin stepped into the light.  And another. And another.  She lost count.  They gathered around Chaos… then swarmed her.  She held her shield against two—perhaps three.  Her sword flashed, catching one behind her.  Pain exploded across her back as claws dug deep into her flesh.

    The goblins surrounded her.  Too many.  Run… or stand and fight?

    The giant charged.

    Once again, Eva and Perry picked their way through the dead reeds and broken timbers jutting from the mire until they reached the charred trees.  Eva carried her sword ready in one hand and her shield in the other.  Perry gripped his staff firmly with both hands.

    Eva walked ahead with her shield before her.  Perry made no attempt to stop her.  The mist thickened, nearly obscuring the iron darts littering the ground.

    Perhaps Apollyon wouldn’t be waiting for them this time.  Then she and Perry could continue on through Vanity.  With any luck, they’d reach the shepherds in the Delectable Mountains before nightfall.

    No sooner had the blood-stained rocks come into view than flames hurtled toward her.  A loud clang of iron against steel rang across the valley.

    “Not this time,” she growled.

    Eva could barely make out Apollyon’s flaming silhouette through the mist.  With a single bound, he cleared the valley, landing only a few feet before them.

    The ground shook beneath his landing, and billows of dust swept over them.  Eva braced behind her shield, her boots holding firm against the torrent.

    When the dust settled, Apollyon stood before them, towering, simply watching.  Her sword shone with a brilliant silver light, casting its radiance across the valley.

    “Bold Pilgrim.”  His blazing eyes bored into her.  “I swear by my infernal dwelling, you will go no further.”  He sprang into the air and brought both claws crashing down.  Eva leaped back and they slammed into the ground where she had stood.

    As he straightened, Eva swung her sword with all her might, a trail of light following in its wake.  It struck his scales with a solid blow, but to no more effect than her daggers had the last time.  He slashed with his right claws.  She dodged—but his left caught her shield.  The impact shuddered up her arm.

    She swung again.  Apollyon leaped back—then staggered as the crack of Perry’s staff rang through the valley.

    “Eva, his foot!”

    She brought her sword down on his foot.  Apollyon crashed to one knee.  Perry’s staff struck again.  Smoke and sparks poured from his sides.  Eva threw up her shield against the shower.

    Apollyon rose slowly to his feet, strode to a dead tree, studied it for a moment, then tore it from the ground with a single tug.

    “Well, you are of passing skill.”  He rested the charred trunk across his chest.  “Perhaps it is true what they say about you.”  He backhanded it into her shield.  Her arm went numb.

    He raised the makeshift club high overhead and held it there for what seemed an eternity.  She rolled as he brought it crashing down.  Not fast enough.  His reach was too long.  The blow glanced off her helmet, sending her sprawling.

    She scrambled to her feet, raising her shield before her.  Darts hammered against it in quick succession.

    Must close the distance.  Keeping back was just as dangerous—perhaps more so—than fighting at close quarters.  Besides, she’d lost sight of Perry.  She couldn’t leave him to fight Apollyon alone.   Apollyon stood waiting, wings spread wide as she advanced.  Once again, Perry’s staff struck. 

    Apollyon spun toward Perry, his tail slamming into Eva’s breastplate before the tip lashed against her face.  Her teeth rattled from the blow.

    Eva smiled grimly as memories of Cerberus’s tail flashed through her mind.  Eva the Dragon-Slayer, indeed.  She seized Apollyon’s tail and brought her sword down.

    He swung the tree in a slow arc toward her.  Time seemed to slow.  Too far to jump away.  Too heavy to take another hit.  This time she rolled toward him, beneath the tree, and out to his side.

    She slashed at the fur before her.  He spun faster than she would have thought possible and struck with his claws.  Her breastplate absorbed the first blow, but the second caught her before she could recover.  She went flying.

    She reached for her shield.  For her sword.  Gone.  Apollyon strode toward her, the ground trembling beneath each step.  His jaws hung open, lava dripping from wicked fangs.

    Perry stepped between Eva and Apollyon.  He did not flinch.  Apollyon came to a halt before him.  Then he laughed—a deep rumbling sound.

    “Perry, no,” she gasped.  She sprang to her feet, her eyes darting wildly for her sword.

    Golden light blazed from Perry’s upraised fist.  His ring!  Could that be fear in Apollyon’s eyes?  Hope surged through her.

    Something flashed in Apollyon’s grip, and he struck in a heartbeat.  The golden light flickered out, and a scream of unbearable agony tore from Perry.  He dropped to his knees clutching his arm.  Then he collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.

    Eva’s dagger was in her hand.  She dashed toward Perry.  Apollyon bent, scooped him up, slung him over his shoulder, and turned away.

    She threw herself at Apollyon, heedless of the sparks and smoke.  

    “No, damn it!” she screamed.  “Face me, you coward!”

    Again and again, she thrust her dagger at him.  Apollyon kept walking.

    She reached as high as she could, slid her dagger between his scales, and drove her palm against the hilt.  Apollyon roared and tore himself free.  She fell to the ground.  With a single bound, Apollyon vanished into the Abyss below.

    Eva fell to her knees.  No.  Not again.  She thought of the Cross.  Willed time to reset.  Nothing.

    “Think of the Cross, Perry!” she cried into the void.  Only the moans of the damned answered.  She stared helplessly into the flames below.

    No.  No time for despair.  She would descend again.  This time she would succeed.  This time she would rescue him.

    She retraced her steps to where they had fought.  She found her shield and stooped to pick it up.  A plan was already taking shape.  Perry told her, were their places reversed, he would ask for help.  That’s exactly what she would do.

    A few steps away lay her sword.  Beside it…

    The color drained from Eva’s face.  Tears spilled down her cheeks.  Her hands began to shake.  Her lips trembled.  A low wail escaped her.

    She reached down and tenderly picked up Perry’s severed hand.  The golden ring of lapis lazuli still rested upon his finger.

    She pressed it to her cheek, then lifted it to her lips, kissing it again and again.

    “Oh, Perry… my love,” she sobbed.  “Oh Perry…  Oh Perry.  What have they done to you?”

    Eva woke the third day in a different room.  Charity had mentioned that Christiana wished to sleep in the room where her husband had stayed, and Eva had been more than happy to oblige.

    Discretion had told her about the armor Christian had donned in his victory over Apollyon and promised to show it to her today.

    She remembered the broken, burdened man who had left the City of Destruction, and couldn’t quite picture him as the brave warrior that Discretion had described.

    Discretion was as good as her word.  She led Eva and Perry to the armory, where the King had furnished pilgrims with swords and shields, helmets and breastplates.

    On display were the instruments with which the heroes of old had wrought mighty deeds.

    There was Moses’s rod, used to call down plagues upon Egypt and part the Red Sea.

    “It’s cut from the same tree as mine,” Perry said.  “Lignum Vitae.”

    Beside it lay another staff in full bloom, with tender leaves and pink petals.

    “A sign from the King that He had chosen Aaron for His holy priesthood,” Discretion explained.

    There was the hammer and spike Jael had driven through the temple of Sisera.  There were the pitchers, trumpets, and lamps Gideon had given to his three hundred men to rout the armies of Midian.  Nearby stood the ox-goad with which Shamgar slew six hundred men, the jawbone of an ass Samson used to fight the Philistines, and the sling and smooth stone with which David had brought low Goliath of Gath.

    Suspended in midair above a pedestal floated a blade of terrible beauty, glistening like crystal.

    “It is the Prince’s own sword.  One day He will return to take it and wield it in the Last Battle,” Discretion explained.

    The Prince’s own sword!  Eva couldn’t take her eyes from it.  No other blade could compare to it—save perhaps Excalibur of legend.

    “Take upon you the whole armor of God,” Discretion said.  “That you might be able to resist the evil day.”

    “This is Truth,” Discretion said, handing Eva a slim steel belt with curved, riveted edge flanges.  Eva fastened it around her hips and adjusted the leather straps.

    “Righteousness.”  A young man handed her a padded under-layer, then brought out a breastplate of steel inlaid with intricate silver swirls and lilies.

    “The narrow part goes around your waist,” he said.  “The weight should rest on your hips.”  He demonstrated how to hold the breastplate against her chest with her left hand, lean to the right, reach behind her back for the cross strap, and buckle it beneath her arm.

    She practiced several times, etching the movements into her memory until she was sure she could do it by heart.  The metal was surprisingly light, and it fit her as though it had been custom-smithed for her.

    Next, Discretion passed her a matching helmet of steel inlaid with silver, crowned with a flowing white feather.

    Eva placed it on her head, lowered the visor, then raised it again.  She shot Perry a satisfied look.

    “Peace,” Discretion said, handing Eva a pair of supple leather boots with silver greaves.  “They will keep you from slipping, give you strength when you are weary, and protect you from all manner of treacherous ground.”

    “Most importantly, Faith.”  She handed Eva a large round shield of steel.  “This will stop even Apollyon’s fiery darts.”

    Eva nodded in satisfaction.

    Another young man entered, bowed low to Discretion, then turned to Eva and presented her with a sword.  It was exquisitely crafted.  

   “It was specially forged for you, my Lady,” he said.

    “Wisdom,” Discretion added.  “It brings light to the darkest depths.  It can pierce the strongest defenses.  It severs joints and marrow.  If you are quiet, you will hear my voice—and the words of my sisters.  It will guide your hand, if you let it.”

    Eva turned it over in her hands.  Never had she seen a weapon so beautiful, so elegant.  It caught the golden light of the Prince’s blade and reflected it in a luminous silver glow, the two mingling in a dazzling aurora.

***

    “My queen!” James squealed when he saw Eva.  “You are prepared for battle.”

    Eva reached down and tousled his hair.  “You recognized me,” she said.

    Great-Heart approached from behind James, sweat glistening on his brow.

   “Wow,” he said.  “Now there’s a sight you don’t see every day.”  He crossed to Perry, punched him lightly on the shoulder, leaned in and said something Eva couldn’t hear. 

    Perry nodded, a grin spreading across his face.

    “Come, my Lady.  My Lord has given me leave to escort Christiana and her family to Beulah.  But today, we train!”  He turned to James.  “Run along, lad.  We have many sessions ahead.”

    “Don’t forget me, my Lady,” said James.  “I will train hard, and one day be worthy of your service!”

    “How could I forget my brave knight?  We will meet again one day in Beulah.  But for now, our paths lie apart.”

***

   “Keep your shield up!” barked Great-Heart.  He swung his sword at her.  She barely got her shield up in time to catch the blow. 

    He lowered his sword and drew a deep breath.  “What is the purpose of your shield?” he asked, as if in idle conversation.

   “To protect?”

    “No.”  Without warning, he swung again.  Once again, she had lowered her guard.  “To stand,” he said.

    She staggered backward as Great-Heart’s sword struck her squarely.  “Never let down your guard,” he said.

    They circled one another.  She could feel the space the shield gave her.  It let her control the tempo of the… dance?

    “Good,” he said.  “No.  Too close.  Use the length of your sword.”

    He swung.  She blocked.  He swung again.  This time she parried and counterattacked.

   “Very good, my Lady!”

    On and on they sparred as the sun climbed higher in the sky.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught that rascal James watching in rapt attention.  And somewhere beyond him, she could feel Perry’s quiet approval.

    Great-Heart swung, and she blocked.  Her shield fell to the ground, and she charged him.

   “Too reckless, Eva,” he said, his sword resting at her throat.

    She glanced down and grinned.  She held her dagger just shy of his groin.  

   “It’d be a shame to lose that deep voice of yours.”

   “I concede, my Lady,” he said, chuckling.

    “She’s a natural,” said Great-Heart, turning to Perry and wiping the sweat from his brow.  “I wouldn’t make her angry,” he said with a laugh.  “You don’t stand a chance.”  Then he added hastily, “My Lord.”

***

    The next day, Perry and Eva watched the Virgins lead Christiana, Mercy, and Christiana’s four sons down the side of the mountain.  

   They sat beneath a tree with Eva’s armor leaning against its trunk, eating the meal Charity had prepared for them.  Before they departed, she had embraced Eva and given her blessing.

    “You are ready for the road ahead,” Charity said.  “And remember, I will always be with you.”

    They sat in silence, enjoying the birdsong and the cool breeze.  At last, Perry turned to her.  “It’s time for us to continue our journey, dearest.”

    Eva nodded solemnly and strapped on the breastplate the way the young man had shown her.  She fastened the scabbard to her belt and slung the shield across her back.

    She took one last look at the Palace.  Then she turned to Perry.

   “From now on, I will be your knight.  I will keep you safe.  Where you go, I will go, my Lord!”

    Perry smiled warmly at her.  “Never has a man had such a beautiful knight!”

    Her heart fluttered.  She was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

    That evening Eva and Perry rested at the top of the world, just the two of them.  He leaned against an ancient tree, and she leaned against him.  She wished the moment could last forever.

   The air was remarkably clear tonight, and they could see for miles ahead.  Past the Abyss, even past Vanity, to the far blue mountains beyond.  Her mind was still in fragments, but piece by piece her memories snapped into place.  Perry taken by Apollyon.  The satyr.  Vanity trying to burn her at the stake.

    She wished she could stay here, lost in this moment for the rest of time.  Piece by piece, every gap in her memories would be filled.

    She pointed toward a crooked mountain on the horizon.  “That’s where I descended.”

    Perry stood, extending both hands to her.  She place her hands in his, and he held them gently as he gazed into her eyes.  The sun had sunk behind the mountains to the west.  He leaned toward her.

    “Eva, I…”

    She closed her eyes.  Waited.  Opened them.  “Yes?”

    “That was a brave thing you did for me.”  He smiled.  “Thank you.” 

    Her mouth tasted of ashes.  Had she been wrong to want more?  She smiled at him anyway.  “You would have done the same thing for me, dearest.”

    Eva watched Great-Heart leave with James at his side.  She had truly been surprised when James laid her dagger at her feet.  It hadn’t even crossed her mind that she’d left it behind.  She would never touch it again—not after holding it to Perry’s throat.  It had found a new owner, and that made her happy.

    Perhaps she’d been even more surprised that someone had sworn fealty to her, as though she were a queen.  Well, he was very young after all.

    “That was sweet of you,” said Perry.

    “It was the least I could do.”  She smiled faintly.  “The poor boy.  He probably doesn’t even remember his father.  He was just a baby when his father died.”

    “You know… his mother?”

    “Only of her.  Unkind never came to any of my parties.  Not even once.”  She paused.   “Ah, but he called her Christiana.”

    “You can hardly expect the mother of a young child like James—”

    “Not just James,” she said.  “He has…”  She frowned, searching her memory.  “Three brothers.  But she was always… different.  She never seemed to get along well with anyone, except her sister Ruth.”

    “For only knowing of her, you seem to know much about her.”

    “Remember, dearest.  Knowing is what I did in the City of Destruction.  What I do.”

    Perry nodded.  “How did his father die?”

    “Well, first, the madness took him.  Or so we all thought.”  She looked toward the Narrow Way.  “He disappeared through the Wicket Gate.  Several tried to stop him, but he was convinced the City would burn.  Mr. Worldly Wiseman once told me he tried to persuade him to go to Morality.  He never would have fit Carnal Policy.  It was probably for the better… he would have ended up in Stupidity.”

    Eva shook her head.   “She didn’t follow him.  The poor dear.  She tried to pretend she didn’t care, but anyone could tell she was devastated.  He was everything to her.  When I first moved to the City, he carried her water every day.  Then one day they just got married.”

     Perry chuckled.  “It happens.”

     “Yeah, the rumors were he kissed her.  The sweet dear probably thought it meant they had to get married.”

    “I think that’s sweet,” said Perry.

    “Me too, Perry,” Eva whispered.  “Me too.”

    Great-Heart carefully wiped the giant’s blood from his sword with a piece of wool cloth tucked into his belt.  He would clean it thoroughly when he returned to the Interpreter’s House.  It was a fine Jerusalem blade, and it deserved his full care, but for now this would have to do.

    Christiana and Mercy, the women entrusted to his care, trembled.  Christiana’s sons were pale.  Matthew was doing his best to be brave, but Samuel and Joseph made no attempt to hide their distress.  A glimmer of excitement peeked through James’s fear.  Not long before, he had been crying.  The lad couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old.  Perhaps ten.

    “Please, Mr. Great-Heart, can you teach me how to use this?”  He held up a dagger with an ivory-inlaid handle he’d found halfway up the Hill of Difficulty.  “Someday I want to slay giants like you!”

    Great-Heart said nothing.  He merely glanced toward Christiana.  She nodded.

    “I must return to my Lord tonight,” he said.  “But—”

    “Who is there?”  Watchful’s voice rang out from the gate of Palace Beautiful. 

   “It is I,” called Great-Heart.  The gate swung open wide.  He’d been here many times before, and Watchful recognized his voice.

    “How now, Mr. Great-Heart?  You are here later than usual.”

    “I’ve brought pilgrims here by my Lord’s command for them to lodge.  I would have been here earlier had I not been delayed by Giant Grim.”

    “I heard the commotion,” Watchful replied.  “You look none the worse for wear.”  He looked Great-Heart over thoughtfully.

    “It was a long and tedious affair,” said Great-Heart, “but I cut off his arm, and then his head.”  Great-Heart smiled wryly.  “And I’ve brought the pilgrims here safely.”

    “It’s getting late.  Won’t you come in and stay till morning?”

    “No, I will return to my Lord…”  Great-Heart’s brow furrowed.  He could have sworn he had already said that.  Well, he had—but that wasn’t it.

    “Oh, sir!” exclaimed Christiana.  “I don’t know what we would have done without you.  What would have happened if you hadn’t been there to fight for us?”

    Mercy joined in.  “I wish you could stay with us until the journey’s end.”

   “Please, sir,” said James.

    Watchful leaned in and lowered his voice.  “Lord Greycloak and Lady Evadne are here.”

    “Very well.”  He turned to James, who had been eavesdropping.  “Come along, lad.  A few moves won’t hurt.”  He shrugged.  “It won’t be the first time I’ve walked through the night.”

    Ahead, Great-Heart glimpsed Perry and Eva.  Eva glowed in her white and silver dress with a radiance rivaled only by Christiana and Mercy together.  James gasped.

   “Is she…” James’s eyes widened.  He stepped forward, strode up to Eva, and knelt on one knee.

    “I pledge fealty to my Lady, to be thy knight until my Lady releases me, or death.”  He laid his dagger at her feet.

    Eva gave a brief start as her gaze fell on the dagger.  She studied the boy for a long moment, then her composure returned.  She smiled sweetly.  “What is your name, brave knight?”

    “James, son of Christiana, my Lady.”

    She withdrew the matching dagger from her sleeve and tapped it lightly against his shoulder.  “I accept your service.  I dub thee Sir James the Brave.”

    James scooped up the dagger, leaped to his feet, and dashed toward the Palace.

    “Mama!  Mama!” he called.  “You’ll never guess…”

    Perry broke into a deep-chested laugh.  Eva giggled, blushing.

    “You’re a good sport, my Lady,” said Great-Heart.

    “Oh, stop it!” Eva exclaimed.

    Great-Heart’s hard face softened.  He gazed into the distance.

    “I’m so glad you’re here,” Eva said.  “I need your help.  We need your help.”

    “I must return—” This was the third time he had said it.  A very strange feeling settled over him.  “But tarry here a day or two.  If my Lord wills, I will return.  I will teach you what I can, but my journey lies with Sir James and his family.”

   A grin lit up his face.  Then he bowed slightly and turned away.

    The climb up the Hill of Difficulty was every bit as difficult as Perry remembered.  Sweat trickled down his brow.  But Eva had placed her hand in his once more, and everything seemed right with the world.

    Almost.

    “So that’s how you did it?” she asked.

   “Did what?”

    She didn’t respond.  He already knew what she meant.  The way he had reset time at her party.  How she wasn’t supposed to know.  The anomaly that she had remembered.  It had started her story—their story together.   But this time he hadn’t reset it alone.

    “We did it,” he said.

    She scrambled up a large rock and turned to offer her hand again.  He set his staff beside her and took it.  A moment later he stood beside her.

    “You called me reckless,” she said.  “Why?”

    “Eva, dearest, how much do you remember?”

    “There are holes.”  She shook her head slowly.  “More than I care to admit.  But I remember you.  Us.”

    “What you did was brave, but…”  She shouldn’t have tried what she did.  He had caught only glimpses on the way down.  The bruises across her cheeks.  Her uneven, cropped hair.  The uniform of a ship captain.  The fang she had held up.  Questions he still couldn’t answer.

    Just ahead, a trellis opened onto an Arbor.  From the overlook, they could see the steep mountainside stretched out below them.  A bench nestled among the flowers.  Perry sat down.  Eva settled beside him, leaning against his shoulder and lightly holding his arm.

   “So, what you are telling me,” she said, “is that it had been me—”

    “That’s different.”

    “How so?”

    He hadn’t thought of it that way.  He breathed in the sweet air.

    “Tell me, dearest,” she said.  “What would you have done?”

   “I would have sought help.  Perhaps Great-Heart.  Definitely Discretion’s counsel.”

    She nodded, her gaze drifting toward the clouds.

     “Promise me, dearest,” he said, “if Apollyon takes me again, you won’t try to save me.  Promise.”

    “I will not.”  She tilted her chin. 

    “And you ask why I called you reckless.”

    “First you promise if I am taken, you will not come to me.” Her eyes shone.

    “No.”

    “Then neither will I.”

–

     The second half of their climb was rockier than the first, but it went quickly.  Eva had made up her mind, and Perry knew better than to argue further.  Eva stepped over the giant’s footprint, barely seeming to notice it.

    Ahead lay House Beautiful and the lions guarding the way.  They sprawled lazily beside the path.  One yawned as Perry and Eva approached, then rested its head back on its paws.

    “The lions are—” Watchful scratched his head.   “Welcome to Palace Beautiful!”

    Ahead lay a tall, rocky mountain.  A trail wound east toward a great bridge spanning the ravine.  Workers carried sacks of grain from a silo to waiting wagons.  It all felt strangely familiar to Eva.

    She’d been able to piece together many memories, but there were still holes.  She hoped the man beside her didn’t notice how much he affected her.  Lord Peregrine Greycloak.  Would he mind if she called him Perry?

    “Greetings, Lady Evadne,” the voice pulled her from her thoughts.  An elegant woman dressed in black trimmed in gold stood before her.   Fame.  Eva the Fearless.  

    Eva’s eyes fixed on the woman behind Fame.  She was gorgeous, with long flowing hair and a form-fitting dress that showed off every curve.  Her attention was on Perry.  Her eyes were the deepest emerald Eva had ever seen.  Eva brushed past Fame and planted herself squarely between the woman and Perry.

     “Back off,” Eva growled.  Danced with Charity.  Wonderful shade of green they were.  The woman in Hell.  What was her name?  Anna.  Fury rose in Eva.  Without a thought her dagger was at the bitch’s throat.

   The green eyes blazed.  Horns rose from her head.  Wings spread from her back.  Flames sprang up around her.  

    “You back off, little girl,” the succubus spat, slashing at Eva with her claws.  Eva ducked and drove her dagger toward the demon’s stomach.  The succubus dodged.

   They circled each other, the flames scorching the ground where the succubus had stood.  Charm.

    “Mind if I cut in, Lady Evadne?”  A light touch, and Eva found herself spinning away from the fight.  Megaera swayed toward Charm.

    “May I have this dance?” Her voice dripped with sweetness.  Charm lunged at her.  Megaera giggled.

    “Megaera!”

    “Awww, did you miss me?”

    Charm swung viciously again and again.  Megaera danced lightly, gracefully, always out of reach.  Yet always in rhythm. 

    Her copper hair glistened in the sunlight.  Her dress spun around her gaily.  Long ribbons of nearly transparent cloth whirled around her.  About Charm.

    A ribbon wrapped around Charm’s wrist as Megaera spun her into her arms.  Megaera pulled her close.  Her eyes turned inky black.

    “How many times have I warned you?”

    Charm wrenched free.  They circled each other.  The ribbons became a blur.  One wrapped around her wrist, then another.  And Charm was bound.  How Megaera had bound her ankles, Eva couldn’t have said.

    Charm fumed but was unable to move.  Megaera glided up to her and lifted her chin with one finger.

    Then she kissed Charm’s lips.  Deeply.  The color drained from Charm’s face.  She coughed.  

   “Go back to playing with your dolls,” Megaera said, fury barely contained.  She pushed Charm to the ground.

***

    It had all happened so fast Perry could barely believe his eyes.  He understood now how Charm had been such a threat to the Author.  And Eva—she was as reckless as ever.  The Fury had appeared without warning and vanished just as suddenly.

    Eva had wasted no time leaving the scene behind.  Fame had tried to speak to her, but Eva brushed past her and set off toward the Hill of Difficulty.  Her pace was so quick Perry could barely keep up.

    That was when they met the third sister.  The one the Author still couldn’t bring himself to hate.  Yet she was as deadly as the other two.  Comfort.

    Her face was sweet, with large, tender blue eyes.  Her voice even sweeter.  She held out her hands to Eva.

   “Eva, dearest,” she said.  “The Author has sent me.  You’ve passed every test.  Endured every trial.”

    “Tell me more.”

    “No,” said Perry, backing a step away.

    “There’s a house in Delight for you.  Built by the Prince,” Comfort said.  “You’ve fought enough.”

    “No, Eva,” Perry said.  “No.  I will not go.”

    Eva’s chin took on that stubborn set Perry knew so well.

   “Fine,” she said, then turned and followed Comfort.  She glanced back at him.

    Perry stared after her.  If I gave this to you… would you eat it?   Would you follow me into ruin?

    No.  

    Perry’s world crumbled around him as he watched Eva fade into the distance.  He turned and began to climb the Hill of Difficulty alone.

    He had barely taken a dozen steps when Eva appeared, out of breath.

    “Why did you abandon me?”

    “Abandon you?” he scoffed.

    “You’re my knight.  You are supposed to follow me.”

    “Not into ruin.  You’ve become reckless.  Not the wise woman I know.”

    “But the Author—”

    “That was your own desire, not the Author!”

    Lightning flashed in Eva’s eyes. 

    “Who made you the judge of what the Author wants or doesn’t want?”  Her dagger flew to Perry’s throat.

    Perry began to laugh softly.  “Oh, Eva.  My dearest.”  He placed his hand over hers and lowered the dagger gently.

    A look of horror passed over her face.  The dagger clattered to the ground.  She threw her arms around Perry and began to sob uncontrollably.

    “Oh, Perry.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

    “Me too, Eva.  Me too.”

    He held her tightly and let her cry.