Redemption of Eva

    A golden aura surrounded Eva, mingling with the silver aura surrounding Beelzebub.  The Dragon’s claws crashed down, but Beelzebub met them with his mighty blade, stopping them midair.

    “You have been weighed in the scales.”  Beelzebub’s voice was calm, yet it echoed throughout the cavern.

    The Dragon swung a wicked claw at Eva.  Her shield caught the blow.  Her boots held fast.

    “And have been found wanting.”

    The Dragon breathed a mighty torrent of flame upon them.  It died against the silver-gold light, leaving Eva untouched.

    “The days of your reign have been numbered and brought to an end.”

    “WHO THE HELL DO YOU—”  The Dragon roared, swinging wildly.

    “Your kingdom is divided and given to another.”  Beelzebub raised his sword.  Bolts of lightning flashed from floor to ceiling.

    Something in the air shifted.  Eva didn’t know what had changed, but it was undeniable.

    Beelzebub removed his helmet.

    Long silver hair spilled free.  The radiance of the full moon flooded the cavern.  The Dragon stumbled backward.

    Eva gasped.  “Innocent?”  The world turned upside down.  Innocent is Beelzebub?  The one who had bathed her.  The one who had clothed her.  The one who had given her the mirror.  The one who had danced with Perry.   Daughter of the Moon?

    The Dragon prostrated himself before her.  

    “My Queen,” the Dragon breathed.

    Charon strode up.  “My sister is here, Your Majesty.”  Alecto stepped from behind him.

    “Bind him,” Azael said.

    “As you command, Majesty.” Alecto strode toward the Dragon, whip at the ready.  The Dragon reared back.

   “I have always been your faithful servant.”  Desperation tinged his voice.

    Azael didn’t blink.  Alecto continued toward him.

    “I rebelled against the King because of you!”

    “Because of me?” Azael whispered.  “I went into exile willingly.  I love Him.”

    “You deceived me all these millennia.”  Anger twisted the Dragon’s face.  “I thought you were dead!”

    “The King, kill me?” Azael said.  “You never knew Him, Samael.”

    The Dragon lashed out at Alecto.  Silver chains wrapped around his claws.  Tisiphone stepped to Alecto’s side.  Her eyes darkened as she fixed her gaze on the Dragon.

    Megaera stepped into view.  Grief was carved on her face.  Oh no.  No.  Her vision.

    “Come, dearest,” she said, taking Eva by the hand and leading her to Perry.

    “What Tisiphone shows you,” Azael told the Dragon, “you never did it for me.”

    “Bitch!” Hatred blazed in the Dragon’s eyes.  Suddenly he spun toward Eva.  “You want your beloved Perry?”  He seized Perry and tore him free from his chains.  “Take him!”

    The Dragon slammed Perry onto the solid ice.  It cracked beneath the impact.  Eva dashed to him, dropped her sword and shield, and knelt by his side.  Blood pooled beneath him.

    “Think of the Cross, Perry.  Think of the Cross.  I love you, Perry.  Think of House Beautiful.”

    “Eva,” he whispered.  “I…”

    “Just think of something, Perry.  I don’t care.  I will do this as many times as it takes.  I want to be with you.  Even if it’s the same day forever.”

    “Eva, dearest.”  He coughed.  “I’m sorry I never told you.  I…”  He gagged.  Blood spilled from his mouth.  Then his eyes closed.

    “Wake up, Perry!  Wake up.”  She kissed his face again and again.  He didn’t stir.

    Eva knew he would never wake.  Fury flooded her.  Rage.  Unfettered rage.  She strode toward the Dragon, dagger in hand.

    Charon, Alecto, Tisiphone, and Megaera struggled with the Dragon.  They had him chained to the ground.  He thrashed.  His soft neck lay exposed.

    Eva flipped the dagger in her grip, drove it down with all her strength, and slammed the hilt with her palm.  Boiling blood spurted out.  She couldn’t feel it.  Didn’t care if she did.

    Golden light surrounded her.  She didn’t care about that either.  She pulled, slicing through skin and sinew.  The Dragon screamed in agony.  She kept pulling, kept cutting.  Blood flowed over her, staining her dress crimson.  The Dragon lay dead at her feet, his tongue hanging out.  Blood spread beneath him.

    The ice melted beneath the blood’s heat.  She didn’t linger to watch the Dragon sink into the depths.  Or even to retrythgyb98iieve her dagger.

    She turned and headed back to where Perry lay.  He was gone.  Only his cloak remained.  She searched frantically.  Where was his body?

    Azael laid a gentle hand on Eva’s shoulder.  “The King has taken him.”

    Tears flowed down Megaera’s cheeks.

   “I’m sorry,” she said.

    “Oh, Perry.  Oh, Perry.  How am I supposed to live without you?”

    Eva collapsed.  She curled into a ball on the cloak and sobbed uncontrollably.

    Eva wandered the empty streets of Pandemonium, numb with grief.  She had the unsettling feeling that this place was the center of all things, from which all above and all below were ordered.

    But it didn’t survive closer inspection.  The lines were wrong.  The symmetries broke when followed.  The architecture argued with itself.  Its very grandeur contradicted itself.  Here a throne rose, and there another in defiance of it.

    She opened her fist and stared at the ring and the pendant.

    The ring was a thick golden band inlaid with a deep blue gemstone.  She had first seen it on Perry’s hand when he raised his fist against Dread Lord Beelzebub in his own castle.  Perry had claimed that he had the power—and the authority—to tear the castle down stone by stone.  She slipped it on her thumb.

    And the lily pendant… Each petal gleamed with cold starlight.

    You won’t understand yet.  But when the time comes, you’ll remember this moment.  Summon me, and I will come.

    In what had to be the most absurd moment of her life, Beelzebub had knelt and placed the pendant in her hand.

    “Fine,” she said at last.  “Show yourself.”  There had to be more to it than that.  Some magic incantation.  Some spell to cast.  She refused.  It would be like this or not at all.

    She rounded the corner, and he was there.  Black iron etched with silver.  Spikes rose from the helmet, shoulders and knees.  The opening in the helm was an inky void, revealing nothing of his face.

    “I have been waiting for you, my daughter.”

   She clenched her fist.

   “I am not your daughter!”  She loosened her fist.  “I serve only the King.”

    A delightful laugh echoed within the helmet.  Beelzebub’s gaze fell to the ring.

   “So it seems.”

    “I don’t know what you want from me,” Eva said.  “And I don’t know your schemes, or your plans.  I don’t care.  Keep your oath.  Once we’ve freed Lord Peregrine, do what you like.  It’s your own business.”

    “As you wish, my Lady.”  He gave a slight bow, then turned and set out.  Eva followed.

    Together they walked until they had left behind the streets of Pandemonium.  The fire diminished, and a chill touched the air as they descended into the deepest depths of Hell.  The stone began to sweat, then hardened.  Patches of frost appeared.  Sound went flat.  The way broadened into a plain of dark ice spread across the basin.

    She shivered in the bitter cold, wishing she could wrap Perry’s cloak around her.  They passed the bodies frozen solid beneath the ice.  In the distance, she could see the golden light upon the endless stairs.  Ahead lay the Dragon’s lair.  And Perry.

    As they approached their journey’s end, Apollyon loomed before them.  Eva settled into a fighting stance, shield ready.

    “My Lord Beelzebub,” he said with deference.  Then he turned to Eva.  “Lady Evadne.”

    Eva’s breath caught.  She had expected a fight, not a welcome.  Her stance eased, but she glared at him.  She would never forgive Apollyon for what he had done to Perry.  Never.

    She wanted to make him pay.  More than anything.  Then she thought of Perry.  This fight gained her nothing.  She glanced toward Beelzebub.  Perhaps it might even cost her everything.

    Eva fixed her eyes on the light and continued onward.  Beelzebub turned and gave Apollyon an order.  Apollyon spread his wings and flew upward.

    Eva didn’t wait for Beelzebub to catch up.  Perry lay just ahead.  The Great Dragon was already waiting for her, towering above.

    Beyond, Perry was shackled to the wall.  Even in the dim light, she could tell he was not well.  His face was pale, his lips colorless.

    The Dragon lowered his head and fixed Eva in his gaze.  

   “You’re back, Lady Evadne.”  His voice was a low hiss.  “No matter how many times the Author resets the story, you will never win.”

    Eva pointed the Sword of Wisdom at the Dragon.  It shone brightly, casting its silver light across the cavern.  She felt strangely at peace.  Unafraid.

    “As for Lord Peregrine…” The title curled in his voice like rot.  “He will always die, Madame.  You know that.”

    Smoke curled from the Dragon’s nostrils.

   “As will you.”

    Fire spewed from the Dragon’s maw.  Eva raised the Shield of Faith and sheltered behind it.  A golden glow surrounded her.

    Then the Dread Lord Beelzebub stepped boldly through the fire and stood at her side.

    The Dragon stared down at them, as though he could not believe what he was seeing.  At last, he spoke.

    “Traitor.”

    Eva studied the satyrs before her, already forming a plan of attack.  Talus had returned his sword to his back.  She sheathed her own and slung her shield over her back, too.  But she didn’t lower her guard.

    Her shield gave her a distinct advantage, and Talus had already proven himself capable in a fight.  But these were no goblins.  Every satyr before her bore battle scars.  They had to be as formidable as Talus—more likely, even more so.

    She clasped her hands together, her fingers brushing the hilt of her dagger.  She was ready.  At the first sign of violence, she would rush the elder and slit his throat, ending the battle before it began.  But she doubted the satyrs would scatter as easily as the goblins had.

    Talus stood before the elder satyr, his head slightly bowed in reverence.

   “No, Pan,” he said.  “Talus walks with Little-Blade now.”

    “Talus?”  Pan laughed.  It was a low, threatening sound.  “How ironic.  Little-Blade…” His attention shifted to Eva.  “…has given her pet a new name.  Your… exploits… have not gone unnoticed.  And they will not go unpunished.”

    Talus stepped between Eva and Pan, his hand drifting to the hilt of his jagged sword.  The satyrs answered with low growls and began to advance.

    “Nevertheless,” Pan said, “it has been decided.  I am the leader, and you will obey my word.  You will return.  You will play your flute.  And you will join the hunt.”

    “No,” Talus said.  “I will not.  I serve the King.”

    The satyrs froze.

    Pan threw back his head and howled with amusement.

    “Nonsense,” Pan said.  “The King does not accept your service.”

    Talus sagged.  A confused, hurt look crossed his face.  Then he glanced at Eva.

   “Little-Blade accepts me.  It is enough.”

    “So be it.”  Pan sighed deeply and turned from Talus.  “I have done what I can for you.”  He walked toward the far doorway.

    “He is yours, my Lord.”

    Pan stepped through the doorway and was gone.  A hush fell over the room.  Mist seeped inside, carrying with it a chorus of voices—screaming, weeping, cursing, maniacal laughter.  Tendrils curled toward the satyrs.  They stiffened, and their eyes began to glow.

    The mist coalesced into a cyclone at the center of the chamber, taking shape.  An ever-shifting, liquid form.  Faces surfaced and vanished.  Bodies struggled to pull free.  Spectres burst from the mass, circled the chamber, then plunged back into it.  Thousands of lost souls.  Trapped.  Tormented.  Waiting to inflict pain.

    Legion!  Old tales came rushing back, whispered by children in the dead of night about the terror that lay beneath Stupidity.  There was no fighting it.  No escaping it.  Fear wrapped its icy fingers around Eva’s heart.  Never had she felt despair like this—not before Apollyon, Cerberus, or Leviathan.  Not even in the presence of the Dragon himself.

    She did the only thing she could.  She dropped to her knees and cried out to the King.

    Strong arms seized her.  Talus held her against his chest and charged the satyr warriors, head lowered, his horns driving like a battering ram.  His charge caught them off guard.  Several sprawled across the floor.

   Talus didn’t stop.  He raced for the doorway, still holding Eva like a little child.

    Anguish flooded Eva’s mind.  Spectres swarmed around them.  Cold hands seized her.  They tugged at her ankles.  Clawed at Talus.  A savage cry tore from his lips.  He struggled on, never loosening his grip on Eva.  Cradling her.  Sheltering her from the terror.

    He tore free and dashed for the doorway with a speed Eva hadn’t known was possible.  

    He set her down gently.

    “Run, Little-Blade!  Run!”  Then he turned and strode back into the chamber.

   “Talus!  What in Hell are you doing?”

    He stopped between two ancient columns and braced his hands between them.  Eva watched helplessly as he strained with all his might.

    Legion advanced toward them.  Unhurried.  Certain of its victory.

    Talus removed his hands from the columns and reached into his satchel.  He withdrew a small bag and let the satchel fall to the ground.  It was the same bag he had given her on her first descent.  It held the glowing herbs.  The herbs she’d used to fight Cerberus.  They made you less.

   “No, Talus, no,” she begged.

    “Go, little one,” he said.  Then he swallowed the entire contents of the bag in a single gulp.  His eyes turned wild, and he gave the columns a mighty shove.  The columns groaned.  Stone cracked.  Dust rained from the ceiling.

    He lifted his eyes.

    “Give me strength this one time only.”  It was barely a whisper.

    Then the columns gave way, and the ceiling came crashing down.  Eva jumped back, narrowly avoiding a slab of stone that crashed down where she’d been standing.

    Eva stood dazed.  The silence was deafening.  Dust settled.  The voices in her head were gone.  And so was Talus.

    She scrambled forward, climbing over the fallen stone to where Talus had stood, digging frantically through the rubble.

    A curved horn.  Gentle eyes.  Life still lingered in them, but only barely.  A slab lay across his chest.  She tried to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge.  She searched the debris for his hand.  Found it.  Held it gently in hers.  The bones were shattered.

    “Don’t cry, Little-Blade,” he said.  He reached up feebly and brushed a tear from her cheek.

   “It is a far better thing than I have ever done,” he said.  “I rest now.”  The light faded from his eyes.

    Eva laid her hand over his eyes and closed them.  Then she kissed his forehead.

   “May the King receive you into His presence.”

    She stood and strode into Pandemonium, bitter tears flowing unchecked.

    She knew what she had to do.  She slipped the necklace over her head and wrapped her fingers around the golden ring and the silver pendant.

    When Eva stepped through the gateway, she realized she had worried for nothing.  The platform stood empty.  Their steps left prints in the thick dust covering the floor.  If an army had stood here, it had been long ago.

    A doorway led into barracks, where rows of crumbling bed frames were barely discernible beneath the dust.  Too large for goblin kind.  Perhaps a commander had once led soldiers here, before the region had been defiled and given over to corruption.

    Beyond lay a long hallway with iron staples set into the walls, leading to storerooms, armories, and holding pens from ages past, all equally abandoned.  Even the vermin that infested the tunnel had no reason to come here.

    They entered a chamber that opened onto a balcony overlooking the Abyss.  Eva looked up in amazement.  They were inside a fortress carved into the face of the rock.  The view below was just as impressive.

    The bottom of the Abyss spread before her—descending galleries, natural vaults taller than towers, black falls of stone, fumaroles breathing heat, and rivers winding through channels too dark to judge.  Veins of lava lit the depths with an eerie orange glow.

    Talus pointed toward the horizon, where a dark city of unimaginable scale rose from the depths.  Dozens of drakes circled overhead.

   “That is the way,” he said.  “To Barry.”

   Eva chuckled.  Barry would be delighted with his new name.  No doubt about it.

    “We shouldn’t draw their attention,” Eva said.  “I’m not sure a fight with the little dragons would end well.”  She tried not to think about the real dragon waiting at the end of their journey.

    She would send Talus away before then.  If she died, that was her business.  She wouldn’t drag him into it.  But it was too late for that.  She was sure he wouldn’t go.  There was no choice now but to survive.  Both of them.  And Perry.

    They went back inside and worked their way down through halls and stairways until they reached a courtyard.   The entrance was blocked by massive slabs of stone even Talus couldn’t budge.

    An entrance led down into the ground.  They followed it until they reached a cistern.  Talus stopped abruptly.

   “Ghosts.”  His face twisted with terror.  He started to turn back.

    The water was thick with old blood and scum.  It could have washed down from butcheries on the upper levels.  At the far end of the cistern, it spilled over the lip and disappeared into the darkness below.  Three spectres stood in the middle of the room, directly in their path.

   She placed a hand on his arm.

    “Courage,” she whispered.  She saw no way to cross without being noticed.  She lowered her visor and drew her sword.  Then she charged.

    With a single swing, she severed one spectre’s head clean off.  The others spun to face her.  Surprise was on her side, but it wouldn’t last.  She swung at the second, cleaving it in half.

    The last spectre swung at her.  It passed through her shield without harming her.  So, it worked both ways.  She struck back.  The spectre turned solid just in time to catch her blade on it buckler.  Her shield met his riposte.

    With a savage cry, Talus was on it before it could turn spectral again.  He tore at its skeletal form until, moments later, it collapsed into the foul water.

    “Quickly.  Let’s go.”  

    Talus didn’t argue.  They splashed through the cistern, following the water downward until they reached a rusty iron grate.  Talus ripped the grate free with a single tug.

    They stepped out.  They had reached the bottom.  Or at least a bottom.  The space opened before them, but there was no sign of life across the barren landscape.  Only smoke and ash.  And a drake soaring high overhead.

    The stream had widened almost into a river, still thick with dark blood.  It wound across the barren landscape.

   “This is the way.”  He led her along its bank.

    “You’ve been here before?” she asked.

    Talus nodded.  Sadness crossed his face.

    “She was a beautiful one.  Sunk in the mud.  Wise One said she came here.”  He pointed into the distance.  “There. Somewhere.”

    “I’m sorry, Talus,” she said.  “I said it was your fault.  It wasn’t.”

    They fell silent as they passed drake nests.  They weren’t quite lairs, but warm shelves above veins of lava.  Collapsed domes open to the fumes, their cavities blackened by old heat.

    Eva’s heart thundered in her chest.  She didn’t dare breathe as they crept past.  But no drake appeared.

    It was a long time before she dared speak again.  

   “What happened?”

   “I swam the dark river, then the bright river.  I lost my name.”

    She remembered Leviathan.  And the luminous river she’d woken beside.  Could it be a river of forgetting?

   “I know that river.  I lost myself too.  How did you come back?”

    “Big One brought me roots.  Friend.  Long time.  Came back.  Lost beautiful one.”

    “I’m glad you came back, Talus.”

   “Talus,” he said softly.  “Good name.”

    They walked for hours, the dark city drawing closer.  The scale was unfathomable.  Cyclopean even.  (Yes, Thoughtful, it’s “cyclopean” again.  Find me a better word.)

    It was dark and beautiful.  Domes of onyx gleamed in the orange glow, almost golden from here.  A bridge of black stone crossed a vast chasm of heat.  An impossibly tall door stood ajar.

    They stepped into a chamber built for assembly.  Perhaps judgment, council, and decree.  Ancient pillars, weathered and cracked, stretched to the ceiling.

    A dozen satyrs stood with their arms crossed.  Waiting.

   In their midst stood one, hunched and ancient, yet still a head and shoulders above the rest.  He was robed in maroon, embroidered with swirling designs of silver.  His face was framed by majestic horns.  His long hair and flowing beard blended with his gray fur.

    He stepped forward, arms wide.

   “Son, it’s time to come home.”  His smile never reached his eyes.

    Eva and Talus descended deeper into the Abyss, level by level, bridge by bridge.  Fires still burned in the camps, but there was no sign of the goblins anywhere.  A deathly hush had fallen over the place—even the moans of the spectres were gone.

    Below, were no more bridges or even ledges.  Still the chasm reached down endlessly.  If only they had wings like Apollyon.  Perhaps they could make gliders, though nothing nearby looked suitable.  It wasn’t a comforting thought anyway.

    A barely noticeable fracture in the rock wall caught Eva’s attention.  Marks where crude tools had cut into the softer rock surrounded it.

    “Torch,” said Talus, making his way back to the nearest camp.  They returned to the entrance, each carrying a torch in one hand and their weapon in the other.

    The goblins had burrowed tunnels deep into the rock, winding their way into the depths of the earth.  The tunnel opened into a chamber with a platform, picks leaning against the walls, and wooden stairs leading downward.

    They descended the stairs and passed through a door into another winding passage.  After a short distance, it forked in two.

    “We go left,” said Eva.

    Talus reached into his satchel, took out a piece of charcoal, and marked an arrow on the wall.  Eva was impressed.  He seemed to have thought of everything.

    On they went, passing one fork, then another.  Talus marked each one.  Then the tunnel ended abruptly.  Only the sound of their breathing and the nearby drip of water broke the silence.

    They retraced their steps until they reached the charcoal mark on the wall.  This time they went right.  Talus marked this passage as well.

   The passage continued downward for some time, meandering left and right, sometimes seeming to loop back on itself.  The air grew stifling.  Dark fungus clung to the walls.  Eva thought she heard muttering.

    Vermin scurried underfoot.  Rats.  No.  Real rats.  Eva wondered whether Talus had a word for them.  She didn’t ask.  

    They reached another fork and went left.  The passage took a sharp turn and began to climb.  It was hard to breathe.  Smoke clung to the ceiling.  Talus glanced at Eva.

   “We keep going,” she said.

    Words broke the silence, guttural and beyond recognition.  Yet echoing, almost in mockery, the speech of men, giants, and satyrs.  Talus stopped and motioned to Eva.  A hollow opened just beyond the flickering edge of their torchlight.  Eyes gleamed from within.  Eva tightened her grip on her sword.

    They inched forward, hugging the far wall.  Talus’s hooves made scarcely a sound against the stone.

    Eyes turned toward them.  Eva tensed, drawing a deep breath.  Then he appeared.  Barely half her height.  Dirty face.  Wide eyes.  His eyes followed them as they passed, but he never said a word.

    A brood hollow?  The thought had never even occurred to her.  Talus didn’t seem to be surprised at all.

    On they continued until they reached another fork.  But it was already marked.  Talus stared at it for a long moment.  Then they headed right.

    They passed another brood hollow, then a guarded sleeping pit.  Cries rang out, but the goblins made no move to attack.  They only gibbered in fear and cowered in the shadows.

    When they rounded a bend, the tunnel ended at a gate frame.  Eva peered through cautiously.  It was the first glimpse of imposed order.  A room had been hewn from stone as if by a mason, with a platform large enough to hold files of armed creatures.

    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.