Redemption of Eva

    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.

    Perry’s hands trembled as he knelt before the Cross.  He had almost lost Eva.  The thought filled him with despair.  

    She fingered the silver embroidery of her dress thoughtfully.  Then she slipped a brass mirror from her pocket and studied her reflection.

    “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” Eva whispered. 

    “No, Eva.  Damn it.  Not she.  You.  You’re beautiful.”

    Her steel-gray eyes met his.  They seemed pleased.  Maybe amused.  Her bruises were gone, and her face shone with a quiet grace.  She rose to her feet.  So regal.  So unapproachable.

    “We begin again, Lord Greycloak.”

    “Lady Evadne,” Perry said with a deep bow.  “I am forever your devoted—”

    “Knight,” she finished, interrupting him.

    The reset had restored everything.  Except their memories.  He couldn’t be sure how much she remembered, or how much she had endured to reach him.  And that fang.  It was no dragon tooth, but it was no mere trinket either.  What had she been through?

    Eva gestured toward the oilskin hanging from his belt.  He placed it in her hands.  She walked over to the Cross and sat down among the lilies at its foot.  She patted the ground beside her.

    “Sit,” she said.  She leaned against the coarse, weathered wood and sighed deeply.

    One by one she removed the contents and spread them out before her.  A thick golden ring.  A deed.  Letters.  A tattered ribbon.

    “Did you know that I stole this?”  she asked.  A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.  She gathered her long, luxurious hair and tied it into a ponytail with the ribbon.

    She picked up the deed and studied it closely.  

    “I thought this was what I wanted.”

    Then she read every letter, slowly, carefully.  Hours passed, but Perry didn’t mind.  More than once she returned to an earlier letter and compared it to another.  Her face went through the full range of expressions as she read.  Now angry.  Now sad.  Now amused.  Piece by piece, she seemed to be assembling something only she could see.

    She placed the items back into the pouch one by one until only the ring remained.  She didn’t comment.  Barely even looked at it.  She placed it at the top and closed the pouch.

    She inhaled deeply, savoring the unmistakable fragrance of lilies growing on the hillside around them.  Birds sang for joy.  She gazed lovingly upon the Cross as tears rolled down her cheeks.

    Together they descended into the garden below.  The rich scent of olive wood filled the air.  Her fingers brushed the large stone that had been rolled away.  Then she entered the tomb.  The bed, or rock shelf, where a body should lie was empty.  She turned and left.

    She walked to the cleft in the rock.  The earth had been torn apart by an earthquake, and no bottom was visible.  She tossed the oilskin pouch in.

   “Go to Hell,” she said without a trace of emotion.  She turned away, not bothering to watch it fall.  

    “Come,” she said and started up the hill toward the Narrow Way.

    Perry followed after her.  He extended his hand to her.  She didn’t notice.

     She studied the river.  Wide.  Dark.  A chill hung in the air.  She hadn’t been standing there long when a skiff glided toward the bank.  An old man stood within it, guiding it with a pole.  He was rough and weathered, with a wild gray beard.  His blazing eyes settled on her.  Recognition flashed in them.

    “Haven’t I seen you before?” she asked.

    “No.  That was me brother.”

    You don’t belong here.  The words echoed through her mind in his voice.

    She stepped toward the skiff.  The old man held up a hand.  She stopped.  “You must pay the price,” he said.  “Something dear.”

    Something dear?  She didn’t even know who she was.  How was she supposed to know what she held dear?  She had few options.  She removed the fang from her belt and offered it to him.

   He didn’t move.  Didn’t blink.  Just continued to stare.

    Her sword?  The old man shook his head.

    Her daggers.  She drew one and studied it.  Nothing.  No memories.  She placed it in his hands.  The loss struck her immediately.  Yet he didn’t move.  Didn’t blink.  Just continued that unsettling stare.

    “Both,” he said.

    She drew the second dagger.  Turning it over in her fingers, she studied the ivory-wrapped hilt.  She didn’t want to give it to him. 

    “Why?”

    The old man didn’t answer.  He simply waited.  Without a hint of impatience.

    Her heart sank when she finally surrendered it.  The old man accepted the dagger with a solemn nod.  He tucked both daggers into the folds of his robes.  Then he withdrew a golden coin.  A skull had been stamped on its face.  He pressed it into her palm.

    “What’s this for?” she asked.

    “Return.”

    She stepped into the skiff.  The old man pushed away from the bank without waiting for anyone else.

    “What is this place?”

    “Why am I here?”

    “Do you know?”

    He continued dipping his pole into the dark water.  Silence.  Slowly.  Surely.  They crossed the river.  At the far bank, he stood quietly waiting for her to disembark.

    She caught hold of his robe.

    “Say something,” she demanded.  “Anything.”

   He looked down at her hand.  Then back at her.  Neither of them moved.  Fine.  She could wait in silence too.

    “Very well,” he said at last.  “Past the hungry.  Past them as’ve quit caring.  Across the ice.”  He nodded into the darkness.  “There’s a captive waiting by the stair.”

   “Who is he?”

   “Couldn’t say.”

   Couldn’t say, or wouldn’t say?  She stepped from the skiff onto the desolate shore.  

    “Set him free when you find him.” He pushed the skiff from the shore.

   “Why?”

   “Because he’s your redemption.”

   “What’s that mean?”

    The old man drew his robe tighter around himself.  

    “If I knew that,” he said.  “I’d be somewhere warmer.”

–

    The land beyond the river was desolate.  No trees.  No grass.  No moss.  Cold air bit at her skin.  Colder than the far bank.  Scattered flames flickered across the landscape, giving off no warmth.  The air reeked.  Rotting flesh.  Decay.  And worse odors she couldn’t name.

    She stumbled into something and recoiled.  A figure sat on the bare ground.  It was eating its own arm.  Man or woman?  She couldn’t tell.

    Ahead, a corpse lay on the ground.  Another figure crouched beside it, tearing at the corpse’s stomach, ripping out intestines and devouring them.  She watched in horror.  It began to choke.  Then retch.  Then slump to the ground.

    The other body sprang up, devouring the vomit greedily.  Then it turned on the one who had been feeding on it and began to eat.

    She quickened her pace.  What a terribly gruesome place this was.  She tried to remember why she was here.  There had to be a reason.  A very good reason.  Past the hungry.

    Bodies surrounded her.  Eating.  Being eaten.  Vomiting.  Eating it back up.  One relieved himself.  And then… She hastily turned away.  This she could not watch.

    One of them noticed her.  It rose and began to follow.  Then another.  And another.

    Her hands darted to her sleeves.  Nothing.  Her breath caught.  Then she remembered the sword.  She drew it just as one of the creatures lunged.  She swung.  Awkwardly.  The blade still brought it down.

    The others fell upon it at once, feasting.  She broke into a run.  She didn’t dare look back until they were far behind her.

–

   Bodies lay upon the frozen ground.  Here and there, a faint moan drifted through the gloom.  Past them that quit caring.  She was going the right way.  

    She wasn’t quite as good with the sword as she’d expected.  She studied the fragments of memory she had of herself.  Flashes of whips.  And wings.  And teeth.  A dragon’s head.

    Perhaps she had been better with the daggers she’d given the old man.  Well.  She would never know now.  Perhaps the dragon had taken more than her memories.  Perhaps it had taken her skill as well.  Given time, she might recover both.

    One of the sleepers lifted a hand feebly toward her.  She knelt beside him.  His lips moved.  She leaned closer.

    “I want to leave,” he whispered.

   A golden coin lay beside him.  Return.  That’s what the old man had said.  Charon.  The name surfaced without warning.  She stooped, picked up the coin, and pressed it into the man’s hand.  Then she folded his fingers around it.  She pointed back the way she had come.

    “Give it to the ferryman.  He’ll take you back.” She hesitated.   “And then…”  And then what?  She didn’t know.

   “It’s pointless,” he groaned, letting the coin slip from his grasp.  He closed his eyes and slumped back onto the ground in slumber.

    Sleepers lay scattered before her.  Beside each rested a golden coin.  Never far from reach.  Discarded.  Abandoned.  Somehow this seemed even worse than before.  But at least they weren’t trying to eat her.

–

    When she stepped past the last sleeper, a lake stretched before her, vast and frozen.  Her teeth chattered in the bitter cold.  If only she had a cloak.  A gray cloak.  The thought surfaced from somewhere deep within her.  No memory accompanied it.  Yet the image made her feel warm.

    Maybe the man ahead would have answers.  Her redemption?  She scoffed.  She didn’t need redemption.  Still, he might help her remember.

    A shadow lay beneath the ice.  A body?  She continued on.  Then another shape emerged below the surface.  Definitely a body.  Frozen solid beneath the ice.  At least these wretches had an excuse for not moving.

    Far ahead, stairs rose upward into the darkness, seeming to climb without end.  A shaft of golden light pierced the gloom, spilling down upon her.  She slowed.  It was the first time she could remember seeing light since… Ever.

    A man was shackled to the wall.  He didn’t notice her.  Make a good impression, Vee.   She lifted her chin and strode forward confidently.  Vee?

    She approached.  He looked up.  Their eyes met.  Her heart skipped.  He was strong.  Handsome.  And those eyes… She found herself staring.  Stop acting like a schoolgirl.  The reprimand came unbidden.  Her sisters would never let her live this down.  Sisters?

    He gasped.  Tears began to roll down his face.  Why was he crying?  He had to know she was there to rescue him.  Unless.  She had severely miscalculated how attractive she was.

    “Eva,” he whispered.  “Oh Eva.  Tell me what they’ve done.”

    Eva.  Memories flooded her.  Fragments.  Nothing matched.  Nothing made sense.  But the name fit.  Eva.  Eva the…

   “Brave!” she exclaimed.  A glamorous woman had called her that.  She held up the fang for him to see.  He was safe now.  She would take care of him.

    “Eva the Dragon-Slayer!” she declared, her heart swelling with pride.

–

    Thunder rolled behind her.  She turned.  A chimera stood before her.  Lion’s face.  Wings.  Scales.  She hoped her fighting skills came back better than her memories had.

    She dropped into a fighting stance, leveling the sword toward it.  The chimera stepped forward and casually swatted the weapon from her grasp.  Her stomach sank.  She backed away slowly.  That’s when she saw it.  The source of the thunder.

   It towered above her.  Above the chimera.  A crimson dragon.  Its head rose nearly to the heights of the cavern.  Vast wings stretched across the frozen lake.  Wicked claws, longer than her arms, gleamed in the pale light.

    “Kill her.”  The voice echoed through the cavern.  The chimera hesitated.  He looked ready to obey.  Then he took a step away from her.

    The dragon’s claws closed around him.  Then they slammed him against the wall.  A sickening crunch echoed through the cavern.  Bones shattered.  The chimera crumpled to the ground.

    There was a flash of pain.  Blinding.  She looked down. A claw impaled her stomach.  The dragon held her suspended for a moment.  Then he pulled his claw free and dropped her to the ice.

–

    Eva felt the life slipping from her.  She was so cold.  Her life had been so short.  She had only just learned her own name.  And the man… Who was he?  He wore a gray cloak.  And he loved her.  She knew it.  Somehow, she knew it.  But it brought her no comfort.

    Memories drifted through her mind.  Fragments.  Disconnected.  Meaningless.  None of them brought comfort.  Eva.  The Cross.

    Lilies.  An old rugged cross.  Stained with blood.  The Prince hung upon it.  Bruised.  Beaten.  Naked.  Scarcely recognizable as a man.

   It was all for her.  She was Eva. The Beloved.  She remembered nail-scarred hands washing her feet.  And the man.  The man watched Him.  Learning.

    She let go.  The light carried her away.

***

    Perry clenched his fist around the lapis-lazuli ring as righteous fury filled him.  Golden light enveloped him.  The shackles fell from his wrists.  Apollyon lay crumpled against the wall.

    Too late.  Eva gasped as the dragon impaled her on a claw and dropped her to the ice.  Then he lifted a talon and swung it down toward her.

    Perry stepped between them and raised his fist.  The dragon’s talon recoiled.  Light flooded the cavern.  Wings beat overhead.  Archangels at his call.  Legions of angels to do his bidding.

    Malice burned in the dragon’s eyes.  Flames flickered between his teeth.  Perry lowered his fist.

    “The King rebuke you.”   Perry barely raised his voice.  The light became blinding.  The dragon fled.

–

    Perry fell to his knees beside Eva.

   “Eva.  Eva, dearest,” he whispered.

   Her eyes were milky.  Glazed over.  

   “The Cross, Eva.  Remember the Cross.”

    Perry closed his eyes and pictured the Prince.  And the Cross.  When he opened them again, he was kneeling before the Cross.

    Eva knelt beside him.

    She awoke on the banks of a luminous river.  Moonlight seemed to flow through its waters, giving them a pale, milky glow.  The river wound downward to a vast sea, still as glass.  Where the two met, the water shimmered softly.

    She wasn’t sure where she was.  She wasn’t even sure who she was.  She searched for memories.  There were none.

    She felt her breasts, then her stomach, and finally her hips.  She was fit and had a fine figure.  No doubt men found her desirable.  Perhaps even attractive.  She smiled.

    But her clothes told a different story.  She was dressed sharply, an officer of high rank.  The sword at her side spoke of authority. And her hair… it was cut short.  The sort of haircut worn by a woman who had no need of a man’s approval.

    Fragments flashed through her mind.  Fighting.  Scales.  Something vast.  Her hand drifted to her belt.  A great tooth hung there.  A trophy.  From the jaws of a…  Nothing came.

    Tucked beside the tooth were two daggers.  Bloodied, but still razor sharp.  Ivory decorated the handles, worn smooth with age. She drew one of them.  It felt right.

    She wasn’t one to stand around waiting for things to happen to her.  How did she know that?  Didn’t matter.  She set off.  A marsh stretched before her.  Moss hung from tall trees draped in leaves.  Her boots sank into the mud.  Stars twinkled overhead, but something felt wrong.  The sky seemed too close.  Far above, a ceiling arched over everything.

    She settled into a steady pace, though every step sent aches through her body.  Probably from her battle with… Whatever it had been.  A headache throbbed behind her eyes.  She must have struck her head in the fight.  Hopefully the answers lay ahead.

    The going was slow.  She had nothing to navigate by.  Then she stopped.  An impression nearly three feet across had sunk deep into the mud.  A footprint.  Oval in shape.  Four toes.  Another lay ahead.  And another.  And another.  They stretched across the swamp.  Made by a creature of unimaginable size.  A furrow accompanied them, nearly as wide as the footprints themselves.  A tail.

    It was reckless, but curiosity gripped her.  She had to follow.  The creature’s stride was staggering, yet it seemed to be in no hurry.  The tracks led to a thicket in the distance.

    As she rounded the thicket, it came into view.  She stopped. Its body was the size of a warship, supported by pillar-like legs.  A tail like a cedar tree swept behind it.  Its neck rose above the canopy, reaching the tops of the tallest trees.  She whistled in amazement.  Muscles rippled beneath its smooth hide.  And it was eating leaves.

    She couldn’t take her eyes from it.  Hippopotamus?  She wasn’t sure why, but the name amused her.  It felt exactly right and completely wrong at the same time.

    It lowered its head until it was level with hers.  Despite the creature’s size, its head was scarcely larger than her own.  Its eyes glistened softly.  Gently.  A leafy branch fell to the ground.  She bent slowly and deliberately, picked it up, and offered it in open palms.  It took the branch carefully between its broad teeth.  Not even the tips brushed her skin.  It chewed contentedly, never taking its eyes from hers.

    “You don’t belong here any more than I do.  Do you?”  The creature trilled softly.  She reached out and let her fingers brush its skin.  Cool.  Smooth.  It lowered its head and nestled against her hand.

    “I wish you could talk.”  She scratched beneath his jaw.  “Then you could tell me which way to go.”

    Understanding seemed to gleam in his eyes.  He swung his neck away from her and stretched it outward, as though pointing.  Then he nodded twice.  

   “Thank you,” she said softly.  Then she added, “Friend.”

    He let out a soft bellow.  The sound drifted across the swamp like the song of a whale.  Then he turned his attention back to the treetops.

    She headed in the direction her new friend had indicated.  Before long, she reached another river.  Wide.  Dark.  

    It was as dark as the river behind her had been luminous.

    Perry picked his way forward cautiously.  The ground ahead bore the scars of an epic battle.  Mighty rocks had been sundered, and wicked iron javelins lay scattered across the earth.

   Something slammed into him and sent him sprawling.  Pain exploded through his shoulder.  His arm went numb.  Perry clutched at the wound.  His hand came away bloody.

    Eva.  Must protect Eva.

   He tried to stand.  Nausea overwhelmed him.  He collapsed back to the ground.  Eva had already dropped into a fighting stance, daggers in hand.  The daggers he’d waited so long to see.

   Out of the gloom stepped Apollyon.  Face of a lion.  Arms and legs of a bear.  Wings of a dragon.  Proud scales.  Smoke curled from his flanks.  His eyes glowed.  Eva was already charging toward him.  She barely reached his thighs.

     Admiration mingled with his dread.  This woman needed no protection.  But this?  This was reckless.

    “Eva, run,” he gasped.  The edges of his vision blurred.  A mighty roar shook him from the haze.  He thumbed the ring on his right hand and struggled to stand.  Just stand up.  A horrible thud.

    His teeth chattered, sweat drenching him.  Just stand up.  End this.  Then you can rest.

    Apollyon towered over him.  He bent, lifted Perry as easily as a child, draped him over one shoulder, then turned and walked away.

    Relief flooded him.  Away from Eva.  She would be safe.  He desperately hoped she wasn’t badly hurt.  She would live.  She would place her invitation into the King’s hand.  The Author had promised.  That was enough.

    Ahead lay an abyss.  A bottomless pit flickering with an orange glow.  Specters drifted through the rising smoke.

   Apollyon leaped.  Perry clutched to Apollyon’s mane, bracing himself.  Apollyon landed on a rocky outcropping with surprising grace.  Perry barely felt the impact.  He turned and leaped again.

    Bridges spanned the canyons.  Campfires dotted the heights, surrounded by goblin legions.  At the sight of Apollyon, they scattered, shrieking in terror.  The drakes circling overhead paid them no attention.

    Again, Apollyon leaped.  And they fell.  And fell.  The air grew suffocating as the orange glow brightened below.  Then it began to fade.  Apollyon spread his mighty wings.  They drifted past a splendid city of shadows built upon a rocky plateau.  Of course.  He knew the Author well enough.  Pandemonium.

    A river stretched before them.  A beast larger than any Perry had ever seen craned its long neck to watch them pass.  Behemoth. He studied it closely.  Its skin was smooth.  Its tail was long and powerful, like a mighty tree.  Its head seemed surprisingly small.  Gentle, even.  The Author would want a detailed account.  Assuming he survived the ordeal.

    Apollyon landed on the far side of the river and set Perry on his feet.  Dizziness washed over him.  He staggered and nearly fell.  The wound in his shoulder had stopped bleeding.  The flaming dart seemed to have cauterized it.

    He turned to face Apollyon, one fist clenched, his other arm hanging limp at his side.  The deep-blue gemstone inlaid in his ring felt cool and comforting against his palm.  No.  This wasn’t what the Author had given it to him for.  

    “Why have you brought me here?” he demanded.

    Apollyon’s burning eyes fixed on him.  He offered no reply.  Instead, he raised an outstretched claw and pointed.

    “Walk,” he said at last.

    Scattered flames rose from the barren landscape, doing little to warm the chill.  Wretches missing great chunks of flesh crawled away from them in haste.  One stopped abruptly.  It began retching violently, its body convulsing.

    The temperature continued to drop as they walked.  Something glinted on the ground.  A golden coin.  Lost?  No. Another lay further ahead.  And another.  They were strewn across the landscape.  Abandoned.

    Corpses lay beside the coins.  No.  Not corpses.  One moved, just slightly.  One moaned softly.  They made no move to flee.  Apollyon stepped carefully over one.  Perry walked around her.

    “Save me,” she whispered, barely glancing at Perry.  Then she closed her eyes and rested her head back against the ground.

    The air grew bitterly cold.  Perry shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.  Apollyon was shrouded in steam.  Ahead stretched a vast lake, frozen solid.  Apollyon stepped onto it without hesitation.  The ice held beneath his weight.  Perry followed.

    Occasionally, Perry caught sight of bodies entombed beneath the ice, frozen in poses of terror.  He lost track of time.  He simply kept walking, Apollyon matching his pace.

    At last, they reached the far side.  Shackles hung from chains fixed to the wall beside an entrance to a cavern of immense scale.  A spiral staircase wound upward without end.  Far above, golden light pierced the darkness.

    Apollyon fell on his face, trembling. 

    “Great Lord of the Dark,” he called.  “Your servant, Apollyon.”

   Nothing stirred.  Apollyon’s breathing came ragged and uneven.

    A golden eye opened in the darkness.  It glowed like a furnace.  Then the head of a dragon emerged.  Perry gasped.

    Majestic horns rose above its head.  Teeth like swords gleamed in the darkness.  Smoke curled from its nostrils.  Apollyon seemed but a child by comparison.

    But that wasn’t what surprised Perry.  It was beautiful.  Unfathomably beautiful.  The distant light from above shimmered across its crimson scales in waves of rainbow color.  Terrifying beauty.  Panic-inducing beauty.

    “Why have you come, Lord Apollyon?”  His voice rolled across the land like deep thunder.  Then his attention settled on Perry.

    A claw emerged from the shadows.  It was nearly as long as Perry was tall.  The point drifted toward him and stopped inches beneath his chin.

    “Ah,” the dragon said.  “Never have I met someone quite so brave.”  His eyes burned with a terrible amusement.  “And yet…” The golden eyes narrowed.  “I can smell your fear.  Held tight.  Buried deep.”

    The dragon turned his attention back to Apollyon.  “Rise.”  Then he fell silent and waited. 

    Apollyon stood.  Forcing himself to meet the dragon’s gaze.

   “Peregrine Greycloak, my Lord.”  Apollyon swallowed.   “A gift from the Dread Lord Beelzebub.”

    Flames flickered between the dragon’s teeth.

   “What use have I for him?”

    “Not him, my Lord,” Apollyon replied.  “But who he will draw.  And the changes it will bring about…” Apollyon straightened.  His chest swelled with pride.  “In Mansoul.”

   Terror gripped Perry.  No.  Not Eva.  Please.  No.

    “Well done, Lord Apollyon.”  And with that, he disappeared back into the darkness.

–

    Days passed.  Or perhaps weeks.  Perry could no longer tell.  The gloom never lifted.  The cold never relented.  He drifted in and out of consciousness, slumped against his shackles.  His dreams haunted him.  Whenever despair threatened to overwhelm him, he lifted his gaze toward the golden light far above and prayed.

    The ring beckoned to him.  No.

    Not.

    What.

    The.

    Author.

    Intended.

    It.

    For.

   Yes collided with No, creating friction inside him.

    At times the dragon would appear, and whisper lies to him about Eva.  About how she’d been burned, crushed, corrupted.  He shut his ears.  He would not listen.

   The Interpreter’s words returned to him.  Are you willing to lay down everything for her, as the Prince did his Bride?

    Yes.  He loved her.  With all his heart.  It was the first time he had allowed himself to admit it.  The thought of dying didn’t frighten him.  Not if Eva was safe.  He had to be patient.  Trust the Author.

   Perry woke from a troubled dream.  In the distance, a lone figure crossed the frozen lake.  He walked with a swagger, glancing this way and that as he approached.  Fine clothes and a sword hung at his side.

    No.  Not he.  It was a woman.  Her hips swayed slightly as she approached.  Her hair was cut short, hanging in uneven strands.  Her face was bruised.  

    “I’m here to rescue you,” she said simply.

    Horror gripped Perry when her steel-gray eyes met his.  There was no recognition in them.  Only a blank, vacant stare.

    “Eva, dearest.”  Tears spilled down his cheeks.  “What have they done to you?”

    Something flickered across her face.  A struggle.  As though she were trying to remember.

    “Yes,” she said, realization crossing her face.  “That’s who I am.”  She beamed.  “Eva.  Eva the Brave.”  She held up a fang the size of a dagger.   “Eva the Dragon-Slayer!”
    A low rumble came from the dragon’s lair.  It grew louder.  And louder.  Until thunderous laughter rolled through the cavern.