by Tracy Higley
~Part II~
And so the long journey began. Over a wheat-waving plain, through dark forests, along churning streams, she followed the knight, and as the days passed, she saw no other people, and they encountered no danger. Later, when she would reflect upon their beginning, she realized that he had given her this special time of peace and security, because he had known that it was what she needed. For in those passing days, the stench of the dungeon did indeed begin to fall away.
And she began to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, she had not been made for the dungeon. As her arms grew tanned and her wasted body grew fit, she began to believe that perhaps she had indeed, as the knight often told her, been made for the sunlight.
She thought often about the dungeon, as they as twisted along the rocky paths and passed under leafy boughs. She remembered the way she had wished for more in the dungeon, always wanting more from life. And she saw how deceived she had been in those days, for she had always sought to find what was missing there in the cells of that prison. She nearly laughed at her foolishness now, seeing now that nothing in that prison could ever satisfy her heart, not when there was all this wide and wondrous world to enjoy.
And she did enjoy it. Oh, how she reveled in the cool springs where they stopped to drink deep, and in the starry nights with warm breezes that caressed her face before she fell asleep. The distant hills and nearby forest creatures, sunsets like fire and music of birdcalls, every bit of it delighted her, entranced her, made her smile.
As they traveled, she began to feel her heart expand. More, more, she breathed. I always knew there was more. I never dreamed it could be like this, but I always knew there was more.
Her knight watched her delight with a delight of his own. He laughed when she teased the rabbits and mimicked the larks. And yet as the days passed, she began to notice a certain bit of sadness, perhaps concern in his eyes.
“I think,” she told him, “that I have no need of the kingdom at all, if the journey is to be this wonderful.”
He said nothing, and she wondered at his silence.
Soon after, the path forked in two, one path leading higher, toward a ridge, and the other remaining flat. Her knight prodded his horse to the left, toward the upward leading path.
She hid her disappointment. The valley was so lovely, and the journey delightful. She did not relish a climb. But she followed.
And they did climb. The path grew steeper, and sometimes rockier. The horses’ feet would occasionally slip, giving her a scare, for the drop to her right was precipitous, and she was unaccustomed to riding.
“I am here,” the knight said often, at just such frightening times, and she found it reassuring, but not completely so.
Something else changed in those days of climbing. She began to see that there were others on the path. Both on this ridge she traveled with the knight, and in the valley below, on the path that mirrored theirs. She knew at once that these were other prisoners the knight had freed, and that they were all traveling together toward the kingdom, and though the realization would perhaps be expected to cause her jealousy, instead it filled her with a great joy to not be the only freed prisoner and adopted kingdom-child, and she longed to meet them, and to talk with them, and share her story with them.
The knight seemed to sense her longing, and said only, “Soon,” with a smile and a nod.
She pointed to the valley below. “And those,” she said, “are they also traveling to the kingdom?”
He nodded once again, and again she saw the hint of sadness in his eyes.
Her horse chose that moment to lose its footing on a rock, and jostle her a bit. “Why could we not also travel the valley instead of making this difficult climb?” she said.
“You could have,” was his only reply.
She thought on those words for quite some time, for she saw now that it had been her choice, and she wondered if she had made the right one. But if she had chosen the valley instead, she would have had to be content with only a far-off view of her knight.
“And,” he said, as if he read her thoughts, “you would not have been given all that I wanted to give you.” He lifted an arm and swept it toward the open sky, and she drew her gaze away from the rocky path long enough to see stunning view she had from the ridge, and to fill her lungs with the freshening air.
“Will they also reach the kingdom?” she said, pointing to those who journeyed the valley path.
“They are children of the king just as you are,” he said, “but they have chosen to find the more that they seek in the valley.”
“It is a lovely valley,” she said, and heard the note of wistfulness that had crept into her voice. Even now she felt drawn to return.
He smiled. “And for such a reason I led you upward, child. The beauty and wonder of this world are vast, and I saw how your heart was drawn to it. But these things have been given only to enhance your joy, not to be its source. You were in danger there, child. In danger of exchanging the greater joy for lesser pleasures. There is indeed more, but you must stay with me to find it.”
But even as he said the words, she saw a smooth path that led away, criss-crossing down the ridge to reach the valley path, and she thought how easy it would be to take this road, to enjoy the lushness of the valley again. She wondered if it would really be so difficult to see the knight from the path below, and while his horse continued on ahead, her own seemed also to feel the weight of choice, and the animal slowed at the fork in the road.
