“And the blind do not see the sun!” he shouted.

I picked up my pace, leaving him behind again.

“He speaks often of this chasm,” Victoria whispered, touching my elbow and giving me a knowing look. “If it was so large, you’d think we’d have no trouble seeing it.”

“We’re getting closer,” Malaiki said. Her voice, so clear and near, was like a splashing stream. “And perhaps soon we’ll see the King!” Her dark eyes searched mine. “Have you ever seen him?”

Seen the King? I didn’t even know there was one.

Malaiki seemed to know instantly why I was silent—she looked disappointed. I felt terrible about having no answer for her, as if I was letting down my own daughter, something I’d had considerable experience at.

Wait a minute. Maybe I had seen the King. Joshua! A wise man, a leader, warm, full of experience and insight and generosity and magnetism. He certainly carried himself with confidence and authority, yes, even nobility.

“Actually, I may have met this king,” I said to Malaiki.

“Tell me about him,” she said.

I didn’t get the chance—a captivating melody sounded in the wind, sung by a strong male voice. We all turned. A man walked toward us on the road, alone.

Was it Joshua? I waved my hand and started to call his name. No—my heart dropped. This stranger was short and homely, roughhewn and weather-beaten. His oversized shirt and pants were stained with dirt and sweat and flecked with what appeared to be sawdust and woodchips. Slung over his shoulder was an old white robe, shed because of the afternoon sun.

Something about the stranger commanded everyone’s attention. No sooner had he joined us than he stepped to the head of the entourage as if he were taking over.

Who does this shabby woodsman think he is?

The rest of the group fell in step beside and behind him, so I followed, cautious but curious.

“What were you discussing?” he asked. He looked over his shoulder, and his deep brown eyes—so dark I couldn’t see the pupils—caught mine. I felt like a third grader called to the front of the class, not knowing how to answer.

“We were talking about … a king,” I muttered.

“And what can you tell me about him?”

“Not much,” I answered. “I may have seen him without knowing it. I’m not sure.”

“Not sure?” the Woodsman repeated. I heard his doubt, his superior smugness, and I hated it.

He led at a fast pace, but we managed to keep up. Grass and stones and trees along the road faded into a dreamlike dimness while the road itself stayed vibrantly red.

“The King,” the Woodsman said, “is the fountain of life.” Just then a clear-running brook sprang up beside the road, bubbling and alive, sparkling in the sunlight.