Walk With Me (9 page)

“We could try this way.” Celeste pointed to the side where a comfortable sandy path led away from the mountain. She remembered her postcard of a couple surfing. “There is no sign saying it
is forbidden, and it looks like it might lead to a beach. I don’t think it would hurt to take a little rest and enjoy the sun and the sea. It would be like our time under the moon of honey.”

Peter would have never agreed to rest before. But he was discovering that what he had observed before he met Celeste was true: it was much more difficult to make the journey with a partner than alone, and he was often very tired at the end of the day. “I always wanted to go to the beach, but the leaders in Upright Village didn’t think it was a wise place to visit.”

“How can there be anything wrong with going to the beach? A little fun never hurt anyone. We’ll just stay for a short while and when we’re ready, we’ll leave.”

“They also warned about the roaring lion who roamed through the King’s country looking for travelers to devour. It favors the lower, sandy regions where travelers haven’t learned to be on guard.”

“A lion.” Celeste shook her head. “Have you ever seen one? I’m sure that was just a folktale they used to scare people from leaving the village. And even if this lion does exist, I’m sure the King would never allow it to run free in His country.”

Peter didn’t want to argue, especially since the sandy path looked so inviting. “You’re probably right, and we could use a little break from our journey.”

As soon as the path turned away from Virtue Peak, it opened onto a broad area of sand dotted with tufts of grass. At first the sand was firm. Sometimes Peter and Celeste heard the distant rumble of waves, though they couldn’t see the ocean. They passed by several trails that split off from the beach path: the Course of
Testing, the Course of Discipline, and the Course of Suffering. Each looked too rocky or climbed right back up toward the Mountains of Maturity. So Peter and Celeste continued their pleasant meander through the soft warm sand. Peter wondered why the leaders of Upright Village had been so adamant about avoiding the beach.

Soon the path gently descended into a section of low mounds of sand. The sun was hot, and they wished for the shady trees they had walked under in the Low Country. Even the forested slopes on the mountains behind them looked appealing. But Peter and Celeste pushed on, sweaty and sticky, drawn by the sound of the ocean that seemed always just around the next dune. They thought of how refreshing it would be to plunge into the cool water and swim in the waves. Finally they came to the beach. A crystal blue sky matched the vast ocean that sparkled in the sun. Seabirds swooped down and scavenged bits of food and dead fish that had washed up.

Other travelers had come to the beach too, walking down the long stretch of soft sand or playing in the surf. Some travelers had assembled shelters with scraps of driftwood to shade themselves from the relentless sun. Peter asked one traveler if the flimsy shack could withstand a storm. The traveler assured Peter he had carefully followed the instructions he had been given by a man wearing a sheepskin of humility.

Peter frowned. He remembered the Servant’s warning about guides disguised as harmless sheep but who really were vicious wolves.

“Well, this shelter is better than getting grilled to a crisp,” the
traveler said. “You’ll soon be building your own.”

“Come on, Peter.” Celeste tugged at his hand. “Let’s go swimming.”

They left their packs on the beach and dashed into the waves. But they didn’t swim for long. The water was so salty, it stung their eyes and pinched their skin. They asked another traveler if there was fresh water near the beach so they could wash off.

The traveler said there wasn’t, but that was for the best. “It’s fine to come and take a rest at the beach. After all, the Sabbath is one of the King’s rules. But I’m only going to stay for a short while and then continue my journey to the King’s City.”

Peter was ready to go back to the path, but Celeste convinced him to stay a few more hours. While they rested on the beach, a powerful wind came driving down the coast and stirred up a sandstorm. They could do nothing but close their eyes and wait. The sand stung their faces and arms and legs, and whipped into their hair. When the wind finally died and they opened their eyes again, the mounds of sand behind them had turned into a field of tall, sharp dunes. There was no sign of a trail to lead them out.

“How are we going to find our way back to the path?” Peter asked.

“Doesn’t matter.” Celeste shook her head, still determined to live her postcard of the couple riding the waves. “We’re at the beach, and that’s all that matters.”

“Except we have no fresh water.”

“Don’t be so negative. You just need to look at this as an adventure.”

It sounded like wishful thinking to Peter, but he was too tired
to say anything. He hoped the wind would shift the dunes during the night and make a clear path for them.

Then Celeste thought of her favorite postcard of the couple gazing at each other. “I know, let’s imagine we’re under the moon of honey again.”

They drank quickly from the chalice and soon fell asleep under the stars, with the sound of the ocean lapping with its endless thirst. When they woke up the next morning, nothing had changed. The wind was still hot, they were still sticky, the dunes were still tall and pathless, and the sand had turned even softer. They wandered around trying to find a way out, but with each step they sunk deep in the sand.

Peter was worried, but Celeste said that sooner or later the wind would blow the dunes away. She decided that if they had to stay in the dunes, she was going to have fun. She climbed one of the dunes as high as she could, then slid down with a whoop. “If you can’t beat them, join them,” Celeste called to Peter. She spent the entire day sliding down one dune after another, never stopping to see how Peter was getting on. If she had, she would have seen he was quite miserable. He was pale-skinned, and without any shade he was getting a punishing sunburn.

The next day Celeste continued playing on the dunes while Peter, now painfully pink, managed to scrounge enough driftwood to build a little shack to shelter them. That night they ate the last biscuits from their packs. “I’m worried about finding more supplies,” Peter said.

Celeste drank the last of the juice they had brought. “I’m sure something will work out.”

As the days went on, their muscles grew weaker in the soft sand until Celeste could no longer climb the dunes. Occasionally they found puddles of brackish water that collected in low spots between the dunes. Although the water was not very refreshing, at least it took the edge off their growing thirst. They also were becoming thin, for their diet of stewed beach grass was not very nourishing. It was impossible to kick pebbles, and Celeste’s throat was too dry for her to sing. Then one day storm clouds massed on the horizon. Some travelers laid out makeshift basins to catch the fresh rainwater the storm would bring. But Peter and Celeste had stayed up late yet again and were sound asleep. By the time they awoke, the brief shower had passed.

“I am so thirsty,” Celeste said.

“You’re the one who wanted to go to the beach.”

“But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“I liked it better when you sang.”

“There’s nothing to sing about.”

“Then I’d appreciate it if you would keep your comments to yourself.”

Celeste turned her back on Peter. “I can complain if I want.”

They went on bickering, thinking only about their own comfort. Sand got under their Cords of Commitment and began to rub at the threads.

There was no gathering hut at the beach, but other travelers sometimes stopped by Peter and Celeste’s shack and told them dreadful stories about travelers who had set up camp in the dunes and had slowly starved. Others had been carried off by the roaring lion and never seen again. Then a traveler warned them that
hurricane season was coming; their shack could not withstand the fierce winds. But Peter was proud of the shack he had built and thought it could survive any storm until one day it started to rain, and the wind began to howl. All day, the rain poured down and streams rushed through the sand. The wind beat relentlessly against their shack. Then with one strong gust, it collapsed.

After the storm died, Peter and Celeste huddled together and looked at what was left of their shelter. Peter stood up, as if waking from a dream. “We can’t stay here; we have to get back on the path to the King’s City. There’s no decent water, no shelter, no solid food. I want to walk again on a firm path of righteousness and peace—and not give up until we get to the King’s City. No matter how painful or difficult, we need to press on.”

Celeste knew Peter was right. The emptiness in her life had begun to remind her of Slouching City. Together they called to the King for help, and the Breath of the King strengthened them as they started tramping through the maze of dunes. The dunes had become so tall, they could see nothing but walls of sand. With their weakened legs, they struggled to make their way. In the distance they could hear the roaring lion growling for prey. When they heard a traveler give an agonizing scream, Celeste became terrified the lion would find them. “We’re never going to get out of here. It’s too hard.”

Peter decided to encourage her with songs from the guidebook, and he sang to the King:

Then he sang:

Peter took Celeste by the hand and pulled her along. Their progress was slow, and a few times they slid back to the bottom of a dune.

“It’s hopeless, Peter. We’ll never get out of here.”

Peter opened up the guidebook again and sang another song to the King:

They started up again, singing the song as they went until together they reached firmer ground. Soon they were back on the
King’s path, with the Mountains of Maturity looming, for their detour along the beach had taken them far south of Virtue Peak. They headed north, and after a few days they came to a boulder-filled path. A guide named Persistence stood by a sign that said, “To Mount Self-Control, Elevation: 16,583 feet.”

“Can you tell us the best way to get around this mountain?” Peter asked.

“I always encourage travelers to go up every peak they come to.”

“The first one we saw looked much too steep,” Peter said, “and this one looks even harder.”

“You’ll find that avoiding the mountains in the beginning will make your journey harder, not easier. I can see you’re still covered with grit from the Sand Dunes of Foolishness. You’re fortunate the roaring lion didn’t get you. Please trust me when I say that while these peaks may look difficult to climb, going up them is superior to all the other ways.”

Peter and Celeste looked doubtful.

“You’re suggesting we go up that?” Celeste said.

Persistence nodded.

“Are you sure?” Peter said. In all his travels, he had never attempted such a difficult path.

“The path doesn’t go straight up,” Persistence said. “The King knows your weakness and has mercy on you.”

“I suppose we could at least try it,” Peter said, not wanting to repeat their disaster in the sand dunes.

So they started up the mountain. Though the path rose steadily, the way was shaded by thick green trees. In the open stretches, bushes were bursting with berries. They finally came to
what they thought was their first peak and stopped for a rest. But it wasn’t a peak at all, just a small hill not even a quarter of the way up. But they could see Slouching City and Echo Gap behind them, and they were encouraged by how far they had come. Ahead, the Mountains of Maturity went on, peak after peak after peak: Self-Control in front, followed by Patient Endurance, Godliness, Kindness, and finally Love.

“It’s daunting to see so many peaks to climb,” Celeste said. “Why can’t we just climb one and be done with it?”