The Pilgrim’s Progress IX: Beyond the Palace

The road down.

The morning mist still clung to the skirts of the Delectable Mountains, though the sun had begun to gild the peaks where Christiana and her children stood. Mr. Great-heart, standing a little apart with his sword girded, watched the pilgrims as they gathered their small store of provisions given to them by the Shepherd.

Mercy, ever mindful of the children, checked the youngest, James, and pulled his cloak tighter against the mountain chill.

"The way downward is steep," Great-heart said, his voice grave but steady. "Keep close. The fog hides many pitfalls that the sun has not yet burned away."

Christiana looked back once at the gate of the Palace, where the damsels waved, before turning her face toward the descent. "The Lord has been good to us, Mr. Great-heart. We have been refreshed. But I fear for the children in this wilder country."

"Fear is a companion that travels with us," Great-heart replied, "but it must not be the one who leads the company."

They began the descent. The path, which had seemed clear from the high places, became a tangle of brambles and loose shale. Samuel and Joseph, despite their youth, stepped carefully, their eyes fixed on the heels of their mother.

By midday, the path narrowed until they were forced to walk in single file. They entered a wood where the trees grew so thick they shut out the sky. It was here that the silence of the forest was broken by a low, rhythmic thumping—not of feet, but of something heavy moving through the underbrush.

Mercy gasped and pulled the children toward the center of the group. "What is that?"

Great-heart unsheathed his sword, the steel gleaming even in the dim light. "Stay close," he commanded.

Out of the shadows emerged a figure, neither man nor beast, but a shifting shape that seemed to grow larger as it drew near. It blocked the way, its eyes fixed on Christiana.

"Where do you go?" the creature rasped. "The road ends in the mire. Turn back, for the mother has no business leading children into such dark places."

Christiana felt her knees tremble, but she remembered the counsel she had received. She did not look at the creature, but looked instead to Mr. Great-heart.

"We walk the King’s path," Christiana said, her voice shaking but clear. "If there is mire, He will lead us through it."

The creature laughed, a sound like dry branches breaking. It stepped forward, raising a clawed hand as if to strike, but Great-heart stepped between the mother and the phantom.

"Your breath is foul, and your words are lies," Great-heart said. He did not strike, but held his sword aloft. The blade caught a stray beam of light filtering through the canopy, and the brilliant flash of it caused the creature to recoil. It hissed and backed away into the shadows of the wood, shrinking until it was nothing more than a patch of darkness beneath an old oak.

"It is gone," Great-heart said, sheathing his steel. "But the enemy has many forms. Keep your eyes on the path, not on the trees."

They continued, the children subdued and quiet, until the trees thinned and they broke out into a valley. The air here was heavy and humid. The path had become a track of mud, and the smell of sulfur hung in the low-lying clouds.

"This," said Great-heart, "is the valley where even the brave falter."

Mercy looked at the mud, then at the weary children. "Must we go through?"

"There is no way around," Christiana answered, taking James by the hand. "But look."

She pointed to the far end of the valley. Through the haze, a faint, golden light pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat. It was not the light of the sun, but a steady, guiding flicker that seemed to wait for them.

"The City," whispered Joseph.

"Yes," Christiana said. "And the King’s messengers are surely watching."

They stepped into the mire together, the mother leading her children, and the Guide keeping watch behind, as the first stars began to pierce the twilight above the darkening valley.