The next day, Chris set out again. The Interpreter gave him bread and made sure he had eaten enough before he left. Walls stood on either side of the road. On them was a name: Salvation. His bundle brushed against the stones with a rough, scraping sound.
The road climbed gently. Halfway up the hill, Chris saw a cross. A little farther down was a tomb. He stopped and looked up at the two pieces of wood joined together. The wind made a soft sound as it passed them.
He remembered the Savior Jesus, whom he had read about in the old book. The book said that Jesus came among people who were suffering and people who had done wrong. He loved them and bore suffering for them, even to death. When Chris first read those words, he was so desperate to find a way to save his family that many of them had simply slipped past. Now he finally stopped and read them carefully again.
“I need your help too,” he said. “I’ve kept trying to undo this knot by myself.”
He remembered his sister lowering her head when she was scolded, and the child everyone had laughed at. This time, he made no excuses for himself. Tears fell onto the back of his hand, but he did not rush to wipe them away.
Suddenly, something loosened at his shoulder. Chris thought he was losing his balance and quickly caught hold of the wall. Then the ropes really did slip from his shoulders. The great bundle fell to the ground, rolled down the slope, and tumbled into the tomb.
He waited a long time. The bundle did not come back.
Chris tried standing straight and took a deep breath. He could straighten his back now. He no longer had to look at the ground with every step. He smiled, then cried again, unable to tell which had come first.
Three shining messengers came to him. The first said that the sins he had honestly admitted were forgiven. The second took off his old clothes and dressed him in clean ones. They were still plain brown clothes, but the sleeves fitted him now. When he bent his arms, the fabric no longer pulled across his back.
The third left a mark on his forehead and gave him a sealed scroll. “This is not a prize you have earned,” the messenger said. “It reminds you that you have been welcomed. Read it on the road, and keep it safe.”
Chris also received a small key. It looked ordinary, but felt warm in his palm. The messenger told him its name was Promise. “When you wonder whether you may still ask for help, remember that the Savior will not abandon anyone who sincerely turns to him.” Chris put the key in a small pouch close to his body.
“What about my family?” he asked quickly. “Can they come here too?”
“They can follow this road as well. You cannot knock for them, but you can tell them where the gate is.”
When the messengers had gone, Chris sat beside the cross for a while. He put the parchment he had carried out of the city and the new scroll in separate places. One showed him the road. The other reminded him that he had been welcomed. He wanted to run back and tell his sister, to pour out all the good news at once.
But there was still a long road ahead. He took out his bread and ate, keeping half for later. When he stood up, he could not help giving a little jump. He landed lightly. The weight on his back no longer dragged him down.
