Halfway up the hill, Chris found an arbor. There was a bench inside and trees beside it. Words were carved into a wooden post: Weary travelers may rest here. Reading “may rest,” he let out a relieved breath.
He sat down, took off his shoes, and rubbed his feet. Then he brought out the sealed scroll and read it. Its words reminded him of the cross and made him feel safe. The wind moved through the leaves. The bench was cool and flat. As he read, he fell asleep.
When he woke, the sun was already low in the west. Chris sat up suddenly and hurried to put on his shoes. He had stayed too long and was afraid he would not reach a place to spend the night. Before leaving, he checked his bread bag, but forgot to look beneath the bench.
The higher he went, the steeper the road became. Sometimes he walked; sometimes he had to pull himself up by the rocks. Suddenly, two travelers ran down toward him. Their names were Timorous and Mistrust. They said there were lions at the top, that nobody could get past, and that Chris should turn back at once.
Chris wanted to ask where the lions were, but neither stopped. They ran down the hill without even looking at the arbor. Alone on the stone steps, he reached to his chest to take out the scroll and read it again. His hand found nothing.
The scroll was gone.
He searched his pockets twice, then sat on the ground and emptied everything out of his bread bag. Nothing. Wind blew across the empty opening. Suddenly, he remembered the bench and felt both anxious and angry. He even wanted to pretend the scroll did not matter very much. The road was still beneath his feet, after all. Why go back?
But someone had entrusted it to him and asked him to keep it safe. He remembered taking it out to read, and he knew he had not put it away properly. Chris stood up and went down the road he had just climbed.
By the time he reached the arbor, the shadows of the trees were long. The scroll lay under the bench with a leaf resting on it. Chris bent to pick it up and carefully brushed away the dirt. He stood by the post for a while, remembering what Formalist and Hypocrisy had said: If there is an easier road, why not take it?
It turned out that he too wanted to spare himself some trouble. He had even wanted to slip quietly past a mistake he needed to put right.
This time, Chris put the scroll into the pouch close to his body and checked that its opening was tied. He drank some water and began climbing again. His legs still ached, and every stone step was still there. But he no longer had to walk along pretending he had never lost anything.
When he reached the top, only a strip of red light remained in the sky. Lamps shone in the house ahead. From the grass on either side, however, came the low growls of real lions.