Beyond the Valley of Humiliation lay the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Someone at the entrance urged Chris to go back, warning of frightening sounds and deep ditches beside the path. Chris asked whether there was another right road. The person shook his head. So he sat down, tightened his loose shoelaces, and carefully checked his waterskin.
Darkness came quickly. On one side of the road was mud; on the other, a deep opening in the ground. Chris put his sword away and held a wooden staff to test the path. Before each stretch, he tapped the ground ahead. He could not think about the whole valley at once. He could only find the next firm place for his foot.
Wind passed through the caves with thin, strange sounds. Sometimes it seemed like laughter. Sometimes it seemed as though someone were calling his name. “You can never go home,” one voice said. “They won’t wait for you,” said another.
Chris knew those words could not be trusted, but he was still afraid. He tried to remember sentences from the book. The harder he tried, the less he could recall. In the end, all he managed was a very short prayer: “God, help me.”
At a bend in the road, footsteps suddenly sounded ahead. He stopped and heard someone else praying softly. This voice was not mocking him. It brought the breath of another living person into the dark.
“Is someone there?” Chris called.
“Yes. Keep to the firmer ground. Don’t go left,” came the answer. “I’ve just crossed that part. It’s very soft.”
Chris followed the advice and slowly worked around the mud. The traveler ahead walked faster and soon drew away, but his words remained. Chris knew he was not the only one on this road. Someone else was afraid and kept going too.
In the middle of the night, he saw old weapons and fallen stone figures beside a cave. They had once frightened many people. Now they were broken, though signs of old injuries still remained nearby. Chris did not stop to show off his courage or treat them as toys. He avoided their sharp edges and went on.
Near dawn, he was so tired that he sat against a rock and ate his last piece of bread. The distant sky changed from black to gray, then slowly grew paler. As the light reached him, he could see the road he had walked that night. In some places, it had not been as close to the deep opening as he had imagined.
In other places, however, one wrong step really would have meant a fall. He looked at the narrow path, grateful and still shaken.
Footsteps sounded ahead again. This time there was more than a voice. Chris saw a young man carrying a small pack turn to look back from the hillside. The young man waved. “You’re the child who was behind me last night, aren’t you?”
Chris stood and waved too. The morning air was still chilly, but for the first time, the dawn on this stretch of road felt warm.