Chapter VII: The Land of Enchantment

It was not long after this that Amer found his path diverging from that upon which the mother and her child were travelling. For though the direction was always the same for every pilgrim, each individual had her or his own separate path which they had to follow. Sometimes, therefore, it happened that friends would be parted for quite a long time and then would, to their joy, suddenly meet again.

It was with sorrow that Amer found his path diverging from that of his good friends, whose company had been so much valued by him. Iddo wept when she looked upon his retreating figure, for he had been as a brother to her. And indeed her weeping gave a little enemy called Discontent just the opportunity he wanted to worry her. For some days he got such victories over her that her mother began to look grave and sad, as she noticed that her child's shield was growing dull for the want of attention, and the sword lay too often in its scabbard.

"My child," she said, "do you really think that your King settles the path of each of his soldiers? I fear you are doubting this."

"The way seems so dull without Amer," sobbed the girl.

"It is the enemy that speaks, Iddo," said her mother, "and, if you are not careful, another more dangerous will come to the help of Discontent. Once let him get a hold on you and you will find he is a constant annoyance, and it will need all the strength you have to shake him off."

"What is his name, Mother?" asked Iddo.

"His name is Depression. He comes with tears and groans at first and you are inclined to pity him, but, if you harbour him even for a day, he begins to bind you with invisible chains till you suddenly awake to find yourself in his grip."

"Mother, has he ever worried you?"

"Yes, indeed," was her answer, "soon after your father left us for the Radiant City he came and attacked me. And it is because I know what he is that I warn you my child to fight him at once if he ever tries to get the better of you. Cry at once to the King when you catch a sight of him and draw out your sword. Never for a moment talk with him."

"What has Discontent to do with him?" asked Iddo.

"He is one of his scouts. He goes about to see how the land lies, and where he sees a favourable opportunity of Depression getting an entrance, he prepares the way for him. In fact, he is in his pay. Did you not notice how Depression had the poor wounded man in his grip? If ever he sees a man worsted in the fight, he at once joins company with him. I do not know what other enemy had wounded the man we passed, but I know that Depression was standing over him with his poisoned arrows, hoping to kill him."

"Then I must have nothing to do with him," said Iddo, "and I must pray for Amer instead of dreaming about him so much. I shall grow happy praying for him."

And Amer needed the prayers of his little friend and of her mother, for his path now led him through a very dangerous part of his journey; and what made it all the more so for him was the fact, that for the greater part of the way, some of the words of the preacher to the crowd, to whom he had listened, filled his mind.

Amer did not know that the enemy Doubt was walking invisible by his side, suggesting difficulties in the Guide Book, neither did he know that the decision to talk over some of these difficulties with the people he met was also the work of the enemy.

Being of a somewhat speculative turn of mind the matters brought forward by the preacher had interested Amer greatly, and he did not realize that to throw scorn on one part of the Guide Book was to weaken the whole, and to take away much of its helpfulness as a guide. Neither did he know that the Guide Book and sword were so connected that to doubt the one was as good as throwing away the other. He forgot the advice of the Ambassador to cling to his Guide Book, and his warning that to lose it was to lose the battle, and so to lose his soul.

Had he followed the same course as Heman, instead of listening to the opinions of men like himself and to the whispers of the enemy, he would have met him in open warfare, crying to his King all the time for help.

Afterwards, when he looked back upon this sad part of his journey, he remembered how little at this time he was really using the Book as his guide, or studying it as he did at first. His mind was full of speculative questions, and while this was the case he did not study the Book to learn from it truths which would have helped on his spiritual advancement, and have made him strong in case of attack.

His path led him across the land of Achshaph.* It was a land full of danger to the unwary, but thousands of pilgrims had passed through it unscathed, because their armour was bright and their sword in their hand. For those who asked for it, a special guard was sent to take them across; an invisible guard, but a guard that never failed to bring them in safety to the other side; but Amer, instead of a guard, had for his invisible companion the enemy Doubt, and so drew near to the land without fear or much thought.

And when he was once inside its gates, he was enchanted with what he saw.

Green fields besprinkled with flowers of every hue and scent, trees throwing their grateful shade between the hot traveller and the sun, fruit hanging from heavily laden bushes, rivers and fountains refreshing the heated air.

"The land is rightly named," he murmured, "it is indeed the land of Enchantment."

* Enchantment

The first person he met was a man of a very taking personality, who came towards him with extended hand and bright smile. Amer, forgetting that he was in the enemy's country, was only too glad to have him for a companion, specially as he had plenty to say for himself and was able to tell him much about the beauties of Achshaph and of the manners of its inhabitants. His name was Self.

"Stay," he said suddenly, as the lad was steadily making his way along the path at his feet, "stay, you look thoroughly tired and weary with your journey. Here is a mossy bank, sit down and rest awhile."

Amer looked longingly at the cool green bank, but as he hesitated he fancied he heard a voice singing the following words:—

"Soldier, rest, but not for thee
Spreads the world its downy pillow,
On the rock thy couch must be
While around thee chafes the billow:
Thine must be a watchful sleep
Wearier than another's waking,
Such a watch as thou dost keep
Brooks no moment of forsaking.
Sleep as on the battlefield,
Girded—grasping sword and shield;
Those thou can'st not name nor number,
Steal upon thy broken slumber."

With a sigh Amer continued his journey, saying,

"I fear to stay in this enchanting place longer than is necessary, and I have no time to sleep."

But Self, his companion, was not discouraged. He had heard the sigh and had noticed that the Guide Book was being held very loosely in the lad's hand, and was aware that the enemy Doubt could not be far off, for he saw his shadow on the lad's face. Self congratulated himself as he noticed this shadow, knowing full well that the presence of his friend Doubt made his victory the more sure, for the one often prepared the way for the other and were known to be friends.

"At any rate," said Self, "refresh yourself with some of the fruit of the land; you can pluck it as you walk and I assure you it will help you in your course rather than hinder, for you have but to take a mouthful or two and you will feel invigorated."

Amer turned and looked at his companion.

Certainly his face was unusually pleasant and good-natured, surely there could be little harm in following his advice. Might not this pleasant fellow be a friend rather than an enemy?

So Amer stretched out his hand and plucked a golden fruit from off the tree he was passing, and putting it to his lips he was delighted with its taste, and for the moment it seemed to give him fresh strength.

But on lifting his eyes towards the Radiant City he noticed that it was very indistinct. Moreover, though the fruit had seemed to give him a filip for a time, he had not walked far before he became conscious that his footsteps flagged.

Was it his fancy that again he heard the voice singing in the distance?

"Watch, as if on that alone,
Hung the issue of the day,
Pray that help may be sent down,
Watch and pray."

But Self still walked by his side and Amer found him no dull company. They had much to say to one another and many discussions. Sometimes Amer seemed to get the better of him, at other times his companion argued so forcibly that the lad saw matters in his light and acted accordingly, and all the while the Radiant City became more and more indistinct to him; his armour which hung about him was ill kept and his sword grew rusty.

It was after having a long discussion with Self that Amer heard a cry as of pain, and on looking up a glade he saw an elderly man lying prone on the ground, having caught his foot in a root of a tree. His ankle was so sprained that he could not lift himself up, and Amer made a movement as if to go to his aid. But Self plucked him by the sleeve, saying,

"It is almost a pity that you should take the trouble to help him, he is old enough to take care of himself, and should have known better than to have tripped. You have your own business to attend to; besides while you are in Achshaph I want you to see all that is to be seen and to enjoy yourself. Listen! Do you hear that music?"

And suddenly Amer heard the most entrancing music, as down a green path, bordered with flowering shrubs, came a troop of men and maidens playing some kind of wind instrument, which made music such as the lad had never heard before.

"Sit down and listen," suggested Self, and Amer, fascinated and enthralled, obeyed, oblivious of the fact that he had wandered out of the beaten track, which had he followed would have led him to the spot where the fallen man lay, and unconscious that the Radiant City was now out of sight. Resting there under the green trees, soothed and enervated by the entrancing music, Amer almost forgot the journey to the Radiant City, the fight, the dangers of the way, and could think of little save the flowers, the fruit, the music and the beautiful inhabitants of the Land of Enchantment. And all the time that Self clamoured to be heard, filling his outward senses with dreams of delight, grim Doubt stalked invisible by his side, flinging every now and then darts into his mind.

Amer had taken off his helmet and shield, so that the darts, which we small, found easy access, and pierced him though he was scarcely conscious of them; every now and then one sharper than the others would make him start and tremble, but so enamoured was he with his surroundings that instead of rousing himself to don his armour afresh, he would turn the more readily to Self to devise some means by which to make him forget the pain they caused. He was rudely awakened by a rasping voice that he recognised at once as that belonging to Chisleu.

"What now! What now!" he exclaimed, "resting among the roses? Why, friend, you scarcely look like a pilgrim to the Radiant City. Get up with you lad, this is not your home."

"It is no business of yours what I do," said Amer at the suggestion of Temper, who had been watching the lad from a distance, and had been biding his time, and now exulted in his opportunity of worrying his former companion; "if I care to rest on my journey in the land of Achshaph, what is that to you?"

"What is it to me, Sir?" repeated Chisleu, "why it is a great deal to me. We are brothers, and I can't see my brother a prey to the enemy without doing my best to help him. You are young, and do not know the dangers of the land through which we are passing."

"I am well pleased with it for a time," said Amer, "and I beg you will leave me alone."

"That I certainly will not do," said Chisleu with some heat, "leave a brother in the hands of the enemy! That is not my way."

"What's wrong with the land?"

"What's wrong? Why, it is a death trap. I was warned before I entered it of its dangers. Pray, my lad, have you eaten any of its fruits?"

"Yes," said Amer, "and though it was delicious at the time, it leaves an uncomfortable taste in the mouth."

"Ah! just so, just so," said Chisleu, and all the time he was speaking he was perpetually looking down at his feet to make sure that his shoes were still there.

"I can do no good without my shoes," he murmured.

"But," said Amer, "I cannot think what my affairs have to do with you. And, besides, we are not all made alike, what might do you harm need not necessarily hurt me. Every man must judge for himself."

"Every man must go by the Guide Book," answered Chisleu hastily, "we are there told that we are not to lean to our own understanding. And also, young man," he added, "we are told 'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.' You are on dangerous ground my friend."

Amer looked up at the man who was giving him such good advice. His face was red and agitated, but the lad could not but be conscious that a real concern for his welfare was the cause of his excitement. However, Amer was in no mood to listen to him, and the man's excitability and somewhat dictatorial manner irritated him; had Chisleu been calmer and less emotional he would have had far greater influence over the one he longed to help.

"I thank you, Sir, for your interest in me," said Amer coldly, "but I really feel that it is my own concern," and he rose from the ground intending to walk away, but to his vexation he found his foot was entangled, and he could not stir. Seeing that Chisleu had not perceived his difficulty, he hid the fact from him, and the man baffled in his efforts, and sorely tried at the thought of leaving this lad in such danger, walked slowly away, his kind heart full of pity.

"Ah!" he sighed to himself, "how little good I am! If it had been Heman, the boy would have listened. There I am again, telling others of their faults and failures, and all the time I am full of them myself. I am thankful, however, that it was not my shoes this time, and that Temper was disappointed, but I am sadly wanting in wisdom. Poor lad! Poor lad! But, after all, the King knows, and will send some one more worthy than I to his aid."

Directly Chisleu's back was turned Amer began to try to disentangle his foot from the long grass that seemed to have caught it, but looking closer he discovered that a very thin gold chain had wound itself around his ankle; so thin was it that Amer never doubted for a moment that he could break it. But it resisted all his efforts. There it was; a tiny line of gold glittering in the sunshine among the thick grasses.

Provoked that such a small thing should prevent him stirring, Amer looked around him in the hope of finding someone to help him. But no one was in sight. Self, laughing at his discomfiture, was not far off, but did not go to his aid. Amer began to wish then that he had taken the good advice of Chisleu, who would certainly have done all in his power to release him. The lad's sword was lying hidden in the long grass by his side, but he forgot it, and tugged and tugged away at the chain in the hope of breaking it.

At last, being very hot and tired from his efforts, he lay down again to wait the appearance of some one who might help him, and suddenly bethought him of his Guide Book.

When he took it out of his pocket he found that since last reading it several pages had gone. He remembered they had become loose while listening to the preacher to the crowd on the heath, and probably had dropped out during his journey. This distressed him not a little, and the words that met his eyes on opening the book added to his distress, as they seemed to corroborate all that Chisleu had been saying. They were these:

"'There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death. Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness.' 'The simple believeth every word: but the prudent man looketh well to his going.'"

As poor Amer bent over his Guide Book, feeling very sad at heart and beginning to repent of his folly and sin in not obeying the commands of his King, to "'turn not to the right hand nor to the left,'" Doubt was creeping about in the long grass behind him. Feeling a presence near him, Amer turned round sharply, and at last saw the enemy who had been for a time invisible.

"Studying your Guide Book," said Doubt, "why, I thought you had nearly given that up. Don't you remember the preacher, who told you that much that you imagined to be truth is after all only fable? How do you know that the Radiant City to which the Guide Book professes to lead you is not fable too?"

"Begone," cried Amer, "you have done enough mischief already to me. Begone, I say."

"But why this sudden change of front on your part? I thought you were enjoying yourself in this place partly because you were not quite so sure of the truth of your Guide Book. You felt that if the Guide Book was not true you need not walk quite so carefully along the road, and might at least rest and enjoy yourself on the way till you had made up your mind upon the question."

"Begone," cried Amer in distress, "I will have none of you. If you come any nearer you shall taste of my sword."

"Your sword!" laughed the enemy, "It has grown rusty by this time, you would scarcely remember how to wield it. Come, now, let me sit down by your side and talk over this matter."

But by this time Amer, now thoroughly convinced of his folly in having anything whatever to do with the King's enemies, wrenched his sword from its scabbard, and rusty though it was, wielded it to such good effect that for the time Doubt fled. But with the victory over Doubt, came a terrible sense of sin and fear. If the Guide Book was the Word of the Great King, if every word of it was true, if the King knew each act of his servants and even their thoughts, which the Guide Book affirmed, in what a terrible position was Amer!

Ever since he had lingered to listen to the preacher giving out his views as to the supposed unauthenticity of the Guide Book, he had been growing more and more careless; for instead of taking his difficulties straight to the King, he had talked them over rashly with all he met. His Guide Book had lain long unread in his pocket, for the speculations into which he dived did not help him to read it in order to get at the truth, but simply made him eager to hear all men's ideas on the subject, which ideas he imbibed almost unconsciously.

This had resulted in carelessness of walk, and in his present state. It had been carelessness that had made him delay in this beautiful land, and enjoy its delights, because all the while he had had at the back of his mind the thought that possibly the Radiant City might, after all, be a dream. But now that he had put Doubt to flight, and realized his position, he felt in despair. Was the King so merciful that He would have compassion on such an erring traveller as himself? How he envied Chisleu, who notwithstanding his rashness, the mistakes he made, and his trying disposition, was evidently conscious of the love of the King, and so openly devoted to Him.

"It was just because he belonged to the King that he cares for me, and he called me his brother," said Amer to himself.

Amer dared not call to the King. He felt too far off. He could only beat upon his breast and cry, "Lord, be merciful to me a sinner." He felt helpless. His foot was beginning to swell, as in his struggle with the chain, instead of loosening it he had only dragged it tighter. Then he began to cry out loudly, "Have mercy upon me O Lord, have mercy upon me."

Suddenly, in the midst of his anguish, he looked up and saw a familiar figure advancing towards him. It was that of Heman. Amer noticed that his eyes were upraised, and that their expression was one of intense earnestness. He was looking neither to the right nor to the left, for being conscious of the dangers of the place he was obeying the King's command to the letter; "Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyelids look straight before thee." On his brow the radiance from the City of the King was resting. Amer had not seen anything to remind him of the Radiant City ever since he had parted with Belthiah and Iddo, and he now hailed the reminder with a strange feeling of home sickness.

"Heman," he cried, "Heman."

At the words Heman, who had, because of a fear of the fascination of the Land of Enchantment, been holding very close converse with his King, looked round as if awakened from a dream, and saw at his feet the lad whom he had met more than once in the way before.

"Help," cried Amer, all his pride gone, "help, friend. I am in an agony of fear lest my King will not have mercy on me. And see I am still so entangled in this Land of Enchantment—Land of Death I should call it—that I cannot move a step from it."

Then, looking towards the Radiant City and taking hold of the chain with his hand, Heman wrenched it apart and set the lad free.

"Come, my lad," he said, "come," and he began to move away at once. "We must not delay a moment in this Land. It infects those who linger within it with a sleeping sickness that once given way to is almost impossible to combat. Come lad with me and 'let thine eyes look right on and let thine eyelids look straight before thee.' Do you not see how the long grass is waving? Enemies are hiding within it ready to hurl their poisoned darts at you. You are lost if you hesitate. Hold communion with the King as you pass them and they dare not touch you."

"Ah! But have I a King now?" sighed Amer.

"Has He not said, 'Him that cometh to Me I will in nowise cast out.' Can we doubt His mercy? He who died for us."

"Since you have released me from the chain I begin to think that you may have been the answer to my cry. I cried unto the Lord to have mercy upon me."

"And He has heard your cry," said Heman.