Chapter 36 Standing at the Top of the World #2
Their whining got louder, but they reluctantly did as she said, and Aurora was relieved when they were out of her sight and on their way to the palace.
The sled seemed to realize then that it was no longer attached to the wolves, and it started jumping beneath her in excitement.
Aurora checked her knots to ensure they hadn’t come loose, then readjusted her grip on the front rails, trying to remain calm.
A sled that could only move vertically. Caspian had said it put anything it carried at risk of falling, and she hoped that the ropes were strong enough to hold her.
The sled launched itself toward the peak, and to Aurora’s great horror, it began climbing with terrifying speed.
They slid upward over the stone as easily as if they were on a steep downhill slope in fresh snow, and Aurora forced her eyes shut.
Her back pressed hard against her ropes, and she strained to keep her hold on the front, her entire body aching.
She was fully perpendicular to the ground, and as the sled climbed higher and higher, Aurora began to feel light-headed.
“No,” she said out loud, not wanting to consider what would happen to her if she lost consciousness.
She needed to be present, force herself to stay awake, and so she recited the wedding vows she had made to Caspian as the rails of the sled scraped against the stone, the sound too sharp.
The mirror shifted beneath her, and Aurora gasped, fighting the urge to look behind her, trying her best to trust the ropes, the only thing between her and an unthinkable fall.
“I will carry you with the strength of the mountain and keep your soul tucked close to mine.” She whispered it over and over again, voice shaking, palms sweating.
The ropes dug into her back, pulling tighter around her until one of them snapped entirely.
Aurora screamed, jolting backward, but the rest of the ropes held, and she wrapped her forearms around the front of the sled, terrified.
The sled slowed as they got higher, and Aurora kept her eyes shut, not wanting to see if they began to drop, if the climb had become too much for the sled.
The scraping against the rock face sounded like screaming, and Aurora’s breaths were too shallow, the air so much thinner. Her fear so much stronger.
Then finally, finally, the sled had nowhere else to climb, and it clambered onto the top of the peak with an unceremonious thud as if it was exhausted from the journey.
“That’s good,” Aurora said, forcing the words out between inhales. “You take a nap while I work.”
After some struggling, Aurora freed herself from the ropes, then tied the sled around a large rock just in case it tried to escape. Then, with all her strength, she pushed the mirror off of the wood, unwrapped it, and heaved it onto its side against the boulder.
She bent over at the waist, trying to catch her breath. She felt dizzy so high up, her head aching, her inhales sharp and strained. When she felt as though she could stand upright without fainting, she took in her surroundings.
The darkness seemed to go on forever, stretching beyond the confines of her imagination.
Aurora had never beheld such beauty, and she suspected that she never would again.
She turned in a circle, taking in the vast night sky, the millions of stars.
It was the smallest she had ever felt, and also the biggest, and her chest ached with the majesty of it.
As she stood on the top of the world, looking out into the infinite space surrounding her, she was at peace.
She watched a falling star as it slid across the dark, so close she thought she might catch it, and she reached her hand into the sky.
But it continued on, and Aurora laughed, so overwhelmed by it all.
No one in Reverie had ever seen beyond their mountain, and now she was standing at the very top, marveling at the absolute miracle of life and her incredible fortune to be living it.
Aurora walked along the edge of the peak, looking down toward the castle, waiting for Ina to place her mirror. She rubbed her hands together for warmth and tried to keep moving, and when she finally saw a faint glimmer below, she breathed out in relief.
The light got brighter and brighter until Aurora was certain it was the mirror at the castle, and she went to her own mirror and started to lug it into place.
She began to sweat as the mirror sank into the snow, but she pulled as hard as she could, and when she finally made it to the right spot, she anchored the base between heavy stones so that the mirror stood tall over Reverie, adjusting the angle until a perfect reflection of the statue sat in the center of the glass.
It wasn’t as big as she’d hoped, given the distance between the mirrors, but it was clear and undeniably the Sun and her Starmaker.
Aurora stepped aside, and the reflection went out into the endless night, over the peaks, where the Sun would soon be able to see it.
Aurora inhaled shakily, amazed she had actually done it.
The Sun could not see into Reverie, but now she did not have to.
Aurora had brought the image to her, an exact replica of the Sun in her human form with the man she had loved.
Aurora could feel a healing taking place inside of her, a deep understanding that helping the Sun to remember wasn’t solely for the survival of her home. It was also a tribute to Caspian and the first Starmaker and Aurora’s parents and every other love story that the mountain had ever held.
She sat down on the sled and wrapped her cloak around her torso as tight as it would go, then piled the blankets on top of her lap.
She pulled up her hood, and the endless night began to fade to a hazy blue—the Sun was back on this side of the world.
Under a veil of a million stars, Aurora spoke to her.
“I want to tell you a story,” she said, her voice carrying out into the emptiness of space. The distance between them was so vast, but somehow, the Sun ensured that they had a connection through it all, and Aurora was grateful.
She was so grateful.
“There once was a village so far north that most considered it the top of the world,” she began, and as she looked off into infinity, she recounted the tale of how the Sun and the Starmaker had fallen in love.