33. Chapter 33 #2
She lay on her back, lightheaded from the exertion.
The stars twinkled at her, mocking her pain with their brilliance.
She wondered if the night sky was shared by both realms. And as if that thought was the gateway, other useless ones rushed in, pestering and filling the crevices of her exhausted mind.
They clawed their way out of the deep recesses of her mind as if they had sensed she was too drained to keep them at bay.
Was her brother looking up at the sky now?
Was her mom alone? What about her dad? Did she have one?
Each question splintered her armor like cracks in porcelain, reparable, but never the same, always threatening a greater break.
She had so many cracks now, she wondered when it would finally fall apart, but it couldn’t be now. She had to make it to the end.
Her feet were in bad shape, having been cut by the cliff’s sharp rocks; they bled in a constant stream, but none of the cuts were deep enough to be concerning.
She lay there long enough that she ceased hearing the shuffling from other Fae who recovered faster than her.
A tall, dark forest cut the night sky in half, and wooden arrows marked the way to the next hurdle.
It was quiet, and her gaze never stayed in one spot for long, but nothing jumped out from the darkness.
The ground sloped upwards, and she found herself at a cliffside, a gentle breeze caressing her cheeks and blowing a few loose strands in front of her eyes.
Something like a zip line was erected at the edge, but there was no harness.
She approached the sign on the post, reading, Congratulations. Jump into your new beginning.
In the distance, a lake’s still waters glistened nearly black under the moon’s faint light. Yareli cursed. She wasn’t a strong swimmer; she remembered as much while drowning in her lake of memories.
“Terrifying, isn’t it?”
She jumped as a Fae walked into view from the tree line. She hadn’t seen or heard another living soul on her way up and had assumed everyone had already jumped.
“Haven’t jumped yet?” Yareli asked.
The Fae shook her head, shame coloring her dark skin a deep red. “No. Truth be told, my sole flaw is my fear of heights.”
“Can’t say I’m a big fan either.”
“But you’re going to jump.”
“Yeah,” Yareli agreed, surprised at the certainty that accompanied her response.
She hadn’t thought that far yet. Actually, she had been thinking of everything that could go wrong if she jumped—the line breaking, strong currents taking her farther out from shore, everything really—but she hadn’t hesitated in her answer.
The Fae took a step closer to the cliff side, her dark braid whipping in the wind, saying softly, “I’m not sure I can.”
“You made it this far.”
“Why are you here?” she replied, ignoring Yareli’s previous statement.
The words left her mouth in an instant. “I’m here to prove a point—to myself and to others.”
“Most are. It’s what this is—a test of our resolve to move forward in the competition.”
Yareli looked up at the moon, which seemed to shine brighter as if waiting for her answer.
Was her resolve fueled by pettiness? Would it be enough to get her through the rest of the challenges?
No, it wasn’t all pettiness. Sure, she wanted to tell Allyah to shove it, but a part of her wanted to succeed for herself.
To prove she could do it. If she could get through this with her own strength, then there was nothing she couldn’t do, right?
After a moment of silence, the Fae spoke again.
“Ten years ago, my girlfriend participated. She didn’t make it.
We knew it was a possibility—death, that is—but we believed the worst-case scenario was a few weeks of medical leave.
When”—her voice hitched on the word, the pain in her words made it clear she still grieved—“she didn’t…
when she died, a part of me didn’t comprehend what went wrong.
So, I earned the right to participate this time, and now I understand. It’s brutal.”
She turned around, lifting a foot high enough to show that her foot was as mangled as Yareli’s.
“And I’m scared. I’m scared of surviving when she didn’t.”
Yareli gave her a sympathetic look, understanding driving her to speak honestly. “You can quit now, so why are you still here?”
“Because I’m prideful. If I give up now, I’ll be—”
“Pathetic.”
She nodded. “Pathetic, and it will be decades before I’m granted another chance.”
Yareli walked toward the zip line. “I understand your hesitation, but don’t you think you’re hiding the real reason? Isn’t it actually because you’re scared of failing?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m ready to die for this.”
“Then, why do you hesitate and cast blame on your late girlfriend’s failure?” Yareli stopped in front of the wooden platform. “Because I’m sure your girlfriend would want you to succeed where she hadn’t.”
“You think so?”
Yareli turned to look at her, taking in her dainty features sharpened by the dark shadows cast by the moonlight.
Desperation radiated from her—from the way she held her tense body, to the guilt in her eyes, to the desire to be freed from the ghost of her dead beloved.
She wanted to be told it was okay. So, Yareli did.
“I know she would.”
With those last words, she stepped onto the platform and watched as a thick rope materialized in front of her.
She almost laughed; braided into the rope were spikes that reminded her of a rose’s stem.
The message was clear: In order to move forward, choose pain, sacrifice.
Yareli grabbed the rope, careful to avoid any spikes, and pulled it closer to her.
There was a plank of wood at the bottom for her feet.
It was like a swing kids would use to jump into a lake.
Oh. There was the chance of failure, but that was always the case.
It would be painful, but she had survived Tuom, and no pain could compare to what she had already endured, so she hopped onto the rope, swearing as the spikes drove into her flesh, but she held on tight, eyes closed.
It lasted both an eternity and not. In all but a few moments, Yareli found herself readying herself to let go. Right before she reached the middle of the lake, she dropped.