Eldy’s eyes stare straight ahead. “I’m going up the mountain.”
The guard places a hand behind her head. “Well, if you’re together, then I suppose that fulfills the High Prince’s request.”
We leave the keep behind, shuffling forward. Florendel is huge, but I know the way. Distantly, I think about how I rode up to the monastery on an ibex. But that doesn’t seem necessary now. I’ll crawl to the top if I have to.
“Hurry, Rose! We’re waiting!” a different voice calls to me.
Papa! It’s Papa! He’s better! He must have decided to surprise me.
I can’t wait to get to the top of the mountain to see him.
I want to move faster, but my legs seem in their own determined rhythm, one step in front of the other. My friends are still with me, equally excited.
We start upon the trek leading up the mountainside. Within a few minutes, my lungs feel on fire and my legs are sore. I’m wearing slippers and a dress with two petticoats. Silly clothing for trekking up the mountain, but there was no time to change.
Far, far ahead, I see the silhouette of two people waving at me. It is Papa! I can tell by his height, the width of his shoulders, the curve of his face. He has his arm around a woman.
“Hurry, Rosalina,” she calls. “We will finally meet. But you must come to the top of the mountain.”
“Mother?” I whisper. “Mom, is that you?”
Excitement bubbles in my chest. Now, I truly want to go faster. Nevertheless, I can’t get my legs to change pace. And actually, I could use a moment to catch my breath. I realize now I’m heaving and sweating, the trek strenuous. But my feet won’t stop. Beside me, Marigold’s face is bright red, and Astrid’s white hair is plastered to her forehead. Eldy’s panting.
We should take a break, I think.
“Up the mountain,” my mother growls. She’s so far away, just a silhouette on the horizon, and yet I hear her voice roaring in my ears.
All right. Up the mountain.
Up the mountain.
We trek further up until Florendel looks like a collection of dollhouses below. The monastery looms at the peak like an impossible goal. But not impossible because I won’t stop until I reach the top. Beside us, the river that carves down the mountainside roars with white water.
Water.
Water is important. I’m thirsty. Water is important because I drink it.
Yet, it is important for another reason as well.
I think it’s because—
“You’re almost there!” my father cries. I don’t see him, but that’s because he’s at the top of the mountain. And we’re almost there.
The sun shifts on the horizon. I don’t know how long we’ve been walking. Minutes, hours, days, forever. My body feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself. There’s blood oozing through my slippers from where rocks have dug through the thin fabric. But we’re almost there. The monastery is up ahead.
But we’re not going to the monastery. We’re going up the mountain.
Astrid’s a few steps away from us. She turns, a huge smile on her tear-streaked face. I can barely hear her voice over the roar of the river so close. Wind howls, and I think I’m cold. We’re so far up, there’s no more ‘up’ to go. “Up the mountain!” she exclaims.
Now, she’s moving faster than the rest of us. How does she get to do that? She’s walking straight ahead. But there’s no more path to trek. No more up.
There’s only off.
Watch out for the cliffside, I try to yell. But Astrid doesn’t seem to care. She’s heading straight for it.
And now Marigold and Eldy are heading that way, too. Eldy brushes past me. I can’t seem to move my arm, but somehow, I hook my finger around his shirt and tug.
He looks back at me. “Up the mountain,” he says sternly.
This is what we’re supposed to be doing. Yes, yes, I must go with them…
“Come on, Rosie, darling, I’ve been waiting ever so long.” The woman’s voice. My mother’s voice. She’s standing with my father at the very edge of the cliffside, right where Astrid’s heading. Beautiful stardrops dance beneath her feet. Her body is a dark shadow, hidden by the beaming sun behind her. “All you have to do is follow.”
And then she and my father turn to each other, clasp hands, and step off the edge. A cluster of white flowers sways with their movement, the pollen breezing toward me.
It must be all right, then, if they did it. Off the mountain, we must go off the mountain— Except my father would never leave without me. Not by choice.