1.08

A crowd of famil­iar faces greet­ed Car­nelia and Jeorr at the cen­ter of town.

It was Miss Eleina, Opal, Miss Zenic-- any­one and every­one who had helped to search for Car­nelia dur­ing the earth­quake. All her friends and neigh­bors gath­ered togeth­er to say their good­byes, with the Chute behind them, the gold­en light of the sun shin­ing down through it. They were all here.

As she stepped for­ward with a wave, Opal was pushed for­ward by their teacher. The shy boy met her halfway with a small bag in his hands.

“Hi, Car­nelia. We got you a good­bye present.”

He dropped it into her hands and ran back to Miss Eleina’s side. It was sur­pris­ing­ly heavy for its size. Car­nelia gasped as she peered inside and real­ized it was filled to the brim with coins.

“Where’d you get all this, Opal?”

The boy blushed and tucked his head behind Miss Eleina. The gov­erness extend­ed her arm to the crowd behind her.

“It’s from all of us. Opal came around to all of our hous­es and did a lit­tle col­lec­tion. He fig­ured that since we all have some spare change from our younger days that we don’t use any­more, why not give it to some­one who can use it?” Miss Eleina mussed the young boy’s hair. “And all with­out ask­ing me for help. Isn’t that amaz­ing?”

“It real­ly is! Thanks, Opal! I’ll buy you a great sou­venir while I’m up there!”

Car­nelia stepped up to the boy and plant­ed a fat kiss on his cheek. Opal turned bright red and shoved his face deep­er into Miss Eleina’s leg.

“That’s not all,” Miss Eleina con­tin­ued, as she pulled out a few sheets of note­book paper from inside her cardi­gan. “We also wrote down notes for you. Places we liked dur­ing our trav­els, secret lit­tle places they don’t show tourists, stuff like that.”

“I wrote down some restau­rants I used to work at. Just drop my name, and it’ll get you pri­mo-seat­ing for sure!” said Cafe Crystal’s chef proud­ly.

“And I filled in some holes in your research on the Can­di­date’s Chal­lenge. The infor­ma­tion might be a lit­tle out­dat­ed, but it should help!” chipped in the librar­i­an.

The two turned to the fun­gi farmer. She stared back at them.

“What? You two nev­er told me any­thing about a gift!”

“We shouldn’t have to, you heart­less crone!”

“Bah. Fine.” She turned back to Car­nelia. “I’ll watch over your fun­gi while you’re gone.”

“Thank you, every­one! You’re all so very kind!”

Car­nelia beamed hap­pi­ly as she accept­ed their gifts from Miss Eleina and tucked them in the pages of her note­book. As she looked across all their smil­ing faces, Car­nelia real­ized she was­n’t sur­prised. This was no more or less than what she had come to expect from the peo­ple of Down­town. Her home.

Look­ing at his watch, Jeorr waved her over to a large emp­ty net hang­ing from the Chute.

“Car­nelia!” he warned. “You’d bet­ter hur­ry! They’re about to start the trans­fer.”

Car­nelia turned and saw that the rope trail­ing up the Chute was bounc­ing up and down; the sig­nal from the pul­ley oper­a­tors that they were ready to pull up this week’s ship­ment. Name­ly, her. Car­nelia quick­ly gave a round of hugs to as many peo­ple as she could before set­tling into the net­ting.

She was hard­ly ready when Jeorr tugged on the rope three times to sig­nal the oper­a­tors that she was ready to go. And with­out any ado, the net began to rise, imme­di­ate­ly. It was, in many ways, so quick. The future, inex­orably pulling her into it, ready with what­ev­er tribu­la­tions and joys it had in store for her. Already, they were on their way, being deliv­ered to her.

Her heart felt like it was being pulled in two direc­tions; home and sky. It hurt in the best way pos­si­ble. As she was car­ried away, Car­nelia waved and called out to as many peo­ple as she could

“I’ll be back!” she shout­ed. “And the next time you see me, I’ll be a Chal­lenger!”

As her good­byes rang out across the stone streets and build­ings of Down­town, then again against the name­stone totems and drip­ping sta­lac­tites in the dis­tance, a cho­rus of farewells sound­ed in return.

“Make us proud, Car­nelia!”

“Stay safe out there!”

“We’re count­ing on it!”

In those last few moments of good­byes, well-wish­es, and last-minute call-outs for sou­venirs, as Opal began to cry and Miss Eleina clutched the young boy tight­ly to her chest, Car­nelia met her grand­fa­ther’s eyes one final time. He was smil­ing, but there were also tears in his eyes. His sto­ic melan­choly was a gor­geous, sap­phire-blue amidst all the excite­ment and cel­e­bra­tion. She reached out to him with a mes­sage, mouthed just for him, before she passed beyond the point where he could see.

I promise I’ll come back. I promise.

She would return. Her name and her word on it, she would return.

Jeorr whole­heart­ed­ly believed it. But in order to return, she first had to leave. Like ships weren’t made for har­bors, nor birds for their nests, young bright girls like Car­nelia weren’t made for a place cold, drab places like this. They were made to step out into the world, spread their wings, and make waves. And although some small part of him still won­dered if she were tru­ly ready, whether she tru­ly under­stood how much that tiny bit of sky she’d always stared at was going grow in size… when you gazed into the light, the light gazed back into you.

Upon her lips was a smile he could see from all the way ’round on the far side of her face. In her elbows, her hair, and her heels and toes too. Of course, Jeorr could­n’t help but smile.

Final­ly, as the rope lift­ed his ward up out of earshot, the cheers began to fade. And once Car­nelia was but a dot in the dis­tance, Miss Eleina joined him at his side. She took his hand, shak­ing her head.

“Crazy. Absolute­ly crazy. I would’ve wait­ed until she was eigh­teen at the very least!”

Jeorr ignored the teas­ing lilt in Miss Eleina’s voice and staunch­ly stared upwards, tears drip­ping down his cheeks. He squeezed even hard­er.

“…me too, Lily. Me too.”

---

Car­nelia clasped her hands over her heart as she lay in the net­ting attached to the sin­gu­lar life­line to the remote retire­ment com­mu­ni­ty of Down­town. Lurch­ing up foot by foot like she was, she was mov­ing bare­ly faster than if she had climbed up the rocks her­self, but the slow, sway­ing ride gave her time to savor the moment. The way the falling air cur­rents played with her hair, send­ing small lengths curl­ing this way and that; how the sur­round­ing rock face shift­ed from dark basalts and gran­ites to bleached sand­stone; the warm­ing of the air around her as the light bounc­ing off the rock walls inten­si­fied…

She was on her way up! Both her face and her heart hurt from smil­ing so much. 

As Car­nelia etched every detail of this moment into the deep­est parts of her brain, a work shan­ty began ring­ing down from above, sung by who­ev­er was pulling her up. One voice sang the melody, and anoth­er respond­ed with the cho­rus.

“When I was a lit­tle boy,
My moth-er once told me,
That if I didn’t kiss the girls,
My lips would grow all mold-y~”

“I’ll roam with you no more, fair maid,
As roamin’s b’n my ruin, hey-heave!”

“When I was in school all day,
My tea-cher once told me,
To dream as much as one can do,
‘Cause life’s so hard to fore-see~”

“I’ll run with you no more, fair maid,
As runnin’s b’n my ruin, hey-heave!”

Car­nelia laughed as she lurched up in time with their singing. The hoarse strain in the singers’ voic­es gave away that nei­ther were old enough to be swear­ing off women. They sound­ed like teens, maybe around her age, with a deliv­ery that was more enthu­si­as­tic than tech­ni­cal. She liked that, though, since most of what was pop­u­lar in Down­town were bal­lads of regrets, lost loves, and bit­ter­sweet mem­o­ries. This fresh, earnest singing was more to her own pace.

About halfway up, some­thing cast a shad­ow over her. She was hav­ing so much fun hum­ming along to the shan­ty that she almost did­n’t notice it until it was right above her. It was the net­ting attached to the oppo­site end of the pul­ley, sim­i­lar to the one she rode, except it was stretched full with paper and twine-wrapped pack­ages. Inside those pack­ages were Downtown’s reg­u­lar deliv­ery of imports; the neces­si­ties and lux­u­ries that kept life going ’round in the remote under­ground com­mu­ni­ty. The oth­er end, her end, was usu­al­ly filled with hard-to-dis­pose garbage or mail that was being sent far away, nev­er to return.

Car­nelia leaned out of the way of the imports and tried not to think too hard about the sym­bol­ism.

“When I went to sail abroad,
My cap-tain once told me,
An eye kept on the hori­zon far,
Won’t keep the ocean storm-free~”

“I’ll row with you no more, fair maid,
As rowin’s b’n my ruin, hey-heave!”

“When I came back home again,
My fa-ther once told me,
Not to wor­ry ’bout my nasty scars,
For they prove one’s worth, see~”

“I’ll rove with you no more, fair maid,
As rovin’s b’n my ruin, hey-heave!”

Sym­bol­ism. Pah! Such things were for nerds, not adven­tur­ers. Here she was, on her way to the sur­face, moments away from tak­ing her first real step on her jour­ney to Chal­lenger­hood--how could she pos­si­bly be feel­ing any fore­bod­ing? Real sun­light wasn’t a once-in-a-year event any­more. There were rays of sun­light spilling over the jagged edges of the Chute’s exit, direct ones, alight­ing on patch­es of rock face that were but a stone’s throw away. She even tast­ed hints of parched desert air amongst the cool­er cav­ern cur­rents.

Yes, she was far too busy deal­ing with the excit­ed but­ter­flies in her stom­ach to have time to *scoff* wor­ry.

“When I joined our country’s war,
My com-rade once told me,
That no cause is worth dying for,
‘cept one that saves my life, please~”

“I’ll ride with you no more, fair maid,
As ridin’s b’n my ruin, hey-heave!”

“When I had my first heart­break,
My lo-ver once told me,
To share with her my deep­est hurts,
And I could­n’t ‘cause I’m cow­ard-ly~”

“I’ll race with you no more, fair maid,
As--Crap! My hand’s cramp­ing up! Ow!”

Unfor­tu­nate­ly, despite her best affir­ma­tions, just as Car­neli­a’s out­stretched fin­gers were mere inch­es from graz­ing raw sun­light, the pul­ley ground to an uncom­fort­able off-beat halt and an unset­tling string of curs­es rang out from above. That put a stop to her self-assured nod­ding, right quick.

Con­cerned, she tilt­ed an ear up to lis­ten. Swing­ing in a net some thou­sand feet above the ground, that was all she could real­ly do. Still, she was pro­tect­ed by her shroud of pos­i­tiv­i­ty. She was on her grand adven­ture! Noth­ing could stop her now.

Except…

“Don’t let go, you idiot! We’re almost there!”

“I can’t! You’re gonna have to—!“

“Shit. Shit. Shit­shitshit--!”

“What in the shin­ing sun are you boys--Dear God! Hon­ey!”

The longer the clam­or­ing played on, the faster her armor fell apart. It was like tis­sue in water. And when anoth­er voice joined the strug­gle, only to fall into heavy, heavy silence, after some shout­ing and grunt­ing…

Now there was no gold­en shroud, only a twist­ing pan­ic in her stom­ach. Some­thing had gone ter­ri­bly wrong, and all Car­nelia could do was stare upwards because--well, she bring her­self to look down. A silent void howled below her. But above her, the pul­ley line was taut with uneasy ener­gy--the same ener­gy found at the peaks of roller coast­ers and bungee plat­forms.

It gave one long, final creak.

…

…

…

Then some­thing, or some­one, gave.

Bang.

With a noise like a starter pis­tol, Car­nelia found her­self flung into the depths of her net­ting as it launched up towards the exit of the Chute faster than she could com­pre­hend. Above her, the pul­ley spun wild­ly as it let loose length after length of rope. A tremen­dous crash that sound­ed from below. This month’s imports, deliv­ered ahead of sched­ule. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t even get the noise out of her throat.

Then she was launched out of the net­ting like a rock from a sling.

The light was fast approach­ing, and she was hurtling out of con­trol. Around her, the sur­round­ing rock face blurred as she shot by. She did­n’t even reg­is­ter the pain from the whiplash. Not yet. The wind was howl­ing so loud­ly in her ear that--

Sud­den­ly, a wall of light. Then, slow­ly, slow­ly, slow­ly, a swoop of decel­er­a­tion. When she was near-float­ing, her eyes final­ly adjust­ed and she found a sight in front of her that took what­ev­er remained of her breath away.

A bright and ear­ly sun hung low in a sky that ranged from a pale celestite blue to a rich lapis, send­ing rays that enveloped her with warmth from her fin­gers to her toes. A fad­ed moon hov­ered on the oth­er side, lin­ger­ing after its long night shift to say hel­lo. Wisps of chalk-like clouds were smeared below them both, cast­ing spot­ty shad­ows over the end­less tan hills and dry yel­low plains that lay low­er still. A glim­mer­ing ocean on the hori­zon drew half the bor­der between the sky and earth, leav­ing the rest to a moun­tain range that curved around and behind Car­nelia for count­less miles.

Like a gasp of air, the beau­ty, the truth of the world hit her. Here it was. The real thing. Not the pic­tures from her school­book. Aerth. Car­nelia stared for what felt like an age.

Then she was falling.

“WoaaaaAAAAA!”

Car­nelia screamed with all her life, fear, and dreams. What start­ed as a light tug back to Aerth esca­lat­ed into a plum­met. Her awe was gone. All that lay below her was a long, lethal drop down to Down­town. Hun­dreds and hun­dreds of feet before an unpleas­ant meet­ing with some flat, unfor­giv­ing stone. So much for six to fif­teen books! She was gonna—!

“—HEAVE!“

Thwap!

A thick sheet of can­vas sud­den­ly appeared below Car­nelia, and she land­ed on it, hard. It felt like being hit by a mas­sive fly­swat­ter.

“Hold! Hold!”

For a sec­ond, there was grunt­ing and the sound of skid­ding feet as her descent was force­ful­ly slowed. And then, final­ly, she stopped.

As she lay stunned and breath­less, splayed out on the rough fab­ric, she vague­ly sensed being pulled to safe­ty. Hands on her arms and legs, and so on. Before long, she was placed on the ground, the sol­id, oh-so-cer­tain ground. She clutched at it through with­out a thought for where the dirt and dust would end up.

In the midst of her rolling and sprawl­ing, one of the oper­a­tors, a mid­dle-aged woman, broke the sun­light in her face. She leaned in, shout­ing at her like she’d gone deaf, avid con­cern lin­ing her tanned face.

“Car­nelia! Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

Car­nelia bare­ly reg­is­tered the woman. She stared hazi­ly past her, out at the beau­ti­ful blue sky. She stretched out lan­guorous­ly on the warm, embrac­ing earth and start­ed gig­gling.

“I’m dia­monds. I’m all dia­monds!”