The heat is getting worse, closer. I take a deep breath to clear my head, but my lungs fill with smoke. Fighting my instinct to shimmy back down to the gorge—or to rely on Stella’s protection—I concentrate on controlling the fire.
I picture the flames shrinking, receding, backing away from the cliff’s edge. Slowly, the heat fades. When I can no longer see fire in my mind, I haul myself up the ladder and dive onto the safety of solid ground.
As much as I want to lie on my back, sucking in deep, smoke-free breaths, I want to finish this course more. Climbing to my feet, I push forward.
When I reach a broad, open field, I stop. Something isn’t right. Too easy. It looks like a big grassy spot, but something tickles at my brain.
I center myself, focusing all my energy on the field and what I’m not seeing in my mind. As I focus, my image changes, and I see a series of open pits, holes in the otherwise level earth.
Aha! Visiocryption. Someone must have cloaked the opening of the pits with an image of grass. Now that I can see the holes, I avoid them as I navigate through the field. The path ducks back into the woods and winds around until it reaches a shallow canyon with a decent-size river running through. An old, rickety rope bridge spans the canyon. It looks like an overweight butterfly could send it crashing into the current below. There’s no way it will support me—even at my training weight.
There could be another way across, upriver or farther down. Even though I can’t see through the sash, I turn my head as I try to see if there is a more reliable-looking bridge over the canyon. From the corner of my mental vision, I