Elysium: Book Six of The Liminality

Chapter 3: Breakthrough

I endure another chilly night dripping with dew. I push myself up the slope in fits and starts, resting just long enough to make the distress bearable. The orb opens its slit and up comes Urszula through the mists like a faithful grand-daughter visiting gramps in the nursing home.

She bears the promised seaweed, which I have no intention of eating. I'll pass it along to some other soul or ditch it in some crevice when she leaves for the day.

"You did it! You reached the terrace."

"I told you I'd try."

"You did very well. I should have brought you some berries."

"That's okay."

"Tomorrow!"

"I really don't need berries."

"I'll give you another goal. See that boulder? The one with the overhang? Get there by tomorrow and I'll give something really special."

"Oh yeah? How special?"

She winks. "Get your ass up there and you'll find out."

She doesn't stay long. She never does. But I am nonetheless inspired by her daily encouragements. It really helps to have her pushing me. I always seemed to make the greatest strides of the day between her visits and peak orb.

I am always sad to see the mists close behind her. I would have been fine hanging out with her all day. It helps to know that she will be back soon.

Peak orb. Noon, souls in a normal world would call it. But the orb in the sky of Lethe never budges from twelve o'clock. It simply widens and narrows throughout the day. In the middle of the day it goes completely circular for a short time before beginning the slow contraction to a spindle and then a slit.

The souls atop the terrace are a fitter and more alert bunch than the maimed and sessile group I had passed through below. The ledge creating this terrace creates a bottleneck of sorts, filtering those still capable of climbing from the masses of souls had given up.

Yet another filter lies before us in the form of a long and steep slope rising to what I think is probably a fake summit. The very steepness obscures what lies beyond. Just the sight of it looming up over us like that is freaking intimidating but I guess that's the point.

Some souls deal with this new obstacle by not dealing with it. They turn their backs and look down on how far they had come. There's a few dead-enders among us. You can tell from the density of the moss on their brows. They're satisfied with their ancient accomplishment and will go no further.

Still others deal with the new barrier by flinging themselves at it, trying to making their way even a little ways up, just to make it a little less daunting.

That's me. I don't linger on the terrace very long. As soon as the aching nausea ebbs I climb. I don't get very far until I'm panting and moaning, prostrate on the slanting rocks, but at least I'm above the whining, sneering dead-enders on the terrace, though I can still hear them pestering the newly arrived with life stories and admonishments.

This long slope has plenty of elbow room. The space and privacy are incentive enough for me to keep on climbing. I'm a bit of a loner, if you haven't figured that out by now. I don't do well in forced social situations.

Up here the voices below are just indistinct murmurs. Here, the sound of the wind dominates. I allow myself a well-deserved rest, letting my body and soul equilibrate to their new station, before the next big push.

***

I rest in peace for almost half the day. The orb is still bright when I begin to martial my will for the next climb. But just as I am getting ready to go, a man joins me on the slab.