Goddess Boot Camp (25 page)

Even as I move fully under the downpour, I can’t feel a single drop on my skin or clothes. I hurry through the rainy section—it’s like I can feel the rain sliding around me, over me, but not on me—and emerge on the far end completely dry.

“Woo-hoo,” I shout to myself.

Maybe this course isn’t going to be as tough as I thought.

Three steps later, the image of a sheer drop-off blares red in my mind. I pull up just inches before the edge.

“What the—?”

Mentally, I try to see over the edge. Maybe it’s just a short drop and I can climb down. But I can’t see anything. It’s like a fog is obscuring my mental view of the bottom.

Okay, so clearly I need to get down there, wherever that is, but how?
Autoporting
is out, since I don’t know where I’m going—I don’t really want to end up at the core of a boulder or something. What am I supposed to do, fly?

Then I remember Nicole asking me if I flew the day I earned my
aerokinesis
merit badge. That must be the way down.

Stepping forward until the toes of my Nikes hang over the edge, I try to call up the air. My track pants whip back in the wind. It feels like a mini-hurricane is swirling around me.

I hesitate.

Afraid you can’t do it?
Adara’s taunting voice echoes in my mind.

“Of course I can do it,” I shout back above the wind. I feel like an idiot getting all defensive with a disembodied voice. Then I mutter even quieter, “I hope.”

Taking the biggest leap of faith in my life—I know Stella’s protection won’t let me get hurt, but it’s hard to make my brain fully believe—I step over the edge. Rather than plummet to the unseen depths below, I bob like a beach ball in the ocean, buoyed by a strong column of wind.

Slowly, I descend.

Halfway down I freak out. I mean, I’m floating on freakin’ air. Literally. What if this isn’t what I’m supposed to do? What if I’m really descending into a fiery pit or the jaws of a sea monster?

I stop descending. The air is holding me steady, not moving up or down. I’m about to send myself back up to the safety of the cliff above when I realize that my fear is the only thing holding me back. If I believe in my powers—and I’ve experienced them enough at this point to know that they’re real—then I have to trust them.

Time to go for the gold. Taking one deep breath, I relax and let myself descend without hesitation. For three seconds, I drop through the empty air. My stomach flies up into my throat. My heart races as anticipation pounds through me.

Then I land.

Both feet touch down in perfect alignment. Sand squishes beneath my sneakers.

A beach.

I feel invincible.

Without pausing to gloat or gawk, I continue down the course until I sense the image of another cliff face. Apparently this isn’t a beach, it’s a gorge. And now I have to get back up the other side.

Before I can call up another wind, I hear Xander say,
Complete the puzzle.

Puzzle? What puzzle?

There is a stack of wooden planks, each about two feet long, and a pair of long pieces of lumber with funny-shaped holes cut into them at regular intervals. I pick up one of the planks, feeling for any clues, and find that the ends of that plank are the same shape as one of the holes in either long piece. Laying the two long pieces out two feet apart, I fit the ends of the plank into the corresponding hole. When I pick up the next plank, it has a different shape at the ends, which matches up to another pair of holes in the long pieces. I click that plank into place and realize I must be building a ladder. I quickly grab the rest of the planks, locking them into their corresponding holes. When I’m done, there is only one set of holes left in the two long pieces, the uprights. I double-check that there isn’t another plank lying around. Nope, I’ve used them all.

I lift the ladder to set it against the cliff, and it falls apart.

“Aaargh!” All my work just evaporated.

Clearly, I missed something. I quickly repeat my procedure. When I get to the point where there is just one set of holes left, I stop to think. Maybe the ladder fell apart because this set of holes was left empty. So I need to fill them, even though there aren’t any more planks.

I smack myself on the forehead. How could I be so dumb? If there aren’t any more planks, then I need to
neofacture
one!

Seconds later, I’m plugging the plank I created into the ladder, setting it against the cliff, and climbing to the edge above.

I totally rock.

I feel the heat one rung before I reach the top. It’s scalding, like someone just opened the oven door. Ignoring the urge to climb back down, I try to get a clear picture of what I’m facing.

Flames.

I see a huge wall of flames, blocking me from climbing up onto the level surface above. Fire. That has to do with—I cling to the ladder with one hand while I wipe at my sweaty brow with the other—
photomorphosis
. Controlling light and fire.

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 see the image of the bridge flicker. The rickety-looking version fades and a far more substantial wooden bridge appears in its place.

When I turn back, I see the rickety bridge again. Someone must have cloaked it, too. I reach forward, expecting to feel the solid bridge under my fingers. Instead, I feel fraying rope.

The sturdy bridge must have been altered, not cloaked.
Visiomutated
.

It only takes a second to reverse the
visiomutation,
and then I’m scurrying across the bridge.

I’m starting to think nothing can surprise me. Until I turn a corner and sense Stella, Adara, and Xander blocking my path.

“What?” I ask. “Did I do something wrong? I didn’t use the protection.”

Why else would they be here?

When they don’t answer, I say. “Okay, guys. If I haven’t screwed up, then get out of my way so I can finish.”

They just stand there, immobile and silent. Maybe this is some kind of mental mirage. But when I reach forward, half expecting my hand to go right through Stella, my palm hits her shoulder.

“What?” I ask, louder this time. As if maybe they didn’t hear me.

Nothing. Absolute silence.

But there is something about the looks I’m sensing on their faces, like they’re concentrating really hard, that makes me think I’m missing something. I can practically feel Stella’s gray eyes burn into mine, and not in her favorite I’d-smote-you-if-I-could way. It’s like she’s trying to tell me something.

What on earth is she trying to say? I stare right back at her. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough I can read her—

Choose.

I hear the word as clearly as if she’d said it out loud. Only, she hasn’t spoken—not out loud or in my head. This was
outside
my head, if that makes any sense.

She smiles, like she’s glad I figured it out. Figured what out? Choose. What on earth does that mean?

I turn to Adara, like she might have answers. She’s still concentrating. I try my trick again, of staring back at her and concentrating—

Door.

I definitely heard that. And it was definitely outside my head. Maybe I really did read their minds.

Duh!
Psychospection
.

I turn my attention on Xander and read his thought.

Three.

Choose. Door. Three.

Choose door three?

Before I can ask any questions, Stella, Adara, and Xander shimmer away. Apparently I cleared that obstacle.

Around another corner, I find the answer to my question. There are three doors—very
Alice in Wonderland
—each with a big gold number on the front.

“Door number three, then,” I mutter to myself as I pull the door open.

As soon as I step through the door, I can’t move. I’m frozen mid-step. It’s like someone turned on a freeze machine, but my brain doesn’t know it’s supposed to be frozen. I can still think and hear and see my surroundings, but I feel like someone shut off all my muscles.

Help,
I try to scream. But I can’t open my mouth. No sound vibrates in my throat. I can’t call out for help.

I start to panic. My heart is beating faster than it ever has. Tears well in my eyes.

Help,
I try again.
Help, help, help.

That’s not working. Maybe someone is still close by, watching out for me. Maybe they’ll see that I chose the wrong door—or whatever sent me into this trap—and come save me.

After what feels like several torturous hours—but was probably like two minutes—I realize no one is coming. Stella and her posse aren’t going to rescue me. I can’t scream to let them know I’m in trouble.

There has to be another way.

If they can’t hear my voice, maybe they can hear my mind.

Help,
I say with my mind. I focus my mental communication, my
psychodictation,
on Stella because I know her best. That might make my efforts easier.
Please,
I beg.
Help. I’m trapped. Set me free.

Instantly, I’m free and stumbling forward onto my hands and knees.

All you had to do was ask,
Stella replies.

“Aaargh!” I scream at no one. I should have known it was just another obstacle.

I take a minute, allowing my heart rate and adrenaline levels to return to the vicinity of normal, before moving on. Right now I just want this stupid obstacle course done.

I tear ahead, focused on finishing to the exclusion of everything else. I almost don’t see the barricade of briar bushes until it’s too late. At the last second, their image flashes into my mind—thanks to self-preserving
corpoprotection
, probably. I don’t have time to do anything but react. Instinct and some
corpopromotion
superstrength send me high-jumping over the barricade, and landing safely on the other side.

“For the love of Nike,” I grumble. “How many times do I have to almost die or get seriously injured?”

Okay, I have to admit that, even without using the protection, I haven’t actually
gotten
injured. And maybe, just maybe, that’s part of the exercise.

Deciding that caution is more important than speed, I set out at a walk. I try to mentally list the obstacles I’ve done so far. If you count the briar barricade for two powers, then I’ve completed eleven. Eleven (dangerous) obstacles without injury. My powers haven’t failed me once, guiding me over, around, and through as if my eyes were wide open. Better, even. If I could see what I had to face, I’d probably be too scared to attempt it.

Considering the twelve
dynamotheos
powers, I expect just one more obstacle. No big deal. I’m in the homestretch.

When I round a bend in the course and find myself up against a solid wall, I stop in my tracks.

In my mind I can see the wall perfectly. It’s tall, maybe ten or twelve feet, spans the entire width of the path and into the woods beyond, and is completely smooth. Focusing my powers, I search for a foothold or a rope or anything that will get me over. Nothing. It might as well be a wall of ice.

Maybe my mental image is wrong. Maybe it’s not as tall as I think.

I walk forward until I’m about a foot away, bend down, and jump as high as I can, reaching for a ledge to grab onto.

My body smacks full-on into the wall. As I slide back down to the ground, I wonder how on earth I’m supposed to get over this obstacle.

“You can’t defeat this obstacle so easily,” Stella says from somewhere to my left. “Even if we removed the blindfold, you couldn’t succeed through physical means alone.”

“This is the ultimate test,” Adara adds. “You can only get through by using your powers.”

What on earth does that mean? Before I can ask them to explain, I feel a soft breeze and know that they’re gone.

Okay. I can figure this out. I’ve made it this far trusting nothing but my powers—and my sense of self-preservation. Surely getting over a wall can’t be that hard.

“It’s not about going
over
the wall,” a distant-yet-familiar voice whispers within my mind. “Feel the victory inside you, Phoebester.”

Dad?

That is
not
possible. I give my head a brain-rattling shake. I must be suffering from sensory deprivation after being blindfolded so long. My subconscious is playing tricks on me. That’s all.

“Come on,” Adara shouts from the far side of the wall. “We have to start camp soon. I’d hate to leave you out here on the course.”