Page 110 of In Her Own Rite

“It’s not stupid,” I say, picking it up and twirling the wire stem between my fingers. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s like you,” he says. “I read about rhodoras. The flowers are beautiful, but the plant grows in the hardest environments. Its beauty doesn’t take away from its strength.”

I slip the flower behind my ear like my mom used to, feeding the wire into part of my braid to keep it in place. I swallow and pull him close.

“Thank you,” I say. “Not just for the flower. For believing in me.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Always. Now go kick some ass.”

“I will,” I say, and I pull away and head for the cliffs.

I can feelthekattakahitting me after just a few minutes. The path up the first hill is winding, and at first I feel it in the softness at the edge of my vision, and a weird swirling in my gut. I see the first hints of thekiyyulitas I near the top of the first hill, and they’re more vibrant than I’ve ever seen them, dancing like wisps of neon light.

I’m coming, Mom, I think, and walk on.

By the time I near the third turn of the path, I’m starting to feel thekattakain my whole body. My knees feel loose, my body liquid, every movement strangely exaggerated. Thekiyyulitare stronger now, and I can see them pooling at the top of the cliff, their shape obscured by the black rocks jutting out against the night sky.

After about an hour, I reach the top of the cliff, the ring now fully visible. It’s quiet up here—quiet as death, quiet as bone, with barely a breeze to distract me. I look down at my feet, where I can see the frost on the grass and weeds. The ice from last week has thawed, but it’s still slippery getting up to the cliff.

I look up ahead to see the arch, marking the entrance to the ring. I can see whatever’s in there, behind there, moving. Waiting for me.

A shiver runs over me as it sets in that this is really happening. I feel a flicker of doubt. I’ve come a long way, but I’m still weaker than Seb and even Quinn by a lot. Am I really strong enough to do this? Do I really have what it takes to survive this, let alone win?

Instinctively, I bring a hand to my gut. I run through my mind every piece of advice I’ve been given for this, the words pouring over me like a waterfall in the same way Seb’s corrections did that first day in the boxing ring.

Don’t shift too fast.

Wait to use your healing power until the end. Any energy you use for healing, you can’t use to fight.

Don’t let your default behavior take over.

“I can do this. I can do this,” I whisper. And then I pool my energy into my gut, sending it down into the earth and up into the heavens. Even with my eyes closed, my own energy feels vibrant and sharper, my perception of it impacted by thekattakajust like the actualkiyyulit. I see my energy swirling up into me, this time hooking into the Northern Lights, centering mehere, in this moment, at the edge of the cliffs.

I swallow and open my eyes, and step towards the ring.

As I near the entrance, I see the lights everywhere, so bright they’re almost blinding. I brace myself. My father could be anywhere, but I find myself instinctively looking for my mom, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, hear some words of wisdom. Feel her close to me again.

And then I see her, standing at the edge of the ring, near the raw edge of the cliff with her back to me. But she’s not here, really. She’s at the kitchen sink, somehow, and I realize it’s a memory. I know which one instantly.

She’s singing the rain song for me, and although I can’t see myself in the memory, I’m watching her from where I was—my seat at the kitchen table. He comes in from the rain, and immediately the energy in the room shifts. He’s shouting, angry about something that isn’t her fault. She tries to stand up to him, and in minutes it all coalesces in horror. Screaming, crying, violence.

I force myself to breathe deeply.Stay grounded. He’s not here yet.

A new memory forms before me. We’re at the beach on the west shore. My aunt and uncle were visiting that day, and Mom and I are at the edge of the rocks with Dagmar, looking out at the sea. She lifts a leg up to herself to rest her chin on, and I notice the bruising on her. Dagmar asks,

“Lena. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Mom says, and makes up some excuse. But I can feel the change in the air. Dagmar doesn’t believe her, and somewhere behind us my dad has heard our conversation, and I can scent his anger. I know what’s to come.

As I watch this scene, I see something moving at the edge of the ring, and a bolt of adrenaline hits me.

It’s my dad, big and strong.

It’s my dad from my memory, I tell myself. I note his face, free of scarring, and the size of his body. It’s not even my dad as he truly was then. Thekiyyulithave made him to scale from my memories, so he towers over me the way he did when I was a kid.

I know it can’t really be him, but the animal of my body reacts like he’s here. The anxiety courses through me, making me panic, and I force myself to breathe.

Don’t shift. Don’t shift, I remind myself. Stay calm. Be rational. It’s not him. But thekattakais blurring the edges of my mind, and somehow, I feel I can’t be sure. Could his scars have healed by now? Is there any way…?

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