The fifth year was very different from the previous years. Our tutors taught us flight theory. And we also practiced, even if it was with someone else’s dragon. For me, that meant endless rides on Frago’s back with Dien Phu, who told me how and when to stick my spurs depending on what I wanted to do or how to direct my weight to steer the beast. He also taught me how to make a great ointment for piles, because accumulating hundreds of hours of flying on those hard scales took its toll, no matter how many cushions we wore.

So, the beginning of the fifth year was pretty lonely. The six of us spent our days traveling the peaks with our respective tutors. When the dry season arrived and we could consider ourselves experienced pilots, along came the balancing games.

“Don’t do that!” Tui Lam shouted in horror.

But Bahn Mi had opted not to do any training that day and just have fun. As hot as it was, we were all grateful for it. The rope rippled, as if an invisible wave ran through it, and took the smartest girl in the class with it. Tui Lam fell off balance into the calm river a few strides below.

We all laughed. Bahn Mi dove headfirst into the water so her friend could waterboard him and collect her debt. Bong Nam followed, and then we all took a swim.

The sun was shining overhead and drying the soaked clothes that clung to our skin. We took the opportunity to eat our rice cobs, joke around and talk about meaningless things. Until Din Bin brought up the subject.

“I’m sick of this damn rope and balancing on the river. What good is this going to do us when we become riders?”

“You’ve seen how they fly. They don’t even need to hold on to the thorns on their backs,” answered Dal Mah.

“Yeah, but what’s the use? I’d rather hold on to my dragon’s spines and stop crossing rivers on slack ropes. I’ve already fallen in every fucking river on the Tiber!”

“Maybe we smelled too bad!” Bahn Mi joked.

“You don’t understand. It’s not just about improving our balance so we can fly without holding on to the dragon,” Tui Lam began, raising her index finger, as she always did when she pretended to be wise. “It’s much more than that! It’s about finding our balance. To be in tune with the vibration of the rope, with the tug of the wind, with the swaying of the water in our body and the blood that irrigates our organs. To be in balance with our thoughts. Not to be disconcerted by the chirping of songbirds, nor the buzzing of a fly, nor the snapping of a branch. It is...”

“Yeah, okay Tui Lam, we get it,” Bong Nam cut her off, wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and rubbed his hands together. “Well, let’s get on with it. The sooner we are ready, the sooner we will pass the test and forget about this.”

We all stood up to get back on the rope. There were so many more failed attempts, so many more dips in the river, so many more laughs and snorts of boredom. We had fun, yes, but it was also exasperating to never make it. It was common for one or two of us to make it across without falling in, but the test was for all six of us to make it across safely.

We all made it across individually, that is, if there was no one else on the rope. The problem arose when the six of us walked across, out of sync, causing the rope to shake in a frantic dance of vertical and horizontal bends.

Thus, we spent several moons, each day in a different place, so that we would not get used to the atmosphere, the wind or the current. As time went by and we became more experienced, the points to cross were higher, making the fall inspire more respect... or hurt, even.

Every roast night, the best of the week, we would gather around the fire, waiting for whatever we had on the spit to cook. Everyone would sit in their place, respecting the customs, apprentices at the bottom, riders at the top, keeping silent until the fire master arrived.

Dun Gar always asked the same question to begin with: “Are you ready?”

And we always gave the same answer: “no.”

And so, the moons passed. We had already crossed several rivers a dozen times successfully. All of us. We had improved considerably, at the cost of wounds and bruises, but the truth is that we didn’t care. Tui Lam was right, the balance we were acquiring not only served us to fly without clinging to the thorns of our tutor’s dragon, but it was useful even in the most insignificant aspects of our daily lives.

It was not long before we had to change our answer, very soon. But Bong Nam did not think like me. In fact, that was the reason we argued for the second time. He convinced everyone that we were ready for the test. I, on the other hand, claimed that we still lacked security. That the days of uncertain winds made it more difficult for us, that there were still those who found it hard. But they did not listen to me. Not even Dal Mah, for whom I was most afraid.

“Don’t you see, you’re not ready yet! What if you fall?”

“Don’t worry, An Long, everything will be fine,” Dal Mah tried to reassure me, but there was no way. “I don’t want to be the one to drag you all down.”

“But you could die!”

Nothing worked. I spent the two days leading up to the barbecue night with a knot in my stomach, not knowing what to do or what to say. I didn’t figure it out, so I did absolutely nothing. I got discouraged and waited. Until the teacher asked us the question and we said yes. It seemed to me that some of the riders were surprised, and that swamped me with a surge of unease that came to toss up my sea of doubts.

That was the last night of the barbecue, because the next morning we all left for Eventel Peak. The ascent was much easier. I remembered with strange nostalgia how painful the first one had been, almost five years ago.

I remembered Din Bin, the chubby-cheeked boy I had abandoned halfway up. Now he was all warrior, muscular like all of us and tall like no other. I also noticed Tui Lam, that freckled brown-haired nerd I couldn’t stand at first, who had become a great friend as well as an inveterate runner. I had always liked Dal Mah because of her blue eyes that caught me and transported me to the depths of the most beautiful lake in the world. This time she wore her hair loose and it fell gracefully over her shoulders like a cascade of black gold. Bahn Mi had gone from being a lanky, skinny asparagus to having a back like a sturdy closet. Although he had changed radically in appearance, he was still the same knucklehead who laughed at his own jokes, so bad that they forced a smile for charity. Bong Nam had changed the least, probably because he had shown an aptitude for the trade from the beginning. He was tall and strong from the first year and had always been willing to train harder than anyone else.

Once the summit was reached, there was time to rest while the tutors took care of the preparations. A strange time, as there were the six of us just sitting in front of the high winds, in complete silence, admiring the beauty of the place.

It was as I remembered it: apotheosis. The slopes joined hands, forming impossible bridges between them. Black caves opened like millenary wounds of the earth. Passages of broken rocks, brown, gray and white deformed the walls. One side glistened in the sun and the other waited to receive its rays. Clouds swirled in the pit at our feet, and above: the sky had never looked so blue to me.

Our tutors set up the rope that spanned, no longer a narrow stream, but the entire cirque of the apprentice well. From the summit of Eventel to the summit of Kadus, perfectly aligned facing each other.

“Good luck,” Dien Phu wished me before riding Frago away.

Bong Nam was the first to put his foot on the rope. He turned and gave us a wink, which, as insignificant as it seemed, reassured me immensely. He walked confidently, without looking down. But that was the easiest thing to do, to walk alone on the rope, since he was the only one who owned the vibrations. Things did not seem to get complicated when Tui Lam climbed up, nor when Bahn Mi walked after her. Din Bin added his weight, and the rope curved a little more than we expected, for we were not used to such a long crossing. It was one thing to cross a river or two, quite another to cross a mountain cirque. It was said to be the highest on the continent.

Just as she was about to take the step, I took her by the hand.

“Dal Mah... I... Are you sure about this?”

“I am sure.”

“The rope is longer, the wind is more violent, more unstable. We are in time to...”

“An Long, there’s no turning back now” and she climbed up the rope, took a few steps into the void and turned her head towards me, as if to reassure me, although her words had the opposite effect. “Thank you for everything, An Long.”

At that moment, a chilling fear squeezed my insides. Why was she telling me at that moment? It could only mean one thing, that she was telling me just in case. Just in case something happened. In case she couldn’t tell me on the summit in front of me. I felt that fear again. That urge to cry that scratched my throat, that stung in my eyes.

I climbed. I’m not afraid to admit I was terrified. I was the last one, so I didn’t have to worry about what happened behind me. I would see everything. If someone fell, the image would be etched in my retina forever. Another glimpse of terror crossed my mind: in the next few seconds, I could, once again, see everything I had disappear. All my friends could sink into the Apprentice Well forever.

I looked down. Clouds. White ones. Hundreds or one. How many clouds are there in the clouds? Where does one begin and the other end? It was like a sea tinged with white. How many seas are there in the sea? I was immersed in meaningless musings until, without realizing it, I found myself in the middle of the void. Tui Lam used to say that the key was not to think, but wandering was also useful.

There I was, standing but hanging on the roof of the world, the circus of the highest peaks of the Sky Comb. I thought the worst was over, that all was going well. The wind seemed to hold its breath to help us. The rope seemed to cling to our bare feet as if trying to protect us. Everything was going well. And it would have ended like that, had it not been for that thunderous sound.

A deafening roar shook my whole body, the rope, and even the mountains, everything shook. Everything shook. And then I saw her fall. Right in front of me. She slipped. She fell backwards into the void, looking up at the sky, trying to grasp the air with her pink hands. And she looked at me. Dal Mah crossed that last look with me, and then it was as if something in my mind made sense.

For once I knew what I had to do. Rather, I knew what I could no longer do. Nothing. I couldn’t do nothing. I had to act, or I would regret it for the rest of my days. So, without another second’s hesitation, I jumped.

I plunged headlong into the void, like a comet streaking across the universe. I watched as everything around me accelerated, as the clouds enclosed in the circus approached me with the desire to swallow me up, as Dal Mah descended with her eyes fixed on mine. With those blue eyes that fascinated me. I had to reach them.

They disappeared in the gray humidity and, for a few seconds, it was impossible for me to see anything. I smelled despair, heard the hum of the wind, felt the cold drops of water in my eyes mixing with my tears.

I broke through the clouds and could finally see what awaited me and Dal Mah. Rocks. Stack sprouting from the ground and, surely, covered with spots. Strange spots of strange colors and patterns. I kept falling until I could see it a little clearer. No stains. Dragons?

I was approaching Dal Mah little by little, but I calculated that I would never reach her before impact. And besides, what good would it have done? To walk hand in hand? How romantic and useless at the same time!

Suddenly I saw something pass by me. A dark shadow with... yellow spots? I wanted to find out, but immediately my eyes involuntarily closed. My breathing stopped. I felt a sharp impact. But it hardly hurt: my mind had already shut down.