But they’re the only way up. And we can’t go any farther, because the ravine dead-ends with a stony wall covered in moss. If there’s any sort of entrance here, it’s extremely well-hidden. Still, the presence of a bridge is enough to spark my hope—bridges don’t build themselves.
We drink what’s left of our clean water, not that there’s much, then fill the Havenwater bottle to its brim. Our stream ducks under the wall’s gaps, twists through its cracks. We won’t see water again for a while, I’d bet.
“Coming?” Hope says, stepping precariously up the first inclined bridge. She’s tougher than she looks, much tougher than I initially gave her credit for. “We should probably try to space ourselves out, cross one at a time—it doesn’t feel super sturdy.”
Alexa waits for Hope to cross the first bridge, then begins the climb. I’m last. The boards are narrow and far apart, tied to the ropes with only one knot on each end. They creak and bend—one bends so much it starts to splinter. Quickly, I shift to the next board, and the next. The bridges jolt and sway despite our efforts to stay steady.
If we’d studied the bridges before we began to climb—really studied them, instead of just glass-half-full assuming they’d all be functional enough—we would’ve noticed the next bridge in front of Hope has no planks on it. As in zero boards to step on. As in ropes only.
Six body lengths below, three body lengths above: it’s high enough to break us if we fall. If we can just make it past this bridge, the last two look relatively secure. Turning back would leave us right where we started, wandering the base of a ravine with only grasshoppers for food, and no fire to purify our water.
“So,” I say. “Who’s going first?”
“I’ll do it,” Alexa says, which surprises me. It’s only when she volunteers that I realize I’ve spoken just for the sake of acknowledging the challenge before us—I assumed Hope would continue on in the lead. Or that I would, if she was tired of going first.
But Alexa is serious. “Toss the supplies up to me when I’m on the other side—it’s best if we go one at a time.” Gingerly, she makes her way up to the bridge where Hope stands. She shimmies out onto the solitary rope, grinning. “We did ropes courses at camp every summer when I was a kid.”
I make careful note of how she holds herself, how she moves, so I can do the same. Facedown on the rope, she stretches her arms out in front while keeping her stronger leg bent, hooked around the fraying line. She makes it look easy, the way she pulls herself across. Hope and I toss the cardigan, Havenwater bottle, and canteens to Alexa when she’s firmly on the other side; only our grasshoppers don’t make it, drifting hopelessly from pocket to ravine pit. We pass our spears up with more success.
Hope eases out next. Her movements aren’t as fluid as Alexa’s, and she isn’t as fast, but she makes it to the next bridge in one unbroken piece.
Single-rope bridges aren’t my strong suit, it turns out. Positioning myself is awkward, and the rope feels like it could slice through me. Its frayed pieces poke at my bare legs, burn as I struggle to pull myself across. This is all arms, all balance. And a mind game, as I have nowhere to look but down. My mouth goes dry; my palms start to sweat.
“Flip upside down if you need to!” Alexa calls out, the unlikely cheerleader. “Cross your ankles over the rope and hang like a monkey—then you can use your legs more.”
I’m hesitant, when my arm muscles are already screaming, and when my palms are this slick, to flip upside down and hang. Especially when I haven’t had the benefit of seeing someone else do it first. Then, though, at least I could look at the sky, instead of how far up I am. And maybe it’d be over sooner.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m going for it.”
I bolt my ankles together, let myself flip. My father’s ring slips from where I’ve tucked it behind my shirt, tugging the chain around my throat, heavy and choking. Gravity wants nothing more than to suck me down into a jagged, hard embrace. I grit my teeth and give everything I have—otherwise I’ll lose everything I have. The rope shakes and sways, my arms tremble violently, my hands are slippery with sweat. But soon, Alexa and Hope are there, helping me up to the next bridge.
The final bridges are like a dream compared with the nightmare of everything before them. We practically float to the top.
Hope leads the way. “You guys . . .” Her voice trails off, but it doesn’t matter. Alexa and I see the view for ourselves soon enough.
We’ve found it.
The temple.
TWENTY-THREE
THE TEMPLE IS a sprawling mass of stone and moss, rough and unrefined, yet delicate. Intricate carvings cover the walls, the arches and geometric patterns and runelike symbols all cut directly into the stone. Some of the carvings are incredibly complex, like the entire wall full of three-dimensional jungle creature statues.
It looks ancient, like whoever lived here before must have died out long ago. Parts of the temple seem strong enough to withstand whatever nature might throw at it, while other parts are more . . . weathered. Like the entire section off to the right; its walls lie in crumbled heaps amid the jungle’s hungry tentacles.
The temple itself might just be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen—tree roots that have grown right up over the walls, holding them in place like the hands of God, repeating patterns so perfect it’s hard to imagine a person carving them without the help of a machine—but it is disconcerting and eerie to see it so wounded and abandoned. Alexa, Hope, and I trek around its perimeter, looking for any sign of the monks who supposedly live here.
“Hello?” I call out. “Anyone?”
“Finnley?” Hope’s voice ricochets from the stone walls. “Are you in there? Hello?”
No one comes to greet us, but it could be worse. No one comes to kill us, either.
My father was not a liar, my father was not a liar. Temples hiding among ferns, structures formed of stones and secrets. The temple is here, so are the ferns and the stones.
The secrets: if only they were so plainly seen.
We come to a series of moss-covered arches held in place by thick stone pillars. I take a deep breath, swallow down the fear that’s started a slow climb up my throat. “This must be where we go inside.”
But honestly, I’m hesitant about going inside. If we were welcome here, we would have been greeted already. Right?
Neither of the others makes a move. Hope looks wary, like me, but Alexa is a live wire. “Are you kidding me?” she says, kicking a pillar so hard dust flies out of it. “You still honestly believe this place is going to be a refuge for us? You are out of your mind, Eden. Look around. Whoever lived here before couldn’t even keep themselves alive. We haven’t seen a single animal bigger than a bug since we got here. Not one fish. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“I—yes,” I say, after a beat. “I admit that it’s weird.” Why does nothing about this island make sense?
“I mean,” she goes on, “how are we going to eat? I’m already starved out of my mind—”