They give us each a bag. I’m thrilled to see a waterskin inside, and then realize from the weight that it must be empty. There’s also a map, a knife, and a piece of flint.

A soldier speaks. “On your map is marked our current location, your final target, and checkpoints you must hit along the way. Your job is to get there by tomorrow evening. May Neju watch over your journey.”

With that, he taps one man on the shoulder and tells him to go. A short while later, he taps the next. And then it’s my turn.

I set off quickly, scanning the map as I walk. The marks are easy enough to follow, and I’m confident I can find my way. But our path doesn’t cross any springs or rivers until well into our journey. It’s not a pleasant thought.

The sun is hot, and the air is gritty with dust. I realize now that my amnesia puts me at a disadvantage for this part of the trial. The others have lived here for years. They know this land and how to survive in it. They have a better idea of what’s in store, how to pace themselves and where to rest, while I just have the markings on the map.

My mouth is uncomfortably dry when I reach the first checkpoint—a cliff perhaps three stories high. Several candidates cling to its face.

A member of Neju’s Guard stands in front and checks my name off his tablet. “Climb up,” he says, gesturing toward the cliff.

Well, it’s a change of pace at least. I swing my sack over my shoulder and take a closer look. The sandstone is not nearly as smooth as it looks from afar. I dig my fingers into a crevice, find the foothold, and haul myself up. Step, pull. Step, pull.

A shadow crosses my vision. There’s a sound of beating wings, and suddenly a large crow flies right past my head. I almost lose my grip.

Crows? In the desert? When my heart stops pounding, I crane my neck for a better look. The bird’s still flying back and forth around me. It’s bizarre.

I hear a yell, and debris fills the air as a man to my right skids down the cliff face. I pull myself closer to the wall, holding my breath as I hear the crunch of his landing. His screams tell me he’s alive, but I don’t look. The crow flies away at the noise.