Rough hands held her, and walked her to the edge of the cenote. She tried to walk proudly, accepting her duty to the tribe as she had seen others do. She did not want to appear like the ones who collapsed to the ground when they were chosen and cried in despair as they were dragged to the edge and thrown in. Still, inwardly, she was afraid.

She had known very well that this day was near. Every year, it seemed, the rains diminished, and the water she helped to draw up from below turned brackish. No longer was it the clear, clean and pure water her people relied on. Already it was nearly undrinkable. Soon it would be too salty even for use in cooking. The time had come for one to be chosen. She had not known it would be her.

Every year, one of her young friends had plunged into the water of the cenote and disappeared into its depths, never to be seen again. Every year the rains came back, and collected here so her people would have the fresh water they needed to survive. It had to be done.

As she stood at the edge looking down at the water, her father and uncle, who were holding her, were crying openly. She knew her own eyes were brimming with tears, and drops were streaming down her face. Still she held herself as proudly as she could.

It was a long way down. Aside from the pure young girls who plunged into it each year, no one ever ventured into its waters. They dared not defile it. And they could not swim. 

They had all heard stories of the great salt ocean, but none of them had ever seen it. It was more than a day's walk away. In truth, they could not even understand or believe those stories. The cenote was the center of their world.

The time had come. Her father and her uncle released their holds on her. She stepped forward. She knew that, like the edge opposite that she could see, the side where she stood sloped back. So the pool below was much broader than this opening above it. One more step and she would be falling. She took that step.

There were trees all around the cenote. None were quite as tall as the cenote was deep. She had climbed in many of them, as had all her friends. Few had ever fallen from one, and none from the top. She had no idea what to expect as she fell. Her body turned and she was looking up, watching the opening above grow smaller. Then the water slapped her back.

The blow knocked the breath from her. After the initial plunge she continued to sink. But the blow had knocked something else from her as well. The fear was gone. In its place was a calm acceptance.

The spot of light that was the opening far above grew smaller and dimmer, until she was completely surrounded in darkness. She became disoriented. There was a strong feel of salt water in her nose and on her tongue. 

Just as her fear was threatening to return, she felt gentle hands upon her arms. Not the rough hands of her father and uncle, but soft hands. With the touch a voice spoke in her mind. "Welcome to our world, cousin. Let us guide you into the light."