But now what?
She stood indecisively, clutching it in both hands. Across the pool, there was more crashing and a flare of light. Reive was fighting the magician and giving her time to get the book and Mace to safety. But if the book was intact, they would never really be safe ever again. This guy wasn't going to give up.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, placing a hand on Mace's shoulder. "I'll come back for you. I have to get rid of this first."
He didn't answer. She felt for his pulse again. It was slow and hard to find.
"I'll try to hurry. Hang on."
She wrapped both arms around the book, and concentrated on the ground under her feet.
After pulling the book out of the rock, it was easier this time. The rock responded to her sluggishly, but it did respond, and she sank as if into quicksand.
She had a moment of instinctive, claustrophobic panic before she realized she could breathe like this, just as she had been able to when Mace had transported her underground. It was like being wrapped in a dense, cool fog that surrounded her utterly. She knew her limbs were all there, and she could dimly feel the book against her chest, but everything was a little bit distant.
Is it the rock getting soft ... or me?
She could ask Mace later, once she was out of here.
It would be easy to just leave the book here. But no, there was still too much chance it could be found. If the magician realized what she had done, all he had to do was dig for it.
She had to take it very far away.
It took a little bit of experimentation to figure out how to move like this. The easiest thing to do was to sink, so she sank, as if she had become just that bit heavier than the surrounding stone.
As she did, she began to delight in the variation of the rock around her. Her ability to recognize subtle changes in different kinds of stone was growing by leaps and bounds. She could taste it, feel it. There were probably words for all the different kinds of rock she was feeling, but since she didn't know them, she could only think of it as slight changes in feeling or flavor: this rock was grittier, this one lighter; this was dark and strong like coffee; this one was more powdery and light, and left an almost sweet sensation on the back of her tongue ...
She passed through a coal seam, and laughed out loud in delight at its rich dark feeling, like dense chocolate cake.
There were faults in the rock around her. She could feel the strains and stresses, the pent-up energy that was subtly building, hinting at earthquakes in the far-distant future.
Could I predict earthquakes? I wonder if there are any gargoyles with geology degrees who work for earthquake prediction centers. How much loss of life and property could they prevent?
Could I stop an earthquake?
Could I cause one?
There was no time for experimentation now, and she didn't want to do it under a populated coast anyway. Maybe at some point in the future, she could have Mace take her to some uninhabited part of Antarctica and do a little bit of seismological practice.
Meanwhile, she was still sinking. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she was starting to be aware of a ringing in her ears and a growing leaden feeling in her limbs—distant and muffled, like everything else here.
Oh. I guess this takes energy, doesn't it?
She remembered how wiped out Mace had been when he transported them from Italy to Stonegarden. Now that she was learning to do it herself, she understood what an incredible feat that had been. He had transported them thousands of miles almost instantaneously.
I could do that. I could take myself thousands of miles away ...
Except, now that she had realized it was a possibility, she didn't think she still had the energy to try. She was tiring at a rapid rate. Tiring ... and weakening. Her heart was starting to pound as if she'd run a marathon, and she felt uncomfortably hot.
No, wait ... I think that part's real.
It was getting hotter around her. Well, that made sense, didn't it? If you went deep enough in the earth, you eventually hit lava.
In fact, as she sensed the variations in the rock around her, she found a place where magma had pushed up closer to the surface. Not that close; it wasn't like a volcano was going to erupt in Newfoundland anytime soon. Well, unless I really screw up down here. But it seemed like the perfect place to get rid of the book.
Her real body would have long since been both crushed and incinerated, but what she felt was a sensation of near-painful heat prickling along her skin, like putting your face too close to a campfire, as she pushed her hands holding the book into the magma flow.
There was a nagging sense of regret weighing down her librarian's soul. All that knowledge. All those secrets. So much about the history of her kind that would be gone forever.
But it was better than allowing it to fall into the hands of people who would warp and twist it, and use it to hurt gargoyles.
She let go.
The book was gone instantly, as soon as it left her hands, simultaneously incinerated and crushed. There wasn't even enough left of it for her to sense it as an interruption in the stone around her.
I guess I can go back now.
But ... how?
She had gotten here by sinking. It was the easiest thing in the world; she just let gravity pull her down.
How to go up, though?
Somehow, Mace had made it all the way across the Atlantic Ocean by sheer force of will. She had to be capable of doing the same thing. It was just a matter of figuring it out.
And having the energy left to do it.
She was flagging rapidly. Never especially athletic, but naturally strong due to her gargoyle heritage, she had overextended herself at the gym a couple of times, and this feeling took her right back to those days—the sensation of coasting on endorphins until suddenly she hit a crashing wall of Nope, this is all my body is capable of.
She was hitting it now. Her breath came in short gasps, and if she'd had a properly physical body, it would have been drenched in sweat. She felt dazed. Her knees wanted to buckle.
All I have to do is go up. Just like climbing a hill, right?
Except now that she'd stopped moving, she wasn't sure which way up was.
Panic crashed over her in earnest. Her ears hummed and purple spots danced in her vision.
I don't know how to get out. I'm running out of strength to get out. I'm going to die here.
Then ...
It was as if a voice called her, distantly, out of the dark.
Jess?
I'm here! she cried back.
She had no proper mouth or lungs, but she shouted; she had no hands, but she reached out. Reive was there somehow, not here with her under the ground, but reaching out to her from wherever he was. He was a beacon, calling her home.
Reive, I'm too weak ... I can't ...
Yes you can. He had gone from being the weak one to the strong one now. His voice wrapped around her, deep and commanding, and she responded to it on pure instinct. You can do it. You're incredible, Jess. You can do anything. I've never met anyone as strong as you. I know that you have a core of steel. Let me see it now. Come back to me. Come back.
She strained in the darkness, reaching out for him. She was so tired. But he was so close; she could feel him just beyond her reach, and she stretched, trying with everything in her to close that last gap between them.
That's it, sweetheart. You can do it. I love you.
The words seemed to startle him as much as they did her. In her timeless, bodiless nothingness, she felt the ghost of tears spring to her eyes. No one had ever said that to her before. Not even her foster parents. Not even once.