Chapter 11: Emily on the Rocks

The scent of burning leaves and the feeling of cool air on her skin told Emily that she had failed once more. She stomped a foot in frustration, slamming her bare sole against the slightly warm flagstone of a courtyard in a secluded part of Paja Abbey.

“I’m not making you another dress,” said Talyndra, leaning against the wall with her arms folded and looking thoroughly unimpressed. “You really are a hazard around clothing, you know that?”

“It looked so simple when she did it,” Emily said, mostly to herself. “Set fire to something underneath the clothes, then teleport to it. She appeared inside my dress, you saw it.”

Talyndra shrugged. “Yeah, after she teleported you out of it. That’s what you should be focusing on—learning to teleport other things.”

Emily sighed, running a hand through her tangled hair. “You’re right, you’re right. But I’d feel much better about visiting the other abbeys if I knew how to teleport into some clothes. It would make a better impression on the monks.”

Talyndra giggled to herself. “Methinks someone’s nervous about a different impression.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emily lied, pulling her head through a shapeless monk’s robe she had not yet burned. “And anyway, how can I possibly teleport something without burning it up in the process? I can teleport myself, but my body is impervious to the Stoneshell’s fire.” As she said this, Emily conjured a flame in the palm of her left hand and moved her right hand slowly through it, feeling only a slight warmth.

“You teleported me, didn’t you? Though I have no desire to repeat the experience. Let Mister Spellbreaker have a turn.”

“The other Emily could teleport people without touching them. But anyway. Do you think it’s wise? Traveling with Dorian to this Tiedavon place, I mean.” Emily bit her bottom lip.

“I’d offer to come along, but you remember what Abbess Loren told us about the last Stoneshell Bearer who tried to teleport two companions.” Talyndra shivered violently. “And she told it in that whimsical tone of hers too, like it was a bedtime story. Dorian knows the area. He’s the man for the job. And I’d hate to be a ... third wheel.”

“This is a serious mission, Talyndra. If what we went through at Gla Abbey is anything to go by, I doubt we’ll just be able to show up at Tiedavon and ask the first monk we see if we can borrow a cup of Azure Essence. There are going to be complications—dangerous ones.”

Talyndra’s eyes flashed with excitement, her grin widening. “A thrilling, rousing, dangerous adventure! I’m sure that’ll get the blood flowing like nothing else!”

“I asked you a real question, Talyndra.”

Talyndra’s expression softened and she placed a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Listen, if he tries anything you don’t like, give the scoundrel a face full of Stoneshell fire and then use the Bronzeband to drop a pillar upon his fat head.” She mimed exaggerated throwing, lifting, and dropping motions with her other hand. “But if he does something you do like ... I want to hear the tale.”

Emily rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Come, let’s go find Aria. Maybe she can tell us something about how the Shard of True Reflection is supposed to help turn her human again.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to ask Althea?”

Emily scoffed. “The last time I asked her for advice she told me to know myself.”

Aria was in the chamber she’d picked out for herself, not far from where Emily and Talyndra had been practising. She stood before a stone table, alternating her attention between a thick tome of magical lore and a familiar shard of clear glass. The Shard of True Reflection glinted in the sunlight streaming through a narrow window.

“Emily, Talyndra,” Aria said in her usual melodic tones. “How wonderful to see you both. How was practise?”

Emily shrugged. “I still can’t teleport into clothing. Or teleport any non-living thing that I’m not directly in contact with. So pretty much a bust, overall. How goes the research?”

Aria smiled sympathetically. “Much the same, I’m afraid. I can find no references to this Shard of True Reflection beyond the one that Althea showed us before. I can tell you with certainty that it is a powerful magical artifact, but I can say nothing else. Well, there is one thing...”

“What’s that?” Emily asked.

Aria’s stone brow furrowed. “When I look into the Shard, after expanding it like you showed me, I see ... nothing.”

“What could that mean?”

“It is likely an effect of the curse. I will bring in Brom later to see whether he has a reflection. But I suspect that he will not. It makes a certain sense—Arctulus’ magic was intended to turn us from living beings to inanimate statues. Only something living can have a true reflection.”

“That’s funny,” replied Emily, “because you’re more alive than a lot of the so-called living beings I can think of.”

“Aye,” said Talyndra.

“Thank you, girls,” Aria replied sadly. “I know you mean well, but you cannot truly know what it is to be as I am. It is a strange sort of half-life, to be trapped in this stone shell. My sensation is dulled and I cannot taste, smell, or feel. I cannot even remove this gown.” Here she tapped at the stone of her sleeve, undifferentiated from that of her skin.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Emily, conscious of the loose monk’s robe against her skin. She found herself reluctant to wear anything too dressy or elaborate these days, given its risk of destruction. This very robe would likely soon fall victim to the fires of teleportation.

Aria chuckled musically. “I haven’t forgotten the promise I made to you in Castle Elid, Emily. As soon as I am restored, this gown is yours.”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t burn it,” said Talyndra, winking at Emily.

“I do not think I would be sorry to see it go. It is, after all, many centuries out of fashion.”

Emily smiled. “Don’t be so sure! These things go in cycles, you know. Knowing my luck, the moment it’s burned up will be the moment every high lady in Lirethel starts wearing one.”

There came a knock at the chamber door. “Come in!” Aria called.

The door opened to reveal a familiar figure in a rumpled tunic. It was Dorian, with a serious look in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re all here,” he said, skipping straight to business. “I’ve just gotten word that Althea has fixed a date for the restoration ritual: the summer solstice.”

“The ritual has a date now?” Emily asked. “I thought we’d just do it once we had all the ingredients.”

“Tracking the positions of the stars and the progress of the seasons has always been an important part of mages’ work,” Aria said. “For such powerful magic, only a day of great alignment would suffice, and the summer solstice is one of the few. I forget, sometimes, that you do not know these things, Emily.”

“When is the solstice, then?” Emily asked, drawing in a sharp breath.

“It’ll be a little more than two weeks’ time,” said Talyndra.

“So we have a deadline,” said Dorian. “Emily, let us go at once to Tiedavon Abbey.”

Emily gave a small shriek. “But I’m not ready! I have to bring ... uh, well, I guess I can’t bring anything, but I still have to practise my magic!”

Dorian’s face took on a confused cast. “Emily, you are already the most accomplished fire mage I have ever encountered. I am not sure benefit additional days of training would bring, weighed against lost time. Two of the three ingredients are still to be collected.”

Emily exchanged a glance with Talyndra, who stifled a mighty giggle. They both knew what Emily’s main motivation for attempting to teleport into clothing was, and why she had been working at it so feverishly right before she and Dorian were to teleport to the Azure Coast.

“Dorian is right,” Aria said, locking her stone gaze on Emily. “As your magical tutor, I can attest that your skills with the Stoneshell will make you more than a match for whatever may await you at Tiedavon Abbey.”

“And I’ve been to the Azure Coast before, I know the lay of the land,” Dorian added. “Not this abbey, specifically, but I’ve dealt with the people there. They have a strange obsession with the tides.”

“I’ve no doubt that the skills of a spellbreaker will be a great aid to the mission,” added Talyndra. “Imagine if we’d had that in Shimmerwood! Dorian coulda dispelled those illusions with a snap of his fingers!”

“The lady exaggerates,” Dorian said. “But it is no exaggeration to say that I place the full extent of my skill and knowledge at your disposal, Emily.” At this, he bowed slightly.

Emily bit a lip. “And we’re sure that this ritual has to happen on the summer solstice?”

Aria nodded gravely. “If Althea has set that date, immense magical power will be needed. Should we miss this opportunity, another may not come for many moons.”

“We’d have to wait a whole year!” said Emily.

Aria and Talyndra exchanged glances. “There is no guarantee that the next summer solstice will produce the same favorable conditions,” Aria said flatly. “Magic runs on its own schedule.”

Emily gasped. “So, if we miss this solstice...”

No one in the room felt up to finishing her sentence.

“Let’s go right now then,” Emily continued. “Better than to make a spectacle in the courtyard. I hope that’s not your favorite tunic, Dorian.”

For an instant, Dorian’s eyes widened, but he quickly regained composure. He held out an arm, which Emily grasped. It was warm and solid.

Emily closed her eyes, focusing on the Stoneshell’s power. Before she could allow herself to back out, she blurted out, “Tiedavon Abbey!”

The Stoneshell’s fire roared to life, a blazing inferno that swallowed them whole. Emily felt the familiar heat envelop her, the monk’s robe disintegrating in an instant and the scent of scorched fabric mixing with the cool rush of air as the world dissolved. Dorian’s grip tightened, his breath sharp against her ear, and then the flames vanished, plunging them into darkness.

The transition was swift—too swift—and when the world reformed, they landed on a surface of hard sandstone, the impact jarring Emily’s knees and sending a shock of cold through her bare feet. Behind her, she could hear a fire crackling—the Stoneshell fire of Tiedavon Abbey, a simple bonfire burning near the edge of a cliff.

Emily gasped, the salty tang of the Azure Coast flooding her lungs, sharp and briny, laced with the faint perfume of exotic flowers. A strong, salty wind whipped up, billowing her hair out behind her back and raising goosebumps across her skin, covered by nothing more than a few patches of soot from the teleportation fire.

For a dizzying second, the world tilted. She wasn’t just naked; she was exposed on a precipice under a vast, pale sky, the roar of unseen waves echoing from far below. The sandstone beneath her feet felt ancient and worn smooth. The cliff was long and narrow, flat and narrow. On the other side, she could see a sandstone tower. She felt a palpable sense of isolation in this high and lonely place, and the very air seemed suffused with power barely held in check. Not the sweet, brain-fogging scent of Shimmerwood, but something more simple and raw.

Dorian stumbled beside her, his breath hitching as he steadied himself, his own nudity as stark as hers under the open sky. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, gasping. “I feel as though my insides have been reordered.”

Emily had teleported so much recently that she barely felt the old nausea. Though her attempts to teleport into clothing had come to naught, there was at least that benefit. But she had failed to avert the situation she’d very much wanted to avoid, that of standing naked with Dorian near the edge of a high, windswept cliff.

Their gazes met, and Emily could see Dorian’s determination to maintain eye contact. She shared this determination, but he was taller than her by a head, and she couldn’t help but take in his strong shoulders and broad chest. Not to mention those abs, and ... she refocused on his eyes.

A booming voice from some yards away reminded Emily of her own exposure, prompting her to cover herself. “No magic enters Tiedavon unearned!”

Footsteps trudged across the hard ground, steady and purposeful, as a group of monks approached from a tower on the inland side of the clifftop. Their leader was a towering man, broad-shouldered and clad in an azure robe adorned. His face was weathered and his sharp eyes, gray as storm clouds, fixed on Emily with unyielding authority.

Emily instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Dorian stepped between her and the monks.

“I am Brother Kastor,” said the leader. “The Tidewarden of Tiedavon Abbey. We guard this coast and the sacred Essence that protects it. I judge by your appearances that you have abandoned worldly possessions and seek to be initiated into our sacred order.”

Emily opened her mouth, a denial forming, but Brother Kastor continued, “While I commend your commitment to relinquishing mundane possessions, I must ask that you also surrender your magical artifacts until you prove worthy of them.”

Emily’s hand clamped protectively over the Stoneshell. She was done letting others take her magic. Initiation? Worthiness? The words grated. They didn’t have time for monastic rituals. Kastor’s sharp gray eyes seemed to bore right through her. The wind felt colder. The two monks flanking Kastor were utterly still, their eyes trained on the ground.

She exchanged a sharp glance with Dorian. He nodded very slightly, subtly shifting his weight in preparation for a fight.

“I’m not giving up anything,” said Emily, though she found it difficult to sound intimidating while trying desperately to cover her naked body.

“Then I won’t ask again,” replied Kastor, his tone hardening.

“Good,” Emily replied, trying to sound relieved, even as her heart hammered in her throat.

Kastor gave a curt nod to the two monks flanking him. They moved with disciplined speed, splitting to approach Emily from either side. Their hands were precise—one lunged for the Stoneshell’s chain while the other dove low, grabbing for the Bronzeband around her ankle. Crucially, both kept their eyes averted, staring resolutely at the scrubby ground.

Instinct took over. Emily pivoted sharply away from the monk reaching for her necklace. His fingers slid across her collarbone, brushing the side of her breast. He recoiled as if burned, freezing for a critical second, his averted gaze betraying nothing but the sudden flush creeping up his neck.

Her spin also unbalanced the monk grabbing her ankle. He stumbled over a protruding stone, his grip tightening painfully as he fell. His involuntary gasp coincided with his gaze snapping upwards, directly between her legs.

A wave of mortification washed over Emily, hot and fierce, immediately followed by white-hot anger. Opportunity.

With an explosive exhale, she channeled the Stoneshell, producing not a fireball, but a concussive blast of boiling air from her lungs, directed at the monk still frozen beside her. He yelped, scrambling back from the sudden furnace.

Simultaneously, she focused on the Bronzeband. The jagged stone the other monk had tripped over shifted, grinding upwards with unnatural speed and impacting sharply against the inside of his wrist where he still gripped her ankle. A spurt of blood splashed the band. The monk choked out a cry of pain, and his gaze snapped away from her, focusing on his injured hand.

Blood pounding, Emily summoned a low ring of fire around her feet. It flared momentarily around her feet, licking at the hems of the monks’ robes as they stumbled back.

“Devil woman!” shouted the injured monk, frantically slapping at a smoldering patch on his robe with his good hand before retreating behind Kastor. “Beautiful ... tempting ... devil woman!”

The other monk had collapsed into a kneeling position and was muttering frantic prayers, seemingly oblivious. Dorian moved swiftly, not attacking, but firmly gripping the praying monk’s shoulders, preventing him from mounting any further attacks on Emily.

Emily took a defiant step towards Kastor, planting a bare foot firmly in his direction. She ignored the goosebumps, the sting of salt spray, and her own mortification to meet his thunderous gaze.

Brother Kastor’s scowl deepened as he took in the scene—the panicked monks, one restrained by Dorian, and Emily, naked, defiant, still radiating faint heat. “You are clearly a skilled mage and a cunning warrior, unafraid to use every advantage nature has granted you.” He paused, stroking his beard. “Perhaps I should have brought the blind brethren.”

A hot blush rose to Emily’s cheeks, and it was all she could do to maintain her defiant and open stance. “I’m not here to fight,” she said, her voice steadier now. “My companion and I have been sent from Paja Abbey by Abbess Althea, in search of the Azure Essence. We teleported to the Stoneshell fire on this cliff, burning up our clothes in the process. We only need a single vial of the Essence, to break a curse.”

Brother Kastor raised an eyebrow. “You are the Stoneshell Bearer.”

Emily nodded, conscious of the eyes on her chest.

Kastor’s eyes narrowed, flicking to the Stoneshell, then to Dorian, then back to Emily. “The Stoneshell Bearer,” he murmured. His gaze sharpened again. “And him? Your ... consort? Does he share the Stone’s power through ... union?”

Emily felt the blush return with a vengeance, Captain Richard’s smirking face flashing unwanted in her mind. “No! Definitely not! He’s Dorian Blackwood. A spellbreaker. And my friend.”

Kastor looked unconvinced. “A young man and woman on a cliffside, both naked. Forgive my skepticism.”

Emily hesitated. Letting him think Dorian shared the power was tempting ... but the implications... “Maybe I’m lying,” she bluffed, forcing confidence. “But are you willing to risk testing that assumption? We just need the Essence. One vial. For Abbess Althea’s ritual. It has to happen by the summer solstice, less than two weeks away.”

Kastor remained silent, his expression unreadable. Behind him, the injured monk whimpered.

“The Azure Essence is not some common potion,” Kastor said finally. “It is the lifeblood of this Abbey, safeguarding our coast. Acquiring it requires initiation into our Order, to complete the Tidal Trials—”

A small fireball zipped past Kastor’s head, narrowly missing his ear.

“We’re on a deadline,” said Emily. “I don’t want to be disrespectful, but we really don’t have time to be initiated into an order or complete a bunch of trials. We just need the Azure Essence, so that we can do a ritual to lift the curse on the Stoneshell that turned the denizens of Castle Elid to stone. It sounds kinda crazy when I say it like that, but you can ask Abbess Althea, she’ll back me up! And the ritual has to happen on the summer solstice.”

“Can you not make an exception for the Stoneshell Bearer?” Dorian chimed in, still holding the oblivious monk in check. “She’s not doing this for her own benefit, but to restore the lives of dozens of innocents. And she has already faced many trials since taking up the position.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many of them left me looking just like this,” Emily added wryly.

Kastor rubbed the side of his head, as if checking all his hair was still there after the close encounter with the fireball. He glanced at Dorian, still holding the now quiet monk, and then back at Emily, who was losing her nerve with every passing moment.

An interminable length of time passed in silence as Kastor contemplated, occasionally stroking his chin. Emily tried to stand as still as possible. Those around her appeared to be doing their best not to stare too overtly.

Finally, Kastore spoke. “Abbess Althea is a very old friend, and a mage I have great respect for. You, clearly, are the Stoneshell Bearer, the long-awaited heir to Evangeline, with all of her determination.” He looked pointedly at the injured monk behind him. “To give out the Essence goes against our every tradition, the founding principles of our order. But these are exception times. Perhaps the Council of Elders will see that. I am prepared to argue your case.”

Relief washed through Emily, so potent it almost buckled her knees. “Thank you,” she breathed. “And ... could we possibly get something to wear?”

Kastor actually chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “Indeed. Brother Tavis,” he indicated the monk Dorian held, “and Brother Ghor,” the one nursing his wrist, “have faced sufficient trials and temptations for one day. Give our guests your robes.”

Emily didn’t particularly care to be called a temptation—it wasn’t as though she was deliberately naked—but she held her tongue.

“I will if he lets me go,” came a meek, slightly strangled voice from behind Emily.

Dorian released Tavis, who reluctantly shed his robe and handed it over. Ghor approached Emily cautiously, eyes downcast, holding out his robe with his good hand after squirming out of it. Emily took it gratefully, quickly pulling it over her body.

Seeing Ghor’s blood-slick wrist up close pricked up her sense of guilt. “Let me see your hand,” she said gently.

The monk, pale and gangly in his wrapped loincloth, hesitated at first, but finally held out his hand after repeated assurances from Emily. She gently held it in her own hands. The cool green flame of healing Stoneshell magic flicked around the bloody wound, cleaning it and knitting together the skin until the monk’s wrist was quite whole again. “Sorry about that,” Emily said.

Speechless in his astonishment, the monk bowed low to Emily before returning to Kastor’s side.

“I did not know the Stoneshell held that power,” said Kastor.

Emily managed a small smile. “It’s a very powerful artifact. And it has bestowed a mission of great importance upon me. I hope that the Council of Elders will consider that.”

“All factors will be duly weighed,” Kastor said curtly. “Now come. The Council will shortly convene.”

The monks led Emily and Dorian to a round sandstone tower a short distance from the cliff’s edge. They entered through a wooden door, so low that Dorian had to stoop to enter it. Immediately past the door began a tightly wound spiral staircase, its steps worn smooth with age and use. The air grew heavy and cool, the resonant hum of the sea echoing within the stone confines. Emily glanced back at Dorian; his expression was guarded, his eyes scanning the worn steps and curved walls.

At the bottom of the staircase was another wooden door, which opened out into a wide courtyard, dotted with squat sandstone buildings carved with intricate wave patterns. Unlike the windswept clifftop, the air here was still, almost unnaturally so. A few other monks hurried past, their faces tight with an anxiety that seemed unrelated to the newcomers. Emily noticed one stop and press his hand to the wall of a building, head bowed, as if listening for something.

Kastor beckoned them towards the largest building, an enormous dome in the center of the courtyard, painted a deep sea blue and decorated all over with wave motifs that seemed to shimmer faintly, even in the flat light. As they approached, Emily felt a peculiar vibration underfoot, a low thrumming dissonance, like a string pulled too tight, almost painful in her teeth. Just as they approached, the heavy wooden door burst open, nearly flattening Ghor who leaped aside. An old man with a wild white beard stumbled out, his eyes wide with panic.

“Kastor!” he wailed. “Disaster! A catastrophe!”

Kastor’s face went taut. “What is it, Elder Blevik?”

“The Essence! The Great Azure Sphere ... it’s gone!”

“Gone?” Kastor echoed, disbelief warring with horror. “Impossible! The wards...”

“Gone! Vanished!” Blevik wrung his hands. “Just moments ago! There was a strange vibration, a discordant sound, like someone abusing a violin ... and then it was gone!”

“Show me!” Kastor commanded, pushing past Blevik into the dome.

The other monks followed, their earlier discipline dissolving into anxious haste. Emily and Dorian trailed behind them, stepping into the vast, echoing space.

The space inside the dome was divided up by blue columns, which held up multiple levels of stone walkways, crisscrossing the vast space, all the way up to the curved ceiling. But the building’s main attraction appeared to be in its center, where the columns and walkways thinned out to reveal ... nothing.

Around this empty center, small groups of old men and women clustered around each other, speaking in hushed tones and looking up every now and then with worried eyes.

“It truly is gone,” Kastor said. He had taken no more than a few steps into the dome before stopping, his gaze fixed on an empty spot in the air. Then he hurried forward, to speak to a group in the middle of the room.

The others followed, walking swiftly to the center of the dome. No one seemed to notice or care about the two outsiders.

“What’s gone?” asked Dorian.

“The Azure Essence,” one of the monks told him in a low voice. Emily leaned in to listen as well. “There was an enormous, spinning blue sphere of it hanging high up, in the middle of the dome. I’ve never seen it so much as shrink before, let alone disappear. This place is unrecognizable without it.”

“This, uh, spinning sphere,” asked Emily. “Was it by any chance the only supply of Azure Essence?”

The monk nodded gravely.

Emily’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose you won’t be able to give us a vial of it then.”

“It’s far worse than that!” Kastor exclaimed, whirling around, his face ashen. “The Essence powered everything! The protection wards, the coastal defenses, the farming spells! It is the center of our spiritual practise—Tiedavon Abbey was built around the Essence. Without it, we are nothing!”

As if on cue, a deep, groaning rumble resonated from beneath their feet. The sandstone floor trembled violently.

“The dome!” someone screamed. “It’s losing integrity!”

Cracks snaked across the floor and shot up the support columns like lightning. Dust rained down. High above, a section of walkway groaned, sagged, then detached with a sickening crunch.

“Everyone out!” Kastor roared. “The Essence powered this very building!”

Screams rang all around Emily as monks and elders dashed around madly. Falling debris sent plumes of choking dust into the air. Emily coughed, her eyes stinging.

To her right, a massive column, already fractured, buckled visibly, leaning precariously towards a frail old woman struggling with a walking stick. With a final, agonizing crack, the top section sheared off and began to slide.

As Emily’s fingers brushed the Elder’s thin shoulder, she poured her will into the Bronzeband, not to lift, but to disintegrate. The huge chunk of stone didn’t just fall – it exploded outwards and upwards in a shower of harmless pebbles and dust.

“Thank you, child!” the Elder gasped, before Brother Ghor appeared, guiding her swiftly towards the exit, motioning for Emily to follow.

The Bronzeband pulsed warmly against Emily’s ankle. She had inadvertently used its powers to save the old lady and herself from the falling ceiling. And she could do it again. “Don’t worry about me,” she said to the monk. “Get the Elders to safety.”

She scanned the chaos. Dorian was near the far wall with his arms outstretched over the shoulders of two wizened Elders, hurrying them to safety.

Emily dashed towards another cluster of Elders trapped by a collapsing scaffold. She focused and felt the stone respond to her. She slowed the fall of a massive lintel and shattered a buckling pillar into small chunks before it could crush anyone. It was harder than summoning fire from the Stoneshell, which now came as naturally as breathing, but she was getting better at it.

All the while, more stone was falling. She cleared paths and deflected blows, her world narrowed to the immediate danger, the groan of stressed stone, the terrified cries.

Finally, the space seemed clear. She watched the last Elder she’d helped disappear through the main entrance, then turned to follow.

With a ground-shattering boom, an entire support column, immense and ancient, fell right in front of her, cutting off the direct path to safety. Rubble rained down. There was no time to go around. Scrambling over the newly formed barrier of broken stone, rocks skittering around her, Emily felt a sharp tug. Her borrowed robe was snagged fast on a jagged piece of debris.

Annoyed, she yanked, then tried lifting the trapping rock with the Bronzeband, but her focus wavered as another deafening rumble echoed from above. Dust choked her. She looked up.

An entire section of the upper walkway, dozens of feet long, thick as a bridge, had detached and was grinding its way down, mere yards above her head. Slow, inevitable, unstoppable.