The statue's fist clenched and the entire glass-like monolith twisted on the plinth with a horrific grinding, cracking sound.

Jake spun around and his shards, still suspended above me, rippled up the wall towards him. Obviously, he thought we were being attacked.

He was right, in a way.

He was just facing the wrong direction.

I thought about giants – stories about giants from my childhood. The Selfish Giant. The Iron Giant. Both lost, isolated – broken. The statue continued to twist.

Maybe angry, I thought. If you were that isolated – you'd be angry. The statue's foot lifted – the glass splintering and snapping – leaving half behind. It stepped one foot down from the plinth, then slowly, torturously, started working the other free.

Jake turned around and glared at me.

Keeping my eyes focused on my giant, I gave him a wave, frowning as I tried to imagine a statue that had remained motionless for centuries walking. I thought about the clear, crystalline material softening a little, flowing –

"Your distraction won't –" began Jake condescendingly.

He was forced to dive to the side as my giant skidded on a mound of rubble. Its legs splintered ever further – sending shards of razor-sharp crystal flying through the air. A few fell down into my pit. I pressed myself further against the wall. "Sorry!" I called out. "That was an accident!"

Jake didn't reply – but I heard a loud expletive, so assumed he wasn't maimed.

There were several crunching noises – boot on rock – as he got to his feet again.

He had a choice now: either to attack me, or at least break my line of sight – which would stop me materialising; or to attack the giant.

Stop the attacker, or break their weapon. In my opinion, the logical course of action is clear. You stop the problem at the source. Easy.

Jake isn't very logical. He went for the massive spiky monster instead of me.

I looked at my giant, made sure it was balanced, then abruptly cut my attention from it – leaving it to stand still on the rocks – empty, just a statue again. Jake didn't seem to notice, but I only had a few seconds before he realised it wasn't fighting back.

I took a deep breath, then made a running lunge at the wall, trying to dig my fingers into the earth so I could claw my way up. It didn't work. For my efforts, I got a cut on my hand from a piece of broken metal embedded in the side of the pit, a face full of dirt, and a slow, undignified slide back down to the bottom.

There was a shattering noise, and I quickly backed up to the side of the pit again, craning my neck to see what was happening. Jake was demolishing my poor giant. He'd coated his arms with dozens of his shards – and was using their energy to send shockwaves of force towards the monolith. The substance it was made of wasn't glass – it was too strong, too ancient, for that – but it was brittle. It was splintering. Spider web cracks shot through it – like the impact zone at an earthquake.

My shard buzzed and I forced the statue to life again, just as a blast of energy from Jake's shard sent it reeling back a step. Its arms swung with the force of the impact and the movement looked strangely human, strangely shocked.

I imagined it flinching back from the impact, curling up in a ball, hunching forwards. It crumpled onto its knees, and Jake jumped back a step – too slow. 

The statue folded forwards on top of him. Curled up around him, trapping him in the clear prison of its arms.

I moved my eyes away from it, and stopped forcing it to live. That was enough. They could both stay frozen like that for a while.

Now to get out of the pit.

I walked over to the side and investigated the piece of metal I'd cut my hand on. I scowled at the wound worriedly. Tetanus. I'd need a Tetanus shot.

There was a sad crunching noise from above ground, and I decided to get move on. Jake was probably maltreating my giant.

My shard buzzed in my palm as I contemplated the sharp edge of metal poking through the dirt. It was above me, but just within reach – almost perfectly situated between the top of my head and the lip of the pit.

Metal, I thought. It's too small to be a step. But if metal's good at one thing, it's being moulded. I thought about forges, heat – and things shifting shape. The metal thinned, and I imagined it lengthening, stretching, sticking out from the wall like a pipe. It did so, glowing red, and I shook my head. Third degree burns were not on my to-do list this weekend. This weekend it was mainly essays. And sleep. Maybe wine.

I thought about heat – the movement of molecules – I imagined it conducting into the earth, moving away from the metal, away from me. The metal cooled.

Briskly, I shaped my shard into a flat, longish shape with a sharp end. Like a short sword, but without the hilt. I left a small fragment unchanged - making it wrap around my pinkie like a ring. You can never lose contact with your shard entirely, I'd learned. If you do - you can't control the rest. You can't materialise. 

I was distracted by another splintering noise and muffled swearword from the ruins above. Jake was clearly vandalising public property. I hoped my giant was holding on.

Without further ado, I jammed my shard into the wall at shoulder height, imagining it lengthening further into the dirt – a strong, steady base. I left half of it sticking out, and reached up to grab hold of the thin piece of metal I'd extended before.

I stood on tiptoe and gripped both hands round it as tightly as possible – unpleasantly reminded of childhood monkeybars – and attempted to perform a chin up. Miserable failure. I only lifted myself a few inches, but it was enough.

Through some seriously inelegant contortions and swearwords, I managed to bend and swing my foot up to my shard at shoulder height. I heard the tights I was wearing under my skirt tear right along the crotch at the movement.

"Traitor!" I should send Jake a bill and the manufacturers a strongly worded letter.

With my footing secured and something to hold onto, it was easy enough to pull myself upright; balancing on my shard and gripping onto my metal handhold for dear life. From that position, the top of the pit was almost within reach. Almost. I forced myself to let go of my handhold, and for a few horrible, horrible seconds, was just balancing on my shard. Without giving myself time to think about it, I stepped one foot, then the other, up onto the handhold – gaining several extra inches, and immediately losing my balance. 

 I lunged forwards and grabbed hold of the edge of the pit. "AH!" I yelped. "Oh, God."

I dug my hands into the rocks and dirt, barely balancing on the stupid metal stick. After I'd regained some vestige of stability, I heaved my elbows and forearms over the edge, and started to try to haul myself out.

I have a feeling that it was slightly pathetic.

"Pathetic," called Jake – confirming my suspicions. He was still trapped underneath my glass giant – evidently so supremely disgusted with my attempts at pit-escape that he'd forgotten his current situation. I ignored him – he was stuck inside a statue, who was he to judge? – and resolutely soldiered on, achieving success with a little jump and some desperate wriggling and clawing at the rocks. I may have looked a bit like a worm, but I was a free worm. After a few moments facedown on the dirt – savouring being horizontal – I levered myself upright.

Pointedly ignoring Jake, I walked back to the pit, calling my shard back up to my hand. It rolled reluctantly up the side – excruciatingly slow, as usual.

Perhaps registering that I wasn't interested in feedback on my climbing technique – Jake resumed blasting my statue. I didn't bother turning around. If he hadn't gotten out already, it was unlikely that he would now. Besides, his arms were somewhat restricted by the giant's embrace – he couldn't get any momentum.

When I had my shard back: buzzing comfortingly at my wrist – I walked over to my satchel and pulled out my laptop. I held it up and opened it.

"You're studying? Now?" That was Jake, now looking slightly deflated and uncomfortable in his somewhat confined position.

I let out a breath of relief as my laptop screen lit up, then closed it and tucked it back in my bag. "Just checking it's alive," I replied. "And it is! Don't worry."

Jake glared.

I slung my satchel over my shoulder and walked over to him – feeling bad about my giant – Jake hadn't managed to break through, but he had splintered it badly. I crossed my arms. "Do you admit defeat?"

"If I'd had a stun gun –"

"But you didn't."

"What are the chances that there'll be a bloody statue the next time you get attacked by Hierarchs?"

"Um..." I said, "Irrelevant?"

"Let me out."

I smiled – it was pretty much impossible to get agreement from Jake, but non-argument was a victory, in my books – and stared at the giant. It started to slowly uncurl from its hunched position. Then it stopped.

Jake frowned at me. "What are you doing?"

I pointed a finger at him. " No more traps!"

"Anna."

"No more traps! No one else gets traps – I beat the trap – I hereby boycott the trap!"

"Right now?"

"Yes!"

Jake made one of his delightful angry rhino noises. Then, "Let me out."

I bounced in excitement – no argument, another victory – and fixed my gaze on the statue again. It uncurled and flopped onto its back with an impact that quivered the rocks and rubble underfoot.

Jake flopped backwards too, but I was more concerned about my giant. I walked over to it and touched its face. Its chest was all caved in by Jake's attacks, its legs were splintered and broken by its swift removal from the plinth.

"How old was this?" I asked.

"Old," said Jake.

I frowned. It felt wrong – very wrong – to break history, even Waker history, apart in war games.

I promptly sat on a rock, cupped my chin in my hands, and looked at the giant. If I focused my eyes just right, the gaps and cracks in the glass disappeared. I thought about glass melting, softening – spreading, healing.

I looked at the legs. The feet had been virtually torn off. It wasn't right for it to walk. With slow, colossal movements, it started to crawl back towards the plinth: dragging itself on its forearms like a giant, wounded soldier. I felt queasy. There was something desolate about its broken, halting movements.

Jake sat up and watched its progress. I couldn't read the expression in his eyes. The statue abruptly stopped moving and I hurriedly returned my attention to it, heat climbing in my cheeks.

I felt Jake look at me but pretended not to notice. The statue stepped slowly up onto the plinth, carefully lining up its shattered ankle with the glass remains of its foot. I frowned in concentration as I let the pieces melt together, then cool. The other foot followed.

I let my mind slip out of the focused, dreamy state where materialisation works best and looked at it critically.

It was upright, at least – and possibly in a better state than it had been when I first saw it. It wasn't half destroyed now – just a little battered.

Jake got to his feet and walked over to me. He reached down and grabbed my arm, hauling me upright. I let him, taking a breath in preparation for a lecture on personal space and trap-setting in general, but was silenced by his expression.

I don't know how to describe it. I don't think I really can. He was smiling, which is rare enough – but his eyes were different from usual. Softer – but more focussed, somehow. Heat raced under my skin.

"You have dirt on your nose," he said.

"What?" I took a step back, and my hands flew up to scrub at it – nearly whacking him, which served him right, all things considered. "Well, I fell in a pit!" I accused, backing away a few more steps, skidding on some rubble, and hitting us both with my satchel (and the combined weight of Shakespeare's Complete Works and the Norton Anthology of Poetry). 

"Ow," I said as an aside, and began to rapidly make my way down the little pile of rubble we were situated on; towards the base, and – more importantly at that moment – away from Jake and all the confusion he brings with him. 

^^^

Author's Note:

I hope you liked this week's chapter, guys! Exams are nearly done - so I guarantee next week's  will arrive on time (there's going to be a double chapter. Because *hint* there's another letter from 'WM23').

 How do you feel about Anna's powers? A bit more explanation needed? Do you think Jake went easy on her, or is she actually now a badass?

- While you're waiting for next week's update, check out my new ebook - 'Thicker than Water' (it's a little like 'Awake', but much darker, and more gothic. There are witches and demons and bloody fight scenes galore. There are also attractive baristas.) - If you subscribe to the website *I promise no junk mail ever* linked to this chapter (or on my profile) I'll send you a free copy! (because you're awesome and I'd love to know what you think of it!)

www.elrummery.com