Paragon - Book I

The Power Of

Ben's hands shake her awake the next morning and, panicked, Allayria shoots up like a bolt, imagining something dark and creeping sliding around their door.

"You did it," he tells her, cupping her puffy, saliva-crusted face between his hands.

She blinks, feeling thoroughly lost and harried as her hair, a tumble of frizzed travesty, falls over her eyes.

"Whuherfgh—?" 

"Algebra," he tells her, and there's a manic look in his eye, "it is algebra, by the Gods, Allayria. Exponents—'the power of'—of, Allayria, of."

She has no idea where he's going with this, but she says "Oh, yes, of course" anyway.

"It's a set of 'of' statements," he continues, grabbing the journal and showing her his cramped, furious notes. " 'The eye of the something, The something of the something.' It's a set of clues or directions to the location."

"Ah, yes," she answers, laying hesitant hands on her hair. "So, what time is it?"

"Morning," he answers, eyes already back on the journal.

Allaryia rubs the sleep out of her eyes with her fingers and then the drool off her cheeks with the sides of her forearms, a picture of elegance and dignity.

"How many hours did you sleep?" she asks, looking around for her clothes.

"Few."

"Have you eaten?"

"Five."

"If you could do one interpretive dance, would it be the Fair Jig of the Babalook or the Composed Cavort of the Tortoise?"

"Yeah... yeah, sure."

"Right." Allayria rolls up onto her feet, sweeping up a pair of not entirely dirty pants. "I'll go get you something before you expire."

Meg and Iaves are at breakfast too when she enters the mess hall. They both grunt when she approaches, pushing a bag of grain her way.

"Tea," Iaves mumbles in her direction, and, agreeing completely, Allayria lights a flame under the small teapot waiting for her.

"Did he sleep at all?" Meg asks as Allayria begins to scoop the grain into two bowls.

"Theoretically."

"How many times did he wake you up?" Iaves asks into his bowl. He doesn't seem to be awake enough to lift his head above the rim.

"Just this morning, actually," she responds, lifting the lid of the teapot so steam billows out.

"Huh, maybe he did sleep a bit then," Meg says through a mouth full of grain. "He refused to come eat then?"

"He answered my question with 'Five,' so I'm bringing him food."

"Excellent idea."

"Does he need us to go get more books?" Iaves asks, emerging for the cup of tea Allayria sets next to him. "He'll just need more books, right?"

"I'm not going back down to those quarters," Meg interjects flatly.

All three end up going back to Allayria's room for their marching orders, Rex trailing behind them. When they enter the warm, shadowed room Ben shows the other two their progress, and Iaves and Meg's faces show about as much comprehension as Allayria felt when he ran through it with her.

"So see, these are the only three we don't know," he finishes, pointing to a round, squiggling shape, a swirl, and a box.

Iaves points to the rounded shape.