Paragon - Book I

The Descent

All that exists anymore is the soft zip of rope sliding through metal, the tough grit of it against palms, and that strange, orange glow, growing larger the farther she drops down.

With both hands minding the descent, Allayria has no way to create light, and this place is so dark that the blackness presses against her eyes, blocking out the surrounding walls and even the hands holding on tightly in her lap.

She falls in short jerks, the descent speeding up into a smooth acceleration until her hand pulls back sharply, tremors at the speed of the fall seizing up across her legs and spine. She knows something is wrong.

A thousand thoughts linger on the precipice of her mind, murmuring questions of when this will be done, what will be down there, what will she do if the rope runs out or the pulley fails, and what can the Paragon do to save themselves if they fall. She's trying not to think about these musings directly, trying to skirt around the possibilities, to just endure without thought until this is over.

The cold has worked itself into her bones now, and if she wasn't so stiff from fear she would shake from it. Her fingers are dead points, only responsive due to her sheer will to feel them.

She has to get down.

Her falls grow longer, her halts slower and more measured, and her arms are a clammy, tight mess as she begins to make out the burning rags on the fallen torch below. She is close.

She can only discern the rough, clumpy gray dirt around the torch, and her senses scry out for what else might be hidden beneath the blanket of gloom. The quiet, she can't get past the quiet. She knows something is wrong.

The ground crumbles in like clay when her boots hit it; the rope is almost a story short, but she had jumped down anyway, dangling as far down on the rope as possible until her arms gave out. Her knees buckle upon impact and she stumbles forward, the fingers of her left hand sliding in deep to the gray muck.

Allayria straightens up.

Something, a sense other than her five, is shivering and she's like an alley cat, hair bristling all up her spine.

"The dead have no power over the living, Allayria. If there's anything in here, it's just echoes from the library's bones. It can't hurt you."

Allayria's feet sink in a little deeper, and she feels that she has come down to the marrow of the library's bones, the belly of this strange, hulking beast.

She glances up at the rope and realizes, with horror, that it is too tall for her to reach. She had completely forgot about the signal in her haste to get down, her keenness to alleviate the strain of her fingers. She looks around—looks for a structure, a box, something she can stand on—but there is only nothingness and long stretches of gray ground.

They won't come if I only whistle, she thinks, looking back up into that black, blank sky. They won't come and I'll be left down here. Down here. They'll leave me down here. They'll leave me—

A shudder racks through her and the last two words seem to lodge themselves in her throat, making her gasp for air.

I can't, I can't, I can't—

She clamps her eyes shut, willing a long breath of frigid air to go down, deep into her lungs.

I can't panic. I can do this. I've got to do this.

She opens her eyes and looks up at the rope.

I'm the goddamned Paragon. I've got to be able to get to this stupid rope. I just have to calm down and think.