Flashback Bigger Than You Could Imagine (Solo)

[Mirian Jade]

23rd of spring, 501

“Mirian! Put that down!”

Mirian jumped like a startled mouse, hands halfway to the washtub and eyes wide. Her mother huffed and left her place at the stove to storm over and snatch the cooking pan away from the little girl.

“Don’t wash unless I tell you to,” she said, setting the pan on a counter. “And never wash iron. Soap will stay in iron, and then it will get in the food. Do you hear me, Mirian? Never wash iron.”

“Never wash iron,” said Mirian obediently, looking at her feet and trying to keep her lower lip from quivering.

Her mother’s face softened, as did her voice. “Oh, girl, don’t try that. It was a mistake.” She placed a hand on her daughter’s chin, lifting her gaze to something they could both share. “Don’t do it again, alright?” she asked gently.

“Yes, mother.”

“Good girl. Now, leave the washing; I’ll be doing that. Those roots, over on the cutting board––skin them.”

“Yes, mother.” Mirian trotted over to the low table covered in roots she couldn’t identify and crouched down, taking up the knife that lay there and examining her task. She was no good at washing, and she was no good at cooking, but she was good at knives. And she was good at skinning.

A breeze picked up as she set about to what her mother had told her to do, winding through the open back door and clearing away the heat of the stove. The door was facing the north, and so they had the benefit of the wind without the inconvenience of the sand and dust that the wind would otherwise carry. The windows had been drawn closed as the heat of the day had truly begun to rise, so the stone walls had remained cool.

Not that the head bothered her, Mirian thought as she skinned the roots, strip by strip. The heat had never bothered her. It was the cold she didn’t like the cold like when she was wet and in the basement where the sun couldn’t warm her. That was what she didn’t like.

She fell into the monotony of her task, letting her mind wander off until her mother had to say her name to regain her attention.

“Mirian!” she said, snapping the girl back to her surroundings. “By Yahal, please try and pay attention! Hand me one of those roots!”

Mirian did so, eyes downcast, and her mother sliced small chunks into whatever it was she had in her pot.

“There,” said her mother, spooning the soup into a gold-glazed bowl and setting it on a tray. “That smells about done.”

“I’ll take it!” Mirian piped up, swiping the tray out from her mother’s nose before the woman could react.

“Mirian, don’t worry. I can take it.”

“But you said you want to wash dishes,” the girl said. “I can take it. You can wash dishes, like you said.”

Her mother looked like she wanted to say more, but Mirian had already turned and dashed up the sandstone stairs.

[Mirian Jade]

The lower level of the house was smooth and bare save for a dash of carpeting in the front room, but once Mirian reached the second storey of the building the atmosphere changed drastically. If the bottom was elegant and utilitarian, the top was lavish and beautiful; red and gold dominated what would otherwise been a uniformly colored building, upholstered on every lounge chair, carpeting every floor and draped over every surface that the master of the house had deemed too drab.

Mirian took care to walk softly and slowly through the rooms of the second floor, knowing from experience that haste could mean spilling, and spilling meant punishments. But still, she took the time to look around her and marvel at the color and luxury, all tinted dimly by the red curtains that had been drawn across the windows. It may not have been a palace, this house, but it was still very rare for her to have cause to come up here. She loved it.

Her destination was at the far end of the floor, through an entryway tucked at the back of a hall. There was a cloth that could be drawn across the space to signal privacy if one so chose, but today it had been left open. Mirian paused at the threshold and peered inside.

The room beyond was just as red and lavish as the rest of the level, although one window had been opened to allow light to stream over the floor and fall over the low table in the center of the room. Across the table was scattered a mess of wadj, brushes and ink, and at the table, bending intently over the mess was her master.

He was a tall man, as far as Ephyrians went, bronze-skinned and hair oiled to a wealthy sheen. On other days he would be dressed in long, generous robes and burdened with gold and jewels meant to impress, but there would be no visitors on this day––he had chosen instead to forego a shirt altogether, affording Mirian full view of his shoulders and all of the arms attached to them as they made their way through the documents that so commanded his attention.

Mirian cleared her throat, and the Ephyrian looked up. Whatever he had been looking at, it had obviously pleased him enough to already be smiling. He blinked once at her, then straightened from his stoop.

“Dinner, master,” Mirian said, inclining her head respectfully over the soup.

“Jade,” he greeted, nodding and moving about the documents to make space for the tray. “Bring it here.”

Mirian padded to the center of the room and set the tray down on the table, watching her master’s smile curiously.

“You’re happy, master,” she said. Her words were far above the propriety afforded a slave, but her master only nodded.

“I am,” he replied.

“Why?”

“These.” He pointed at one of the documents, one that was awash with numbers.

Mirian peered at it curiously. “Six nine two four,” she read aloud.

“No,” her master correction. “Six thousand, nine hundred and twenty-four.”

Mirian blinked. “What’s that?”

Her master paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, and laughed. “Why, they’re numbers.”

“But you said…”

“Not like those numbers, Jade. Bigger numbers.”

“Bigger numbers?” Mirian asked, trying to wrap her head around what that would mean. She had trouble counting more than ten.

“Yes, Jade. Bigger numbers. Here.” He patted one of the cushions beside him with one hand, and with another he unearthed a strange wooden device with beads and wire. “Let me show you what I mean.”

[Mirian Jade]

Mirian plopped herself down next to her master.

He held up the strange object.

“What’s that?”

“An abacus. It can show you bigger numbers.”

“How?”

“Well, that depends.” Master found a blank piece of wadj and handed her a shard of charcoal. Slaves did not use ink. “How high can you count, Jade? Write it out.”

Mirian looked warily at the wadj. When she began, her lines were large and sloppy, but she could at least recognize them as the numbers she was trying to convey.

“One,” she said out loud. “Two… three… four…”

Each number appeared on the wadj, and each one came a little more smoothly than the last. It had been days since mother had last made her practice her letters, but they were coming back bit by bit.

“Twelve… thirteen…” She stopped and looked up at Master. “I can’t go any higher.”

“Yes you can,” he said, and his words held such certainty that Jade couldn’t help but believe that it was so. “Here.”

He took the charcoal and began on another part of the paper. “One…”

His numbers were much more practiced and elegant, and she could read them much more easily than she could her own. He went on to two, then three and four and onward, but he stopped when he reached ten. Mirian blinked.

“Why stop there?”

Instead of answering, Master started an entirely new line below the first one. Eleven was directly under one, twelve under two and thirteen under three. He handed the charcoal back to the girl. “What comes next?”

[Mirian Jade]

Mirian’s jaw dropped as she saw what he was showing her. Eleven was ten, but with another one. Twelve was the same, but with two. Thirteen with three. So then next…

Mirian continued. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

Mirian stopped and looked back at Master. “What next?”

Master took the charcoal and finished the line. Two zero. Twenty. Then he pointed back at eleven.

“Eleven,” he said. “Twelve. Thirteen. That is fourteen.”

“Fourteen.”

“And that is fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. What is the next?”

“Nineteen?”

“Yes. And this next one, this is twenty.”

“Twenty.”

“Yes. And after twenty…” He started another line. “Twenty one. Twenty two.”

“And twenty three and four and five and six?”

“Exactly.” He handed her the charcoal. “Finish the line.”

She took the charcoal eagerly and finished the line. At the end, she paused, but Master said nothing. He simply watched her expectantly, until Mirian cautiously scratched out a three and a zero.

Master nodded. “That is called thirty.”

“Thirty.”

“And then?”

“Thirty one, thirty two, thirty three…”

[Mirian Jade]

He stopped her at forty, taking away the charcoal and dusting off his hands. Jade’s head lowered in disappointment.

“Oh, we’re not done yet, Jade,” said Master cheerfully, clearing away the wadj and holding up the device––the abacus.

Mirian tilted her head as he placed it in front of her. He shook it once to clear the positions already there, then pushed all of the beads to the right side.

“Look here,” said Master. “These beads are for numbers. There are ten in each row.” He moved one bead on the bottom wire to the left side of the abacus. “One.” Another followed it. “Two.”

Mirian nodded in understanding as he continued, saying the numbers with him. “Three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

“Yes.”

“But where is eleven?”

“Here.” Master moved to the second wire, sliding a single bead to the left side. “Do you see this? That is also ten. All of these,” he put his fingers on the lower wire, “mean the same as this.” He pointed to the single bead. “That is ten. One zero. Now, this…” He moved a single bead on the lower wire. “This is eleven.” Another one. “This is twelve.”

Mirian reached forward slowly to move another.

“And that is thirteen?”

“Yes. Again.”

“Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.”

She stopped.

“Next is twenty, Jade. What numbers make twenty? On the wadj.”

“Twenty. Two… zero?”

“Yes. And on the abacus?”

Mirian took a deep breath, slid a second bead onto the second wire and moved all the beads on the first wire back to the other side.

“Is… is that twenty?”

“Yes, Jade. That is twenty.”

[Mirian Jade]

Thirty. Thirty one. Thirty two. Thirty three. And on and on and on, until forty, and forty one, and forty two, and--

--Master took hold of her wrist, cutting her off.

“To count is one thing,” he said, interrupting her protests. “But can you find without counting?”

“What do you mean, master?”

“Here.” He shook the abacus, clearing away all of her numbers. “Can you find something without counting?”

“Find what?”

“Hmm. Find me… twenty seven.”

“Twenty seven…” Mirian looked at the abacus. Twenty… that was two and seven.

Two beads on the second wire. Seven on the first.

“Is that it?”

“Yes. Very good, Jade.”

Mirian beamed.

“Now, you went to forty.” He moved four beads on the second wire. “I’m going to show you what comes next.”

“Five-ty?”

He chuckled and moved a bead. “Almost. Fifty.”

“Fifty.”

Another bead. “And then is seventy.” Another. “Eighty.” Another. “Ninety.” There, her master paused, slid all the first-wire beads over to make ninety-nine, and looked back at her.

“What do you think comes after ninety-nine, Jade?”

[Mirian Jade]

Mirian looked at her master. She looked at the beads. Back to her master. Back to the beads. Her master gave her no hints, no smile of encouragement; he didn’t even look at her, instead taking the time to examine something on the far wall. Mirian frowned at the abacus.

Ninety-nine.

If she added one…

… she would need one more on the second wire…

… which would be full to ten…

… and would put one bead on the third wire.

“That?” Mirian asked, pointing.

Her master broke into a grin. “That is exactly what comes next.”

“What is it?”

“That, Jade, is one hundred.”

“One hundred.”

“Yes. You see the bottom?” He drew his fingers across all ten beads on the first wire. “One hundred is the same as ten of these.”

“Ten of those?”

“Yes. And all of these,” he drew his finger across the second wire, “mean one hundred, two.”

“That’s… a lot.”

“Yes. And one hundred looks like this.”

He took the wadj and charcoal, making a one, a zero and a zero.

“That looks like ten.”

“Very good. One hundred plus ten looks like this. On the abacus…” He moved the beads. “And on the wadj.”

One one zero.

“And one hundred plus eleven…” He made the adjustments.

“I get it…” Mirian breathed in wonder.

“Can you find me one hundred and thirty two?”

One bead on the third wire.

Three on the second.

Two on the third.

“Exactly.”

[Mirian Jade]

A knock on the wall caused both of them to jump and look up from the paper and beads. Mirian grinned.

“Mother!”

“Why are you up here?” their master inquired.

“I came up to see if you were finished with your dinner, master.”

Mirian looked at the tray she’d brought up, and was surprised to find that all of the food had disappeared. Had he been eating when she wasn’t looking?

“I am done,” her master said with a curt nod.

“We’ll take the dishes down, then, if you’d like.”

“Do so.”

“Come along, Mirian,” said her mother. “Pick it up and take it down with us.”

Mirian sighed heavily and plucked herself off of the floor, gathering up the dishes and tray.

“Thank you for the numbers,” she said, somewhat forlornly. “They can get big, can’t they?”

“As big as you can ever imagine,” said her master with the ghost of a smile. “And then bigger.”

This brightened her up a bit as she turned and trotted to her mother’s side. Bigger than she could ever imagine, and bigger. But how big was that?

Her mother closed the curtain behind them as they set off down the hall towards the stairs, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder as they walked.

“What was going on in there?” she asked.

“He was showing me numbers. Big ones! Bigger than I’ve ever seen before.”

“Hmm,” he mother said noncommittally. Mirian frowned.

“Don’t you want to know how big?”

“No. Nothing that… creature teaches should be believed.”

Mirian huffed. Her mother said such strange things about their master. Mirian didn’t know why, but her mother had made it clear many times that she had no intention of explaining. It didn’t matter, though.

“They were huge! Bigger than ten or eleven or fourteen. Lots bigger! I can go to fifteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen, and then comes twenty, and twenty one and twenty two and twenty three and it just keeps going until thirty and thirty one and thirty two and then forty and fifty and sixty and seventy, and I learned them all! Even to ninety! And after ninety comes--”

“Be quiet, girl!” her mother hissed, whipping at the neck to give Mirian a glare.

Mirian’s jaw snapped shut.

“You forget what he told you, do you hear?” she said. “That man is evil. Do not listen to anything he says.”

“But--”

“No buts. He is cruel and manipulative, and he would only teach that to you because he wants something. Do you understand?”

Mirian said nothing.

“Do you understand?”

“... Yes mother,” Mirian said.

When she was certain her mother was looking, Mirian crossed her fingers behind her back.

- End -