A Fortress of Pebbles

Aissaba spun toward the Masters, intending to make a scene. Maybe throw the robes right at the Master of Language’s potato. Maybe worse.

Mid-spin, though, she caught sight of her mother’s face – full of terror. In fact, she was one of the only ones even looking at Aissaba. Half the crowd was still staring dumbfounded at the gate. The others were watching the sky.

The synthetic weather of the Fortress was controlled by the Master of Virtue himself, part of the sphere that encompassed everything – their bubble removed from space and time. Cool breezes and the occasional cloud. Beautiful sunrises and starry nights. These were the norm. It was hard to read the swirling darkness above them as anything other than sadness – or anger.

A raindrop fell on Aissaba’s wrist. The robe in her hands was dotted with them. She let the wind take the cloth, and as it fell, several things happened.

First, the Master of Language cleared his throat and raised his hands, as if he was going to explain everything. Second, Tassadu growled and blew a jet of flame into the sky – apparently opting for the “make a scene” plan that Aissaba had put on hold. Third, Aissaba’s mother surged straight for the Master of Language, speaking to him rapidly in a tongue that Aissaba only vaguely recognized. Ancient Greek maybe? Or Sanskrit?

If these three things were all, Aissaba would have stood frozen and watched it all unfold, but there was a fourth thing – something that seemed to be happening only when she blinked.

Blink: She saw Orion, sitting next to her on a school bus full of children.

Her mother reached the Master of Language, still arguing with him – quieter now, but in earnest. He began to argue back – the two of them talking over each other in words that only they could understand.

Blink: Orion and the rest of the kids screamed, shoved into each other as the bus spun.

Tassadu’s jet of flame faded, and he looked at Aissaba quizzically, as if he knew what she was seeing. Or was seeing it himself.

Blink: A tree loomed outside the window, rapidly approaching. A pine tree, as big around as the ones at the edge of the yard. The ones full of holes from dad’s bullets.

With a wave of vertigo, Aissaba realized that some part of her was seeing what Cassandra was seeing. Thinking her thoughts. I’m going to pass out, she tried to tell Tassadu, as she fell into his arms. As big as a tree, he caught her, but somehow, she took him down with her.

***

You look it right in the eye. When death comes, you don’t flinch. You look right at it. Cassandra’s father had said it a million times. Maybe a billion. She’d always figured that when it actually happened, she would squeeze her eyes shut and say, Sorry, Dad, I can’t.

But here she was, staring the tree down. If it had eyes, she’d be looking right into them.

It was Orion who clutched at her shirt. Hiding in her shoulder as if she were mom.

The tree came in slow motion, trying to hit the side of the bus directly where Cassandra and Orion were sitting. When it was close enough for her to count the woodpecker marks (Like tiny bullet holes! she thought), she saw that the tree was already falling. Like she had knocked it down with her gaze alone. By the time the bus and tree collided, the tree was already giving way. Instead of smashing into the fragile metal shell and bending it like butter, it caught the bus at an angle from underneath and flipped it like one of Orion’s old toys.

Even as everything went sideways (Literally! she thought), she kept her eyes open. The bus rolled once. Twice. A jumble of backpacks, children, limbs, books. Someone’s cellphone smacked her in the face.

Blink: She saw dark clouds swirling over a tower that looked strangely familiar, as if she had seen it in a dream.

When everything came to a stop, Orion was on top of her, along with the pink backpack of a high school girl who lived down the street. Keely maybe?

Orion was trembling. And she could hear him whispering their mother’s rhyme to steady himself. “The Fortress is a prison, the Fortress is a prison…”

***

Aissaba untangled herself from Tassadu. Wet grass had somehow gotten into her mouth. Gross.

She tried to orient herself on her mother – the closest thing she had to a true north. The argument she’d started with the Master of Language was just culminating in him exploding, “Okay, Nessassa! Fine!” Then, before her mother could say anything else, the Master announced to the crowd, “Everyone go back to your work and await the results of our investigation. You two…” He pointed his pudgy finger at Aissaba and Tassadu. “...join us in the Hall of Language.”