A Fortress of Pebbles

“Where are your parents at the moment?” asked the Master of Language.

“Probably with Grandpa,” said Orion. “They fought about going to see him more often. Mom won.”

Cassandra wasn’t clear on how Orion had arrived at this conclusion, but he said it so confidently that everyone in the room believed it, including her.

“We think your grandfather, and quite possibly your parents, may be involved with an organization known as the Cult of Rot,” said the Master of Language, indicating the paper with the face of the man named Styxx. Both Masters studied them closely, looking for hints of recognition in their faces, shifting of the eyes, biting of the lip. When nothing of the sort occurred, the Master of Language said, “Our resident expert on the matter – Aissaba’s mother, in fact – has long theorized that the Cult of Rot may possess their own capacity for bending space and dilating time. A few years ago, we made the mistake of demoting her for the heretical theory that the Cult might have survived for so long because they actually dwell within a Fortress of their own.”

More blank looks.

The Master of Language seemed to possess infinite patience, but the Master of Mind did not: “We think it’s docked beneath your house,” he stated. “And we think your family knows about it.”

Cassandra shivered – recalling the dreams she used to have of the bunker beneath the house – the stairwell opening onto a maze, an ocean, an endless chasm. Always, the feeling that she had lost something, and that something was looking for her.

She also shivered because she didn’t think the Masters would be telling them this if they were planning to let them go home at the end of the day. The pebble game? Orion was distracted by it, like a bird by something shiny, and until now Cassandra had been too.

A bell rang. The Masters ignored it.

“What do you mean it’s docked beneath our house? And why are you telling us all this?” said Cassandra.

The Master of Language ignored her and spoke directly to Orion: “You asked what you have to do to reach Level 2. Are you ready to find out?”

Orion must have detected some shift in the tone because, although he nodded, he didn’t seem quite as excited anymore. He shifted nervously in his seat.

“I’m quite convinced that the two of you are somehow the key to destroying the Rot once and for all,” he said. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if the Cult of Rot believes the same thing – but in reverse. There’s always been a kind of symmetry between Virtue and Rot. Or so our resident expert believes.”

“So…” said Orion. “What do you want us to do?”

“First, a proof of your loyalty,” said the Master of Language. “We need you to swallow this.” He produced a blue pebble from his suit pocket. Just one. He placed it on the table between them with a soft clack. “Whichever one of you does this will receive 100 XP. This just so happens to be enough XP to reach Level 2!”

***

Aissaba had been planning to wait for Tassadu to fall asleep, then to descend the stairwell herself, hoping to pop whatever spatial bubble they were trapped inside. In her stupor of thirst and hunger, sacrificing herself for Tassadu just seemed right. She owed him so much.

But moments after his eyes had begun to droop, she realized this was a dumb plan. Who was to say that Tassadu would get free? It might be her who escaped, leaving him to die in this prison of orange light and cold concrete.

Just as she was racking her brain for a more sure-fire way to sacrifice herself…

(Blink: “...they dwell within a Fortress of their own,” and “We think it’s docked beneath your house.” Moments later, a blue pebble arrived with a soft clack between Cassandra and Orion.)

...and suddenly everything made sense. Aissaba must have twitched because Tassadu was instantly awake.

“What is it?” he rasped, mouth sounding like it was covered in sand.

“It’s a Fortress,” breathed Aissaba. “The Cult of Rot has a Fortress.” She sprang to her feet too quickly, black spots appearing before her eyes. Hand against the wall, she told him about the spatial bubble. “One of us has to get out,” said Aissaba. “If they’re telling all this to Cassandra and Orion, they’re in danger. They’re not just trying to recruit them. They’re trying to control them, to use them as weapons against the Rot. At least one of us needs to be with them.”

Tassadu didn’t debate the fact that the twins should be protected – taking for granted that either one of them would make a better Fortress parent to the twins than his not-dad. And as predicted, Tassadu insisted on being the one to venture down the stairwell alone, thereby setting her free. But Aissaba was ready with the counter that he might just end up in a Rot Fortress, leaving her trapped in this infinite antechamber.

“Okay, I’ll stay here,” he said. “You go up.”

“Same problem!” said Aissaba. “One of us might escape, or both, or neither!”

Tassadu just looked at her. “You of all people should know how manipulative the Master of Language can be.” He didn’t wait for her to play devil’s advocate. With the twitching of several facial muscles and a wrinkling of several more, he said in their secret language, Aissaba, I’m bigger than you, and we don’t have time for this.

She pretended she didn’t understand. “What are you saying?”

He stood up, towering over her. With the driest of mouths he said, “If you don’t walk up the stairs right now, I’m going to bite you. Then, I’m going down.”

Her eyes dropped to his lips, from which the white needle points of his fangs protruded. As if to underscore his point, he allowed a drop of venom to collect on one of them.

“How bad would it feel,” she said, “if you knocked me out, and you were the one who ended up getting out? And not even to Earth, but to some kind of Rot Fortress!”

“Thing is,” he said, “if this spatial bubble is some kind of antechamber, I’m betting it’ll err on the side of preventing entry. Meaning that I’ll descend forever, and you’ll end up a few feet beneath Joanne’s office. When the venom wears off, you can walk upstairs and get some bottled water. Some mac and cheese.”

Stomachs rumbled. Whether hers or his, she couldn’t tell anymore.

“You don’t know that,” she said, watching the quivering drop of venom. Her bottom lip quivered, too. “Plus, I would hate you. Like, til the day I die. You want to die knowing that I’ll be hating you forever?”

Aissaba hated most of all that she didn’t know what he would do. Every now and then he erupted – usually out of anger. But out of fear? Out of love? Hungry and delirious, anything was possible. She looked him in the eye and said, “Please, Tassadu. Don’t do this.”