A Fortress of Pebbles

Aissaba and Tassadu exited the stairwell and found themselves standing before black gates and a massive wall – architecturally identical to the Fortress exterior. The only difference was the vast cavern surrounding it, a sky of rock arching over the dark spire. At first, the light from the spire’s top room seemed to be the only thing painting the cavern gray instead of black. As Aissaba’s eyes adjusted, though, she could detect the soft orange of torchlight wafting up from somewhere inside the Fortress. The smell of smoke filled the air.

“Nope,” said Aissaba, turning to reenter the stairwell. The moment she did, however, the lights therein died, leaving her caught between a dark Fortress and an even darker hole in the wall.

“A bit late for that,” said Tassadu. “Besides, look.” She followed his outstretched talon and saw that the gate was already opening – dematerializing into pebbles and washing aside like a dark ocean wave. Torchlight spilled out upon them, lighting a narrow bridge over what Aissaba realized only just now was a black chasm. Had one of them taken a wrong step earlier, they would have been lost to the depths. Story over: Just like that.

Hand in hand, they began to cross the bridge. At the halfway mark, a pebble lay in their path. It seemed to give off a dark obsidian smoke, sucking the light out of its vicinity. Tassadu tried to skirt around it, but the dark tendrils reached out for him, causing him to reconsider.

They tried splitting up and skirting it on opposite sides, but there were tendrils aplenty, multiplying like the heads of a hydra to block their passage.

“See?” said Aissaba. “They don’t even want us here.”

Tassadu rolled his eyes. “It’s obviously another test.”

Up ahead, not far beyond the smoky guardian, the gates lay wide open, a deserted torchlit courtyard awaiting them. It looked eerily similar to the Fortress Aissaba had known for years – but a corrupted, degenerated version of it. A ground of dirt instead of grass, walls of igneous black instead of limestone white. And a spire that looked more like a needle to pierce the heavens than a benevolent watchtower.

Although no one looked out from the open gates, Aissaba’s skin crawled as if a million eyes were watching.

“I solved the last one,” she said. “Your turn.”

Tassadu took out a language pebble and said, “I’m guessing we’re supposed to hack our way through.” The heads of the hydra hissed at this. “I’ll try scanning for vulnerabilities.”

***

Cassandra had no trouble knocking Orion out, and it felt incredible. What a rush! One moment, he was breathing the way he did when he pretended to be asleep. The next, he was legit snoring.

She even tested her handiwork by turning the lights on and off. Then, she climbed up the ladder to his bunk and poked him.

With the simulated Tassadu on her side, she realized she could do pretty much anything. Well, after she got a few more pebbles, of course. All she had right now was the pebble with the TSO-duh, a few mind pebbles awarded by the Master of Mind, and the one she was supposed to swallow. Orion’s hoard was up for grabs, of course, but she didn’t want to deal with his wrath when he awoke to find pebbles missing.

She plopped down on her own bed, making a small nest of the pillows and blankets. “Okay,” she said to the dragon. “First, I want to make this pebble safe before I swallow it. Then, I want to save Grandpa. Can you help me with that?”

The dragon pondered the matter, pacing back and forth across her field of vision, from the desk in one corner, to an old toybox in the other. Both had been made by Grandpa before she was born. “Before you swallow it,” said the dragon. “I could swap out its CSO for an identical copy – one with a back door and some additional modifications. I’ll put myself on its whitelist so it won’t attempt to modify me, and I’ll make sure I can shut it down remotely if I see it doing anything naughty.”

“What kind of naughty things might a pebble do?” said Cassandra. It was a weird sentence, she realized. She laughed out loud, and Orion went on snoring overhead.

“Usually these stomach pebbles begin by latching onto the stomach lining – a small burst of very localized life magic. Then, they just sit there waiting for external commands, which can be sent from other language pebbles miles away.”

“Because a command doesn’t change a lot of matter?” said Cassandra.

“Exactly!” said the dragon. “The command for triggering the ‘explode’ protocol might just involve tickling a few atoms inside the relay pebble. That tiny switch gets flipped remotely, and the stomach pebble coordinates the local pebble system – possibly setting off explosions.”

“That would be naughty,” said Cassandra. “I don’t want to explode.”

“That’s why it’s important that I patch backdoors into any pebbles they give you,” said the dragon. “I’ll be watching as best I can. I can’t promise to catch explosions in time, but I can try.”

Cassandra put the pebble to her lips, trying to imagine swallowing it. “If they wanted us to explode, they’d have done it already,” she said. “I’m more worried about the Masters messing with our minds. Like the government does.”

The dragon looked at her quizzically. “The government messes with your mind?”

Cassandra nodded gravely. “They can. It’s why we live out here in Montana,” she said. “The house has its own well and everything.” When the dragon just looked at her, she added, “So we know there’s no fluoride in it.”

“Cassandra,” said the dragon, speaking the way Mom did when she had to talk about delicate topics, like sex or family finances, “all I can tell you is that I’ll do my best to make sure that the pebbles in your vicinity are leaving your mind alone. As for the fluoride, that’s a bigger conversation.”