A Fortress of Pebbles

“Welcome back,” said Grandpa. “And yes, I will happily accept your Fortress’s surrender.”

“Surrender?” barked the Master of Language, who could apparently see Grandpa now. He looked from the old man on the gravestone to Cassandra and back, as if trying to decide whether to burst into laughter or take matters seriously. “It’ll take more than reanimated bones and mind magic tricks to bring the Fortress to its knees before…” he gestured at Grandpa, who looked scarcely more durable than a smoke ring, “...whatever you are.”

“I represent the Rot,” said Grandpa, winking at Cassandra and Orion.

“Yes, we figured that,” said the Master of Language. “We also know that you’ve subverted our recruitment process in an attempt to assail one of our Master of Virtue’s prophecies. Yet… your grandchildren have both agreed to join us in spite of this. The prophecy remains untouched.”

He gave a worried look at the twins, as if fully aware that either of them might choose this moment to contradict him. Cassandra had no idea what Orion would do – but, judging by the way he was looking at her, probably nothing.

“Grandpa,” she heard herself saying, “if you’re dead, does that mean you’re some kind of…” She tried to remember the word that the TSO-duh had used to describe himself. “...language model?”

From the corner of her eye, she caught the Masters of Mind and Language giving each other a look. Grandpa seemed impressed too. “Language model. Personality network. Ghost. There are all just linguistic terms. But yes,” he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

“So that means you’re projecting from a pebble somewhere,” said Cassandra, tears in her eyes. She began shoving the grave dirt aside with her sneakers. “Where is it?” When no one answered, someone screamed, “Where. Is. IT?” If the voice wasn’t ripping through her own vocal cords, she wouldn’t have recognized it as hers.

From a pile of bones she plucked a darkened map pebble. “I want to use this,” she said.

The Master of Language passed a hand over it. The moment the brown light blossomed, she shoved it into Orion’s hands. “Have you unlocked a spell that can dig up a grave?” When he hesitated, she took his free hand, demonstrated how to take a deep breath, and whispered, “Magpie.” Her gentleness with him surprised her as much as her aggression toward everyone else.

“Goldfinch,” he said, grinning slowly and putting the pebble to his forehead.

Grandpa and the Masters all had the same expression – like biologists trying to make sense of a petri dish.

When he seemed ready, she said “Woodpecker,” and helped him toss the pebble – like latecomers to the funeral – onto the grave. When it landed, the icy dirt began to spray in all directions, forcing everyone with a physical body several steps back. Under other circumstances, the shower of soil might have been a dust devil or a sandstorm. But here it merely bespeckled the nearby graves as it hollowed out the area where Grandpa was laughing hysterically.

Had he always done that? she found herself thinking. Had he always laughed like a crazy person? There was that time he’d taught them to swim by taking them out on his fishing boat and pushing them both into the deep part of Gator Pond. And there was the time he’d taken them up the mountain during the Pleiades just to shoot several hundred dollars worth of fireworks at the oncoming meteorites. Both times: same laughter.

Orion helped her down into the fresh hole where she picked up a mind pebble glowing in the dirt atop a wooden coffin. She considered pulling back the lid – just to be sure. In fact, she thought about it for so long that the conversation above her began again.

“Yes, you’ve recruited my grandchildren. I see that,” said Grandpa. “But by accepting your surrender, I’ll have recruited you. And by the transitive property–”

“Surrender is out of the question!” Cassandra heard the Master of Language explode. Things went on in this fashion, but Cassandra wasn’t listening because Orion had climbed down next to her, giving her an awkward side-hug that turned out to be exactly what she needed.

“They’ve all been lying to us,” whispered Cassandra. “Not just the government. But Mom and Dad too. And Grandpa. Probably the Masters. Maybe even Aissaba and Tassadu.”

“You think he’s really in there?” said Orion.

She knelt down and started working at the coffin lid. “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if we found our own dead bodies inside,” she said.

***

(Blink: Cassandra pulled at the lid of her own grandfather’s coffin while, overhead, a conversation raged about how preposterous surrendering to the Rot would be.)

“They aren’t going to surrender,” said Aissaba. “Seriously, you don’t know the Masters. For one thing, I’m pretty sure the Master of Language is literally immortal. And even if he isn’t, his pride certainly is. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed him being wrong.”

“Nope,” said Tassadu. "He doesn't even lose an argument. I don't think he'll be interested in losing a war. Or a coup. Or an invasion. Hey, what are we calling it by the way?"

“I think you will come to understand that surrender…” said cat-Styxx, leading the way through a door, back to the hallway of their spire, “...is a lot like recruitment.”

The spider of bones followed them in, feet clicking on the flagstones, and cat-Styxx closed the door to the planet of pebbles. Or the World of Rot. Or the Master. Aissaba wasn’t sure what to call it.

“Or seduction,” added cat-Styxx, gesturing to the flowers that she and Tassadu still carried. “These things happen bit by bit. One conversation at a time. One flower at a time.”

Before Aissaba could tell him that this was getting creepy, he announced that he would be showing them to their quarters, that the recruitment was over for the day and would resume tomorrow.