A Fortress of Pebbles

The coffin was empty. She and Orion nodded somberly, not even surprised to see the darkness gazing back at them. They dropped the lid together and stood breathing the same cold air of the empty grave.

When they had clambered out with the help of the Master of Mind, Grandpa took a tablet of nicotine gum from his flannel’s pocket and said, “Find anything interesting?” He sniffed the gum and must have decided he didn’t want it because he tossed it into his own grave and went back to his pipe. He’d been quitting for longer than most people had been born – as he liked to remind anyone under the age of fifty.

Cassandra held up the mind pebble. “Is this you?” she said. “I’ll give you one chance to tell us what’s going on here. If Orion and I don’t like the answer, we’re leaving – and…” She couldn’t think of a better threat than “telling Mom and Dad,” so she opted for, “We’ll pledge our allegiance to the Fortress.”

“Forever,” Orion threatened.

***

As it turned out, “Aissaba’s and Tassadu’s quarters” were essentially synonymous with “cat-Styxx’s quarters” – a quirk of linguistic ambiguity that was only revealed to them upon entering the large suite and being shown to their lavish bedroom.

“My own room is down the hall,” said cat-Styxx, pointing past the chandeliers of pebbles and crystal, the vases of alien flowers. “I hope your bed and tub are to your liking.”

The bed was a grand four-poster, carved from dark wood – intricate floral motifs and delicate scrollwork running up the posts. The silk canopies above her bed and Tassadu’s jewel-encrusted sleeping tub were of matching burgundy and strung with mind pebbles that cast rays of oscillating greens and blues, as if the whole place were submerged in water.

“Let me guess,” said cat-Styxx. “You hate it.” He had the kind of wry grin that people use when they know they’re attractive. Look at me, I don’t even have to use my whole face to smile.

“I’m sure we’ll get used to it,” said Tassadu, pulling Aissaba into the room and shutting the door. With wide eyes, he mouthed: “What. The. Hell?”

Aissaba picked an apple out of a fruit bowl and tried to sniff it, but Tassadu knocked it out of her hand.

“It’s the food of the underworld,” he hissed. “I don’t trust it.”

She sighed as it rolled across the floor and bumped into Tassadu’s tub, causing the encrusted jewels to emit a soft pink light. Her stomach rumbled, but Tassadu ignored it – crossing to the full-length window and opening the curtains. Down below was the courtyard, where the grimy market still crawled with torchlit commerce – pebbles being exchanged for roasted meats and used tools at the foot of their spire.

“Think everyone lives in rooms like these?” said Aissaba.

Tassadu didn’t even bother to glance at her. While he brooded, his turquoise eyes reflected in the windowpane, Aissaba recovered the apple and took a small bite. It tasted like heaven.

***

“I’m just a protocol in a mind pebble,” said Grandpa, spreading his bony hands. “You caught me. But it’s not so bad really. For example, as long as you stand there looking thoughtful and nodding every once in a while, the Masters won’t realize that I’m projecting one thing to the two of you, and something quite different to them.”

Her heart began to pound – realizing that maybe her grandfather wasn’t insane. Maybe it was all some kind of act. In fact, maybe he wasn’t even dead. Cassandra nodded, and so did Orion.

“It’s true that we arranged for you to be sent to the Fortress,” he said. He blew a smoke ring that morphed into a scale model of the Fortress, its walls encircling a spire that Cassandra and Orion had once toured.

(Blink: Aissaba chewed the apple thoughtfully beside Tassadu as they looked past their reflections in the pane. Looming over everything, in the room at the top of the dark spire, a red light burned.)

“This room at the top,” said Grandpa, “that is our goal. The chambers of the Master of Virtue.” Cassandra almost glanced at the Masters. “Don’t look at them!” Grandpa snapped. “Keep your eyes on me. And just nod.”

Cassandra nodded, and so did Orion.

“We told you only what we could safely divulge,” said Grandpa. “But you did splendidly – rejecting the brown robes of the choosing ceremony in front of their entire Fortress. You’ve destabilized their systems of power and drawn their forces out beyond their walls.” The smoke in the air made an approximation of two tiny figures running through the gates and jumping – magpie, goldfinch, woodpecker – right off the edge. “Nod if you understand.”

Cassandra nodded, and so did Orion.

“Even now,” he went on, “we can’t risk telling you too much. Just know that you’ve been and will continue to be instrumental in the Fortress’s downfall because – according to their own prophecy – they must retain you at all costs. It’s you who have the power here. Nod if you understand.”

They continued to nod at intervals as Grandpa went on, pointing a twig of a finger again to the top of the smoky spire. Each nod became increasingly difficult as his words made less and less sense. On the one hand, he claimed that the Master of Virtue would be set free, even if it took years or decades; but then he claimed that it would begin tonight – at midnight. He said that the Fortress had already surrendered; but he also said the fires of war might rage until the end of the Earth. He wrapped up his monologue by inhaling the smokey Fortress back into his rattling, ancient lungs and said, “Be our eyes and ears amongst the Masters. We’ll speak soon.”

Then, he vanished like tobacco smoke into the mind pebble between Cassandra’s thumb and forefinger.