A Fortress of Pebbles

It was a long-standing Fortress tradition for parents to tell their children stories of worlds that had once thrived under the Fortress's guardianship. Aissaba’s favorites had been about places where magic had been commonplace – where pebbles were plentiful, where enchantments came interwoven with genetics, where minds could bend light, where words of power could turn the tides of history. Stories passed down through the ages, stories of the Fortress’s golden age. Never, in all these stories, however, had her mother spoken of a Cult of Rot – or an uprising against the Master of Virtue.

Her mother went on to explain that the Master of Maps and Life were in the process of rounding up Styxx’s possible associates within their Halls. The whole Fortress would require a thorough cleansing, she said. Records must be double-checked, data sifted through, information carefully examined for evidence of rot.

“What exactly is evidence of rot?” Aissaba asked her mother. “And what do you mean we’re under attack?”

“It seems,” the Master of Language cut in, “that Styxx managed to obtain access to certain classified information.” He exchanged glances with the Master of Mind and Aissaba’s mother – the kind of look that adults often use to ensure that they’re on the same page about being secretive a-holes. “All we can tell you is that the Johnson twins were not chosen at random.”

“Really?” said Tassadu. “Because that tells us basically nothing.” He was the only one in the Fortress who spoke to the Master of Language this way.

The hint of a smirk from the Master of Mind indicated that it was mildly amusing, at least to her. She stood, and Tassadu’s scaly Adam’s apple bobbed. In the Fortress, she was everyone’s first crush. Sometimes their last.

“I, for one, think we should trust them,” she said, making a slow circle around the conference table. As she passed behind Aissaba, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “I may have caught Aissaba stealing mind pebbles on a few occasions, but I don’t think either of them is a Rot Cultist. Plus, her thesis showed real promise.”

Aissaba tried to keep a straight face. Tried not to swoon. It was the first compliment she’d received on the matter since abandoning mind magic research in favor of the mind's other joys.

The Master of Language grew fuzzy around the edges – an indication that he was deep in thought, and a brief reminder that he was more of an ancient swarm of pixels than a middle-aged human male. When he came back into focus, he put his pudgy fingers to his temples and sighed. “We’ve come to understand that Styxx managed to gain access to the Master of Virtue’s prophecies.”

Aissaba blinked.

“Not all of them, mind you,” said the Master of Language. “But suffice it to say that the Master of Virtue had very specific plans for the Johnson twins.”

“They weren’t supposed to be recruited?” said Aissaba, suddenly hopeful.

“Quite the opposite,” said the Master of Mind, looking through the window into the stormy night. Her irises were like mirrors for the lightning. “I had several scribes assigned to the project of determining the best method of recruiting them. We were compiling psychiatric profiles of the children, the parents, and the one remaining grand parent. We were in the process of assembling an optimal timeline – with the recruitment scheduled to happen shortly after their grandfather’s death. But Styxx brought them here today. Several months early.”

“Before we were ready,” said Aissaba. This was good. We’re off the hook, was what her face said to Tassadu. Nothing that had happened had been their fault. The guy lying face down in front of them had embarrassed everyone.

“Precisely,” said the Master of Language. “The Master of Virtue prophesied an apocalypse if the children were not recruited, yet Styxx brought them here at a time when their psychiatric profiles predicted the lowest probability of recruitment. We didn’t realize what he’d done until they were already being led through the Spire of Masteries by you and Tassadu.”

Aissaba’s relief at being off the hook was short-lived, unfortunately. The blow came from an unexpected flank – her mother: “I’ve been put in charge of the Rot Cult issue, which includes both rooting out Styxx’s fellow cultists and reverting the plans they’ve set in motion. Part of this will involve a mission to Earth. Montana, specifically. If the Masters will allow it, I need both of you on it.”

Aissaba’s mouth opened to speak, but no words came out, so it just hung there. The Masters weren’t objecting: the eyes of beauty incarnate looked out the window; and the man with a potato for a nose studied them carefully. Tassadu was shaking his head in refusal, but Aissaba had a sick feeling that it didn’t matter.