A Fortress of Pebbles

Shortly after their arrival, Aissaba discovered why the Master of Mind had taken no one else with them – no guards, no scribes, no experts in American geography, ecology, or culture.

“We’ll be setting up two camps,” she said. “The main camp will be here.” She indicated the moonlit forest around them, the cave out of which they had just walked, the crystalline river of mostly ice. “You and Tassadu will establish a secondary camp approximately seven miles that way – at the edge of the Johnson property. Everything you need to keep yourself warm, hidden, and fed can be found in these packs.” She took a small pouch from her backpack and handed it to Tassadu. “I will secure and obscure the main encampment in preparation for tomorrow’s reinforcements. The secondary encampment’s existence will be classified information.”

To Aissaba, she gave a glowing blue pebble. “This will lead you to the spot and will destroy itself upon arrival. Use it like a compass. And these,” she said, holding two more pebbles, seemingly indistinguishable from the last one, “you must swallow.”

The Master of Mind waited for them to do so, standing in a moonbeam like a forest nymph – seemingly unaffected by the cold. Aissaba swallowed the pebble and pulled her heavy cloak tighter, shivering in spite of her layers.

Can you hear me? said the Master of Mind’s voice in Aissaba’s ears.

She nodded, as did Tassadu.

These pebbles will provide one-way communication for 48 hours before destroying themselves, she said silently. Owls hooted, ice crackled. At that time, you are to return for additional communication pebbles. Not before. I will meet you one mile that way. The Master of Mind pointed down the icy river, a moonlit path.

Aissaba considered asking: why all the secrecy? But she already knew the answer. Every scribe in the Fortress was under scrutiny. Every pebble being turned.

“I know you’re probably not going to tell us,” said Aissaba. “But what exactly is the Cult of Rot?”

For just a moment, Aissaba thought she saw something beneath the mask of beauty on the Master of Mind’s face – a hint of the ancient consciousness that wore this body like clothing. Legend had it that she had been recruited from ancient Greece – that she had personally met Socrates, that she’d even been there for his trial and execution by hemlock. Other legends claimed she was even older – recruited before the invention of writing, like the Master of Language himself. For just a moment, Aissaba thought she saw a thousand years or more in those eyes. Then it was gone.

“Best you don’t know,” said the Master of Mind. “The more you know of the Rot, the more it knows of you.”

Aissaba’s chill came from more than the cold. It lasted for miles, as she and Tassadu followed the crackling river and the compass pebble that vibrated ever so slightly when they were pointed in the right direction.

Somewhere along the way, the chills turned to panic when she blinked into a bathroom and saw a tiny version of Tassadu asking Cassandra how she would like to flash the pebble.

“Oh, shit,” said Aissaba, freezing like the ice beside them.

“What?” said Tassadu.

“The eavesdropping pebble,” said Aissaba. “What main protocol did you flash it with?”

***

Cassandra couldn’t help but giggle. Talking to the tiny Tassadu was like talking to one of her grandpa's old computers from the 80s – except you didn’t have to type. She knew from hours of experimentation with Orion that there were certain commands you could give an old computer terminal to get it to do something. Everything else would result in an error.

“Um, hi?” was her first attempt.

This triggered repetition: “May I just say that you’re looking unusually handsome today? How shall we flash this pebble?”

“What are my options?” she whispered after several minutes of pondering. She and Orion had discovered long ago, during a lazy summer, that typing “help” usually listed out additional commands you could use. Worth a shot.

“Glad you asked!” announced the tiny dragon man. “I could activate a new sub-protocol. I could wipe the TSO-duh. Or… I could self-destruct.” He said this as if frightened, but Cassandra was pretty sure it was meant to be funny. Tassadu had obviously created this program to entertain himself – just as she and Orion had coded silly text-based choose your own adventure games for each other.

“What’s a TSO-duh?” said Cassandra. When you said it quickly, it was like saying Tassadu’s name with a quirky accent.

“Tassadu’s System of Operation,” said Tassadu. “Duh!”

At this, Cassandra almost fell off the toilet, trying to catch herself with one hand and shove her giggles back in with the other. The pebble bounced across the floor and plinked on the bathtub.

(Blink: “The TSO-duh,” answered Tassadu. "Why?" His scales, lightly frosted, glittered in the light of the full moon.)