A Fortress of Pebbles

Aissaba hugged her mother farewell, slipping her the thumbdrive in the process. Then, everything in the room faded, leaving her and Tassadu in a nondescript stone chamber with cat-Styxx.

“Your mother is…” The way he trailed off gave Aissaba the impression that he was in search of a synonym for “beautiful” but couldn’t decide which one. Aissaba’s ears burned, but no one seemed to notice. “I must confess that I’d prefer the Master of Language, though,” he said. “Less of a wildcard.”

(Blink: Cassandra began to hear words, moments of signal in the deafening noise of Orion’s absence. “Cataclysmic map shift” was one, and “invasive pebble species” was another. The Master of Language seemed particularly fond of the term “system armageddon.”)

Tassadu stood glassy-eyed and unblinking near one of the windows. At first, Aissaba thought he was back in his bad mood – but no. His blink-link with Orion was no doubt showing him first-hand what a “system armageddon” looked like at ground zero.

Cat-Styxx walked to Tassadu and peered at him. No response. The distant torchlight glinted on Tassadu’s scales. “Is this normal for him? If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was a connected twin in mid-fugue.”

“Connected twins,” said Aissaba, “like you and boring-Styxx?”

“On the way up the stairs, I thought he was just angry with me,” said cat-Styxx, examining Tassadu’s statue-like demeanor.

Aissaba, growing concerned herself, joined them at the window. She placed a hand on Tassadu’s shoulder. No response.

“In the marketplace,” cat-Styxx said, “I asked whether you would have tried to escape, but not him. Does this sound like it might have upset him?”

It kinda did, but Aissaba assured cat-Styxx otherwise. During all of this, Tassadu remained frozen, seeing things beyond the window that no one else could.

“But now I wonder,” said cat-Styxx, “if he might have been upset by something happening elsewhere…”

Aissaba just shrugged and said, “So what is the connected twin project?”

(Blink: From the corner of her eye, Cassandra saw the black robed officer of stability and order straighten to attention. She looked up from her cider to see Aissaba’s mother placing a scroll on the council table. “Their demands,” she said, making air-quotes. “But I believe they’re bluffing.” No one spoke. Various sidelong glances were cast in the direction of the globe, where a storm of red arrows and blinking icons infested the state of Montana and its neighbors. Nessassa ignored it and said calmly to the Masters, “A system armageddon only increases the need for stability and order within our ranks. Now, give me the status report.”)

Cat-Styxx was looking at her when the blink ended. “You too, I see,” he said, thoughtfully. “I should have noticed this earlier.” His feline face was impossible to read. Was it concern behind those eyes? Opportunism? Mere scientific curiosity?

“The other Masters of Rot will want to know about this,” he finally said. “Come on. Help me get him out of it.”

He began waving a paw in front of Tassadu’s eyes, but Aissaba folded her arms. If he was somehow linked to boring-Styxx, he ought to know that getting bossed around wasn’t her thing. “So, we’re hostages?” she said. “What would happen if we just walked out, right now?”

Tassadu came back. “We’re leaving?” he said.

“He knows about the blinks,” said Aissaba. With Tassadu back from the blink, it dawned on her that cat-Styxx was outnumbered and that this might not happen again. She wasn’t the only one noticing such things, either. Something changed in the room’s energy: one of cat-Styxx’s ears flicked toward the door on the far side of the room; Tassadu’s weight shifted.

In the impending dragon-versus-cat battle, Aissaba wasn’t sure who would win, but on second thought, it would obviously be Tassadu. She’d bet a million pebbles. And cat-Styxx must know it.

“This is a test,” announced cat-Styxx. He was calm, or seemed to be. Infuriatingly, Aissaba couldn’t tell if it was an act. “I lied about the last test being the last.”

He took a slow step toward the center of the room. Tassadu countered, casually drifting to keep himself between cat-Styxx and the door.

“So, are we hostages or not?” demanded Aissaba. “What happens if we walk out?”

“Well, the gate is presently closed,” said cat-Styxx, eyes locked on Tassadu. “So, I suppose you would just embarrass yourself. In fact, I’ve written down a prediction about–”

One of cat-Styxx’s paws must have drifted too close to the shadows of his robe because Tassadu, lightning fast, drew a pebble with each hand. One green, one blue. “Keep your hands where I can see them,” said Tassadu. “We just want you to answer some questions.”

“Aissaba wants more than that, I think,” said cat-Styxx, a cocky grin on his face as he spread his empty hands.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Aissaba.

“Tell me you didn’t like the room I gave you,” said cat-Styxx, somehow winking at her without taking his eyes off of Tassadu. “Tell me you’re not a little bit interested in seeing what your future might be like – if we, perhaps, stop saying ‘hostages’ and start saying ‘chosen ones.’”

Somehow, drenched in sarcasm, the words still rang true. For this fact alone, Aissaba hoped it would come to blows. Final straw. Everyone should be punched at least once in their lives.

The problem was that to obtain this valuable life lesson, cat-Styxx would need to throw the first blow. Tassadu would never do it.

“You don’t want to answer my questions? Fine,” said Aissaba. “You’re the hostage now. Take off your robe.”

She didn’t expect him to comply so quickly, nor for his nearly naked body to be so taut with muscles. “I’ve been hoping,” cat-Styxx purred, “to see Tassadu’s body mods in action since he arrived. If I must become your hostage first… then so be it.”