A Fortress of Pebbles

Cassandra ended up at the top of the staircase, where a single ornate door awaited them. It was intricately carved marble, depicting what seemed to be hundreds of worlds – filled with dragons, birds, people, trees, and pebbles – all flowing out of a vortex in the middle. It was like they were being born.

The Master of Language paused here – in the middle of an explanation about how it had been proven that pebbles were, in a sense, bigger on the inside than the outside. Cassandra had found this mildly interesting, though not as interesting as speculating about why the Master of Language and Nessassa were so at odds. Had they been lovers? This was her top theory.

The door opened to reveal an empty stone chamber, windows overlooking gray clouds. Seeing the room caused an immediate– (Blink: Aissaba was seated in an identical room, cat-Styxx lying immobilized but grinning. “Power comes in many forms,” he said. “For example, I know things. Why you’re here, what it means to be a connected twin, what’s going to happen to Earth over the next few days...”)

“This,” said the Master of Language, indicating the room around them, “is the antechamber of the Master of Virtue. Physically, he resides above us, in a smaller chamber.”

“Like an attic?” said Cassandra. “Also, what’s happening on Earth right now? And why am I here? Oh, and are Aissaba and Tassadu okay?”

Nessassa gently took the cup of cider from Cassandra. On the way up, Nessassa had shown her how to refill it using life magic and the Master of Language had shown her how to reactivate the mind pebble’s stimulant protocol. Now, it seemed, they were regretting these lessons.

“What?” said Cassandra. “I’m a curious person, okay?”

Ignoring her, Nessassa handed the mug to the Master of Language and stood in the center of the room. Eyes closed. The only sound was the occasional whoosh of wind across the windows and the faint whistle of air moving in and out of the Master’s potato of a nose.

“He’s not speaking to you is he?” said the Master of Language after a minute had passed.

Nessassa touched the blue stone around her neck and continued to stand with her eyes closed.

Meanwhile, the Master of Language said, “I’ve been cast down. Demoted, so to speak. Ejected from a system of checks and balances I myself built.”

“Hush,” said Nessassa, eyes still closed.

The Master of Language seemed not to notice, and went on, “After Nessasa rooted out so many connected twins embedded in my organization, there were some understandable doubts about my ability to interpret his prophecies. The other Masters voted that Nessassa should replace me as the Master of Virtue’s interpreter.”

“Do you mind?” said Nessassa.

The Master of Virtue waved his hand. If there was a pebble involved in his magic, Cassandra never saw it, but immediately, she began to hear his voice speaking directly into her ear – apparently bypassing Nessassa.

“They’ll come around, though,” his voice said. “Nessassa is a talented linguist, but I’ve been communing with him for a very long time.” He sounded wistful, perhaps even a little sorrowful.

“Why’d you bring me?” she said, voice making no sound.

Yet somehow, he heard her. “Figured he’d want to meet you. And maybe – since I helped recruit you…”

“He might reinstate you,” said Cassandra. After dealing with Mom and Dad for twelve years, she had a sixth sense for when she was being used as a tool. If the cider here wasn’t so good, she’d be miffed that she left home only to become a tool elsewhere.

Nessassa produced an exasperated noise and sat on the floor. “I can’t make it out,” she said. “I’ve been trying to convey our need for emergency portals across Earth, but he’s in prophecy mode.”

“Verbal or visual?” said the Master of Language.

Nessassa shook her head.

“Tactile?” said the Master of Language, bushy eyebrows elevating.

“No. I mean, yes – all of them,” she said, eyes far away. Her shoulders were heaving like someone who had just run a race. There was a shine of sweat on her forehead.

Cassandra expected the Master of Language to stride forward with a grand, “Allow me.” But instead, he handed Cassandra her mug and helped Nessassa to her feet. The two of them stood together in silence long enough for Cassandra to finish the rest of her cider.

While they were acting like lovers in a state of prayer, she refilled the cup and reactivated the stimulant. Magic was awesome.

Her mind was racing so quickly that she barely noticed when Orion joined her – flying in through the window as a magpie and taking human form. “Hallucinating much?” he said.

“I mighta had too many ciders,” she said, taking another sip. “What are you doing here?”

“Technically, I live here,” he said. “Or in a chamber just above this one, to be exact.”

Cassandra looked fake-Orion up and down. Yeah, it certainly wasn’t her brother. For one thing, his eyes were purple. And he wasn’t standing quite right.

“Orion is the one who sees things that aren’t there. Not me,” she said. It was a secret he had made her swear to keep – a thousand pinky promises. A million years of bad luck and eternal damnation if she ever spilled. She clapped her hand to her mouth, realizing she’d done just that.

“Blame the cider,” said fake-Orion.

“So you’re the Master of Virtue?” she said through her fingers, trying to change the subject. “Like, God or something?”

“Technically, I’m just a rock gathering dust up there,” he said, pointing at the ceiling. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Cassandra blinked. With everything that had happened, she’d forgotten that today was her birthday. She and Orion had turned thirteen at the stroke of midnight, the moment the end began.

“I have a birthday present for you,” he said. “Better than cider.”