A Fortress of Pebbles

Aissaba was just beginning to lead the twins across the seemingly endless desert when the Master of Maps called out jovially after them, “Great to see you doing so well, Aissaba!” which soured her mood further. It was the kind of thing you said to a Fortress Fuckup. Code for: You've looked worse, Aissaba!

Tassadu knew the code and tried to cheer her up by using his wings to coax Orion and Cassandra faster across the desert. He even launched into Aissaba’s usual monologue about how the Hall of Life was just beyond the hidden door. It didn’t cheer her up, but at least it gave her a chance to stew and drowned out the sound of the kids behind her shouting, “Bye, Aissaba!” and “We love you, Tassadu!”

Usually, it was the best part of the job – adorable accolades from former recruits. But it was beginning to dawn on her that even the part-time recruiting job was something that she could eventually screw up, just like everything else. Great to see you doing so well, Aissaba. Yeah, right, she thought as they traversed Orion’s crater in the sand. Maybe she was losing her touch.

“The Fortress once created entire worlds,” Tassadu said as he opened the door to reveal a stairwell covered with vines, “and what good is a map without life?”

Flowers bloomed on the banisters and the croak of frogs seemed to beckon them up the lush spiral stairwell. Orion and Cassandra oohed and ahhed, back to being normal. Or pretending to be.

“Oh, I get it!” said Orion. “Cool magic system.”

But Aissaba could tell he was overcompensating. “Up,” she commanded, closing the door to the desert behind them.

The kids were good. Really selling it. On the way up, Cassandra excitedly pointed out every bug and iridescent mushroom, every flower and flytrap. Then, at the top, when the Hall of Life opened out before them, Orion demonstrated that he had an uncanny ability to mimic the calls of birds that sang in the bowers overhead.

“That sounds like a black-billed magpie!” he said. “Mom loves those. Three o’clock!”

“We have a bird clock in the kitchen,” explained Cassandra. “Three o’clock is the magpie.”

“Es verdad,” said Orion.

“It’s also when online Spanish starts,” said Cassandra.

Back and forth, they went – like birds themselves – each producing random utterances for the other. Each bird call proclaimed, “Nothing to see here” and “Just us twins.”

“It’s not a magpie,” said Tassadu, who had specialized in life magic in his final years. “In fact, most of the life studied here in the Fortress doesn’t exist on Earth. Cool, huh?”

Orion and Cassandra agreed, with predictable enthusiasm. Tassadu gave Aissaba a look. Yes, he was onto them too. They might be twins, with the mythical “twin connection,” but Aissaba and Tassadu had been roommates long enough to have synthesized a similar bond.

“Our first bathroom break is coming up,” announced Tassadu.

Aissaba nodded, even though it wasn’t true. The first scheduled bathroom break was usually in the Hall of Mind, one floor up.

“But be fast,” said Aissaba, “and remember that if you need toilet tissue in the Hall of Life, you can use any of the plants that grow next to the toilet holes. And the water fountain has antimicrobial properties.”

Eager to see the toilet tissue (and no doubt to conspire amongst themselves), the twins disappeared into the door of vines that Tassadu held open.

Finally. They were alone. Nothing but the sounds of the birds and frogs. And the distant laughter from a classroom full of fourteen year olds editing their own genomes. Endless fun. Aissaba remembered it well.

Tassadu hissed, “This is my fault. I swear, the notes just said ‘apocalypse risk.’ I should have requested clarification.”

“What did she mean, ‘You had one job?’” Aissaba hissed back. “It’s like…”

Tassadu nodded solemnly. Rather than answer, he reached a talon into one of several pouches on his belt. To say he was the organized one was an understatement. No matter the situation, he always seemed to have a pre-flashed pebble in a pouch somewhere. Aissaba could tell from the many-colored glow that what he tossed her was a language pebble.

“I slipped one into Cassandra’s flannel pocket,” said Tassadu, putting his own pebble to his forehead. His raised eyebrow-ridge and wry smile reminded her that he was the best. Hands down. Without him, the Masters would have sent her back to Earth long ago, memories wiped. But with Tassadu, even being a Fortress Fuckup had always felt pretty cool. Eavesdropping on the mystery kids from Montana? A classic stroke of dragon genius.