A Fortress of Pebbles

A small crowd had gathered in the grassy courtyard, within the shadow of the Spire of Masteries. The majority were white robed students in their fifth or sixth year, using the ceremony as an excuse to take a break from their research and writing.

The Master of Mind, in her gray robes, stood with her back to the Spire – facing the Fortress gates. Aissaba, Tassadu, Orion, and Cassandra stood before her. The synthetic sun, blocked by the Spire, formed a halo above it all, and the shadow in which they all stood cut through the grass like a dark road from the Spire to the gates.

It was rare for one of the Masters to officiate the ceremony. Usually, Aissaba's boss (Head Scribe of Recruitment Tours) would show up, along with whomever the lottery system had selected as the child’s Fortress mom or dad. The whole thing tended to take five minutes on average.

Cassandra and Orion were fidgeting and looking occasionally over their shoulders, as if considering making a dash for the gates, shut tight though they were. Aissaba realized her hand was on Cassandra’s shoulder next to the vine pet. When had she put it there? One of Tassadu’s claws, likewise, rested on Orion’s shoulder.

To Aissaba’s surprise, the Spire doors opened and the Master of Maps came out. Was he to be selected as one of the children’s parents? Pinched between his rocky forefinger and thumb, he held a brown robe. The Master of Life followed him down the Spire steps, a second brown robe clutched in her tentacles.

“Where is the Master of Language?” asked the Master of Mind when her colleagues had joined her.

“Communing,” said the Master of Life.

“Then, we wait,” said the Master of Mind, a mirthless smile upon her perfect lips.

Communing, Aissaba knew, was short for “communing with the Master of Virtue.” Her eyes drifted to the top of the Spire – where the halo of the synthetic sun was brightest. She squinted and could make out the white glow of the windows in a small room at the top of the Spire. It was the Room of Virtue, a place that only the Master of Language was permitted to enter, and which the Master of Virtue never left.

Whispers moved through the crowd, and the blue glow of language pebbles could be seen as some of them sent messages to their friends. As the moments passed, the crowd grew. Aissaba could feel Cassandra’s shoulders trembling beneath her hand. She gave the girl a reassuring squeeze and felt muscles unknotting ever so slightly.

Eventually, the crowd grew so big that Aissaba caught sight of her mother. She was wearing the drab work clothes of the kitchen staff. Her necklace of glowing pebbles was the only thing that set her apart from the rest of the cooks and servers with whom she stood. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

The Master of Maps tried to break the tension by kneeling in front of the twins (still towering above them by at least foot), flashing a ghastly smile with his severed head, and saying, “Would the two of you like something to drink?” Suddenly, he was holding two stone bowls filled with water.

The Master of Life joined him, one of her tentacles spouting a small tea tree with rainbow leaves, “Or, I could steep you some tea that tastes like cotton candy?” She blinked at them with eyes of all shapes and sizes.

Orion opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Cassandra spoke for both of them: “We’re fine.” Then, she hastily added, “Thank you, though.”

She and Orion linked arms, like otters floating together in a vast ocean, clinging to the only thing that made sense.

“It’s normal to be nervous at your choosing ceremony,” said the Master of Life conspiratorially, different mouth-tentacles whispering into the ears of both twins at once.

With a sweep of his massive hand, the Master of Maps indicated his class of brown robed children, sitting in the grass at the edge of the crowd. “You were all a bit nervous, weren’t you?” Some of the kids nodded, while others shook their heads, grinning.

“Enough,” said the Master of Mind. “He’s coming.”