A Fortress of Pebbles

He knows, Aissaba thought. I'm aware of what transpired in the Room of Dreams. The Master of Language knows they're going to run. Meaning, he wants everyone in the Fortress to see us standing here holding the brown robes, looking like idiots while the kids hightail it out of here.

Aissaba and Tassadu – Masters of Foolishness. Better optics, no doubt, than the Masters of Maps and Life playing the fools.

Yeah, the Fortress sucks sometimes.

The stone gates behind the twins were already dematerializing into a swarm of pebbles, swirling up and away like curtains caught in the same wind that tossed Cassandra’s hair. The girl cast a glance over her shoulder, through the gate and across the drop where the grass ended. Snapping her head back to Aissaba, her face seemed to say, I’m sorry.

“It’s really not so bad here,” Aissaba said. But without force, without faith. Did the words even travel? Or did they plummet, like arrows shot from a weak bow?

The wind picked up, as if it wanted to tear the robe out of Aissaba’s hands. Thunder grumbled overhead. Black clouds were gathering in the sky above the Spire of Masteries – a dark swirl, lit from beneath by glowing windows in the tower’s topmost room.

No more sun. The first drops of rain began to fall. Whispers swept through the crowd. It never rained here.

When Aissaba glanced at Orion, she felt a surge of hope. He’d begun to cry, to tremble even. The vine pet on his shoulders nuzzled his tear-streaked cheek. He looked like his feet had grown roots deep into the grass. No way this kid was jumping off a cliff today.

But there was a purple fire in Cassandra’s eyes. She turned to him, grabbed him by the shoulders and firmly said, “Magpie.”

His lower lip trembled.

“Magpie,” she insisted.

“G-goldfinch,” he whispered – so quietly that only Aissaba and Tassadu could possibly hear.

“Robin!” shouted Cassandra, louder than the roll of thunder.

Suddenly, Orion’s soul caught whatever fire burned in Cassandra’s. Just like that, they were twin infernos of strength and faith. On what fuel that faith burned, Aissaba had no idea. Not for the first time since meeting them, however, Aissaba found herself afraid of them. They seemed to expand beyond themselves, becoming larger than their oversized flannels, older than their years.

“Wood…” shouted Orion. “...Pecker!” shouted Cassandra.

They ran, hand in hand, toward the gates, toward the cliff, toward the void.

The vine pets on their shoulders fell to the ground with chirps of sadness. The wind picked up, as if trying to blow them back to Aissaba and Tassadu. The Fortress gates quivered, as if thinking about whipping shut.

But they ran through.

The last Aissaba saw of Cassandra and Orion were their dark silhouettes, like cutouts against the lightning that arced as they soared into the void. Framed by the Fortress gates, they seemed to pause, weightless at the apex of their leap of faith. By the time the lightning was gone, so were they. Only thunder remained.