The Rifts of Psyche

by Kyle West

  “Tell me about her,” Lucian said. “Why is she so bad?”

  All stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief, before Elder Ytrib held up his hands placatingly. “He is new to this world, friends. He knows nothing.” That only seemed to mollify them a little bit. Ytrib continued. “The Sorceress-Queen is an evil woman. And a powerful Psionic, quite possibly the most powerful there has ever been. She has a rare gift that is a curse for the rest of us. Her magic is so advanced that she can create brands that last for years. These brands allow her to keep track of her subjects, even to directly control them, if need be.”

  “Elder Erymmo told me a bit about brands, but what does that mean in terms of the Queen?”

  “It means that she can keep tabs on her subjects without needing to be present,” Elder Sina said. “Of course, she can’t directly possess all her subjects, but certainly she can do so at need with one or even a few people. The brands allow her to sense the mental state, and even the thoughts, of those who carry them. If ever you were to meet her face-to-face, no doubt branding you would be her first action.”

  “Could she do that to me in a dream?”

  “No,” Elder Sina said. “She must physically see you. And if it happened, it’s something you would certainly be able to feel. Whether the unarcane would feel the same thing, I can’t say.”

  Unarcane. That must be the term that mages used to describe non-mages.

  “The brands lose power over time and need to be refreshed,” Elder Gia said. “It’s not known how long it takes, exactly. But once it weakens, the Sorceress-Queen can simply renew the brand with a new infusion of magic and it’s as good as new. That is how she lays claim over Dara, how none can stand against her. She streams little active magic – every one of her brands drains her total ether supply, but she need not be physically powerful when her branded Mage-Lords and Mage-Knights can do the fighting for her. She trains her Psionic Mage-Knights to brand their own minions. She’s like a spider, trying to weave a web large enough to ensnare all of Psyche. She’s the reason that we, long ago, were driven from the Golden Vale and into the deep Riftlands, the only place on Psyche we can hide from her patrols. Rarely do they pass through here, but sometimes, her slavers come and take who they may, labor to fuel her growing empire. They are destined for the fields, the mines, her armies, or even for sport in the Blood Arena.” Her eyes looked at him intensely. “If she ever found you, Lucian, everything would be lost. Psyche would be as good as hers if she had your Orb.”

  So, it was safe to say that her desire to work together with him was all a lie. She most likely wanted him to find the Orb of Psionics, though Lucian didn’t understand why she needed him for that. It made him wonder why she ever thought she could fool him in the first place.

  “She thought I’d be lost and alone,” he realized. “She thought I’d be happy to have her help.”

  Lucian realized that the Elders might want his Orb, too. Was there any reason he should trust them? Maybe he should be reaching for his Focus right now.

  “We will have to discuss this among ourselves,” Elder Ytrib said. “Suffice it to say, Lucian, you are under our protection. If it’s the Orb the Sorceress-Queen is after, then she must never learn that you’re here. You have an artifact of great power, and I suspect you don’t have the faintest idea how to use it.”

  “I used it to kill the wyverns.”

  “Yes,” Elder Jalisa said. “And almost killed yourself in the process by bringing down the Snake Pass.”

  “And there’s no doubt that the Sorceress-Queen will learn of that destruction,” Elder Sina said. “And you already mentioned she detected you from the fluctuation in the ethereal field.”

  The prospect was terrifying. Kiro was just a day’s walk from the Snake Pass. She or her agents could easily track Lucian to Kiro.

  “We’ve gotten ahead of ourselves,” Elder Ytrib said. “Go to the meeting hall and get Captain Fergus. Tell him to come here.”

  “Am I still going down to the valley today?”

  “Yes,” Elder Ytrib said. “We need you now more than ever, Lucian. You must train as you’ve never trained before. There is no room for failure. You must make up for the shortcomings that caused you to be exiled from the Volsung Academy. You hold one of the Orbs now, and if it falls into the Sorceress-Queen’s hands, she will be able to bend all of Psyche to her will. With the Orb of Psionics, none could stand against her.”

  “So, she’s one hundred percent lying that she wants me to keep the Orb?”

  “I suppose it’s possible she has some other plan we’re not aware of,” Elder Jalisa said. “However, she would not allow you to keep it unless she knew some way to control you.”

  “She hinted that the Orb of Psionics could take control of the defenses above Psyche, somehow,” Lucian said. “How would that even be possible?”

  “I’m not sure,” Elder Erymmo said. “All we do know is that the Sorceress-Queen has been a constant presence on Psyche since the end of the Mage War. If the fraying has not worked on her body, then it has surely warped her mind, especially since she is not known to restrict her use of magic. Then again, her strength with Psionics is such that her stream is highly pure, which has made it possible for her to hold out this long. That said, she would love nothing more than to escape this world with two Orbs in hand, and an army of fiercely loyal Mage-Knights and Mage-Lords at her back.”

  It was a terrifying thought. All Lucian knew was that he had a dangerous enemy.

  “I’ll go find Fergus.”

  He left Elder Ytrib’s hut and headed for the meeting hall.

  11

  Lucian found Fergus eating breakfast alone. He watched Lucian disdainfully as he approached.

  “Captain, the Elders wish to see you.”

  Fergus arched a questioning eyebrow. “To speak with me?”

  “Yes,” Lucian said. “I’m just the messenger.”

  Fergus grunted, setting his food down and washing his hands in a nearby bowl. “Stay here, then. And find something to eat. The farming party will set out soon.”

  Fergus left, bronze shockspear in hand. Lucian took a bowl of soup, filled with vegetables and some sort of meat. He was too hungry to question what exactly was in it.

  By the time Fergus returned half an hour later, Lucian had finished his soup and the meeting hall was almost full. Lucian supposed that this crew of fifty was to be the farming party. The watchmen stood separately, dressed in leather armor while holding their own spears of bronze. Some of them cast surreptitious glances Lucian’s way. Lucian wondered if he would be getting his own spear. It would feel good to have some sort of weapon he was familiar with.

  Fergus stood at the entrance to the meeting hall. He rapped his spear three times on the stone floor, and all conversations stilled at the sound.

  “All right,” he boomed. “Time to move. Let’s get this over with before evening.”

  Everyone stood, some grumbling, and began to filter out of the hall.

  Lucian approached Fergus after noticing the other watchmen doing the same. The warning Morgana had given him yesterday was still fresh in his mind. “What do I do, Captain?”

  “Remain silent unless I call upon you,” he said. “If I need something, I’ll tell you. You have my word on that.”

  Lucian swallowed his pride. “As you say, Captain.”

  Fergus let out a sigh, as if Lucian’s case were hopeless. When the last of the gathering party had exited the hall, Fergus motioned for his guards to follow. Most of them looked to be about Lucian’s age or older. Lucian wondered if any were mages like him.

  As they walked through the village, Lucian couldn’t help but wonder how Fergus might make an example of him. He wondered who among these watchmen were part of that scheme. Perhaps all of them. Was there anything he could do to prepare for it? The Elders had already exhausted him with their tests, so he was in no position to defend himself. Of course, he always had his Binding Magic. But if other mages were like the Elde
rs, they would notice the purity of his stream. And that might lead to questions. Of course, it was possible Fergus had been apprised of the situation.

  Whatever the case, it was clear Fergus despised him.

  Once they had reached the gate of the village, Lucian was surprised at how bright it was outside. Not that it was “bright” by any means, but it certainly was compared to the gloom of the cave. Lucian had to squint as he emerged into the cool, misty air, golden with sunlight diffusing from above. The sun here had to have been bright to shine through all this atmosphere. Perhaps it was a good thing Psyche was a cloudy world.

  “Off-worlder.”

  The guards pulled to a stop as Captain Fergus thrust a spear, point down, in Lucian’s direction.

  “What?” Fergus scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never used one of these before.”

  Lucian took the spear, giving a few twirls of a basic ceremonial sequence he’d learned at the Academy. Several people stopped to watch the movements, flashier than they were practical. This spear didn’t retract like the one he once owned, but it would suit his purposes. “I know little enough, Captain, but I’m eager to learn more.”

  Lucian hadn’t meant that to sound sarcastic, but a few of the other watchmen snickered. Their laughs were stifled with one venomous glare from Fergus.

  “You will learn, Off-Worlder. Of that I assure you.” Fergus faced the rest of the watchmen. “Keep an eye out. I know we are still in the Deeprift, but that is no guarantee of safety. Eyes sharp.”

  The group moved quickly down the narrow trail at a jogging pace to catch up with the rest of the gathering party, which had gone on ahead. After thirty minutes of skirting the right side of the rift, the trail forked. The left path followed the rift deeper down, while the right path turned into a long set of stairs descending into a tunnel. To Lucian’s surprise, they went into the tunnel, down the stairs that took them deep underground. There was a light at the end of that tunnel, but it was far in the distance. The villagers lit the path with torches, making streaming light spheres unnecessary.

  After about ten minutes, they emerged on the other side to find themselves standing hundreds of meters above a narrow valley, with slopes so steep it could almost be called a canyon. Craning his neck, Lucian could see golden light filtering through the thick atmosphere above. The tops of the mountains were lost to that radiant light, making it seem as if the world were nothing more than this valley, this rift, delving deep into the heart of Psyche.

  “Is this still the Deeprift?” he asked.

  The watchmen proceeded ahead, seemingly ignoring him. All but one, who paused beside him. He had pale skin, flaming red hair, and brilliant green eyes.

  “This is the Greenrift,” the guard said, with an easy drawl. “So-called because . . . well, it’s green.”

  Lucian saw that he was right. The rift’s lower reaches were green with vegetation. And at the bottom ran a swift river that plunged deeper into the fissure. Lucian wondered if all the rifts were like this – carved with swift running water from who knew where, until it collected in some place of darkness deep beneath the surface. For all he knew, that water might fall to the center of the moon itself. The thought seemed ridiculous, but perhaps this world was small enough for that to happen.

  Each side of the rift was lined with multiple rows of terraces, each filled with green vegetation. This was where they had to be going. The terraces ended about a hundred meters above the level of the water, where the steep slopes became bare and brown. Even higher, far above all their heads, the terrain was rough and rocky, and Lucian could see even more caves. They would need to watch above as much as below. Wyverns could be lurking in those shadowy entrances. If some were to come out, there would only be a short amount of time to seek shelter.

  Lucian and the red-haired watchman brought up the rear.

  “Quite the sight, isn’t it?” the watchman asked.

  Lucian nodded his agreement. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The guard laughed. “Neither had I. Not until I came here.”

  Lucian put out a hand. “I’m Lucian.”

  “I know,” the guard said, taking his hand. “My name’s Cleon. I’m a Thermalist.”

  Lucian took the hand. “I guess you could say I’m a Binder.”

  Cleon nodded toward the group making its way down below. “It’s just you, me, and Fergus that can stream out of this bunch. Aside from our Elders and another three old ones back at the village, that makes for all the mages of Kiro.”

  “Not many,” Lucian said.

  “No. We mages are a rarity, even on Psyche. Though in Dara, there are many more. A lot of opportunity there for a mage.”

  Lucian wondered why Cleon was telling him this. Like him, though, it seemed he wasn’t from this world, or at least not from the Riftlands, so that gave them one thing in common.

  It took another half hour before they’d reached the terraces below. Lucian stood next to Fergus and Cleon as the villagers labored at the harvest. It was hard not to feel like they were forcing the villagers to the hard task, at least at first. But the guards spent all their attention facing outward from the harvesters, scanning the rift for signs of trouble. That told Lucian it was a team effort, each person playing their part according to their skills.

  It was important to do well. If Lucian didn’t prove himself today, he might find himself harvesting with the laborers. He was sure Fergus would like nothing better than that.

  “You need to be looking up as much as down,” Fergus instructed them as he walked by on one of his rounds. “Wyverns from above, humans from below.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cleon said, saluting.

  Lucian copied the salute, and at an arched eyebrow from Captain Fergus, added his own, “Yes, sir.”

  When Fergus strolled away, Cleon leaned closer to Lucian. “You watch below, I’ll take the sky.”

  “Sounds good to me. Where are you from, Cleon?”

  “I’m a slum rat from Dara, originally.”

  “Dara? I thought you were an off-worlder, too.”

  He shook his head. “Most Psycheans are natives. Because I was a mage, I rose to be one of the Queen’s Mage-Knights.” He gave a bitter laugh. “How proud I was of that. It worked for me, for a time.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  His expression darkened. “Long story. I won’t bore you.”

  The story probably wasn’t boring, but Lucian knew better than to pry.

  “That’s why I’m here. Hoping for the day all the tribes of the Rifts are strong enough to take down Dara and the Sorceress-Queen. Who knows? It might happen. Or she may crush us all. She’s taken all the Golden Vale by now, and even most of the Westlands beyond the Mountains of Madness. Her empire covers most of the moon, all the way to the Burning Sands on Planetside. All that’s left really are the Riftlands.”

  “Stop your yakking, Cleon!” Fergus called.

  Cleon shut his mouth. Lucian only knew one thing about the Sorceress-Queen. He did not wish to ever see her in his dreams again. But that would likely not be the case. His fate was intertwined with hers, if only because he held the Orb of Binding. The thought made him sick.

  Things seemed quiet in the Greenrift. The day grew brighter, but the mist hanging in the air didn’t seem to dissipate. Even so, Lucian could feel the sun burning through it.

  When Fergus was far away, Lucian asked Cleon another question. “How far is Dara from here?”

  Cleon cast a glance in Fergus’s direction before answering. “Hard to say. If you follow the roads through the Rifts, several months. I went by a faster and more dangerous route. I followed the Darkrift, paying a guide, and ended up somewhere in Snake Rift. After that, I found my way to the surface. That took me about a month, give or take a few days. After the Elders of Kiro heard my story, they let me in. They said anyone who could survive the Darkrift was a welcome addition to their community. Truth be told, though, if you have magic and a working brain, they will let
you in easily.”

  “I thought I told you two to can it!”

  When had Fergus come back? Cleon stood straight to attention, while Lucian was slower in obeying. Fergus got in his face and stared him down, hard.

  “Step forward, Off-Worlder.”

  There was nothing for Lucian to do but advance, drawing the eye of every watchman and half of the gathering villagers.

  Fergus was now in his face, expression grim. “Keep. Watch!”

  Instantly, every watchman’s attention refocused on their watch points, while the villagers returned to their harvesting with renewed vigor.

  Fergus paced back and forth in front of Lucian, his face a storm cloud of anger. His grip on his spear tightened, as if he were itching to use it.

  At last, Fergus seemed to reach a breaking point, nodding to the space in front of him. “Stand across from me, Off-Worlder. It’s time for your first lesson.”

  Lucian most certainly didn’t want to do that, but he couldn’t disobey a direct order. He stood directly across from Fergus, about five meters away.

  “All of you, keep your watches. I would test this mage.”

  Lucian wondered how “testing” him in front of everyone would help the villagers harvest faster or the guards watch the rift better, but he was just a day one grunt, so who was he to question? If there was any watching to be done, it would be watching him have his ass handed to him.

  “All right, wyvern-slayer,” Fergus said. “Let’s see what you’re worth.”

  Lucian hardly had time to react. Fergus reached out his left hand, which unleashed a sudden flash of green brilliance. Lucian stumbled backwards, blinded, fumbling with his spear. When he felt cold metal at his throat, he knew he had been bested – and in less than five seconds.

  “Your Radiance defense is non-existent, as expected. Again.”

  At least Fergus had the grace to allow Lucian to regain his vision, first. Lucian crouched, feeling a fire in his belly as he deftly handled the spear, which felt so light in Psyche’s gravity. This round, he wouldn’t embarrass himself.