The Rifts of Psyche

by Kyle West

  It was an ambush.

  The next moments were chaos. Fergus raised an arm, which became wrapped in intense green light. From his open palm, a single beam shot upward, a blue laser that pierced a man standing at the canyon rim. With a scream, the man toppled over, falling in slow motion. More bronze-armored soldiers appeared, their hands glowing red as fireballs rained from above. Cleon raised a heat shield just in time to eat the impacts.

  The old man, Osric, was already scrambling up the cliff, as nimble as a mountain goat. Lucian realized the truth: he had led them to their deaths for some unforeseen payout.

  And now, a hulking figure in bronze-armor and a violet cape stood at the canyon’s edge. From the shape, he was the very same one from the Greenrift. His voice, thunderous, boomed down, projected by magic.

  “Stop at once, in the name of Queen Ansaldra! This canyon leads to nothing but a dead end. And your death should you refuse to comply.”

  Lucian sought to Bind him, but the Orb was not behaving as it should. He wanted to scream in frustration. There were dozens of soldiers above now, including robed mages bearing shockspears. Against all that, the four of them didn’t stand a chance.

  If they wanted to escape with their lives, surrender was the only option.

  “You led us on a merry chase,” the Mage-Lord said. “But it’s over. Surrender, and you can keep your lives.”

  A series of light spheres, blindingly bright, floated over the canyon. If they wanted to resist, they would have to see beyond that brilliance, or Fergus would have to ward the light of an unknown number of Radiant mages. Neither prospect seemed likely.

  “Stand down,” Lucian said.

  “They’ll kill us all if we go with them!” Cleon said. “We should go down with a fight.”

  Lucian shook his head. “I don’t want to be responsible for your deaths. They only want me.”

  Everyone looked at Fergus, whose expression had gone dark. “This is my fault. I trusted that scoundrel.”

  “You had no choice,” Cleon said. “We would have died without his help.”

  What Lucian didn’t understand was why Osric was helping the Queen in the first place. What had she promised him?

  They were questions that would have to go unanswered – at least for now.

  “What say you?” called down the Mage-Lord. “I haven’t the time to bandy words.”

  “We surrender,” Lucian said, “but if you don’t agree to spare our lives, we’ll fight to the death.”

  “If we wanted to kill you, we would have done so already,” the man said. “The Queen wants you alive, Lucian.”

  That the man already knew his name was proof that all those dreams were real. It made Lucian’s blood go cold.

  “I’ll only come if you let my friends go. They have nothing to do with this.”

  “All of you shall come,” the Mage-Lord said. “That is non-negotiable.”

  Osric had the audacity to stand next to the man above, like a loyal dog coming to heel.

  “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Lucian said.

  “I do what’s best for me and my people,” he said. “Soon, my people will be living in the sun.”

  “Fool,” Fergus said. “As if the Queen will honor that promise.”

  Cleon’s face was seething. He stared balefully upward at the Mage-Lord he’d sworn to kill. What had his name been, Kiani? Indeed, it seemed like the same man who had attacked them in the Greenrift from his hulking frame alone.

  Serah still seemed to be in a state of shock, the new reality not registering.

  “Will you come peacefully?” the Mage-Lord asked.

  Everyone turned to Lucian for direction. Why was he the leader, now? It was supposed to be Fergus. He sighed. He didn’t want this responsibility. And he didn’t want this rotting, useless Orb. Now more than ever, he didn’t believe the Queen’s words about him being the Chosen, about how she wanted to only help him. Likely, as soon as they were face-to-face, she would kill him and take his Orb.

  But there was always the chance she was actually telling the truth, however remote. The idea of having her help was distasteful, but at least some of the burden would be off his shoulders. And he would accept that help in a heartbeat if it meant everyone staying alive.

  There was only one way to find out if she was telling the truth. But it certainly didn’t feel good to rely on the mercy of someone who probably didn’t give it often.

  “No deaths,” Lucian said. “If you so much as slap one of my friends, there will be nothing peaceful about this.”

  The Mage-Lord above nodded. “I’m not unreasonable. Your fate is for the Queen to decide.”

  “Sounds promising,” Serah said.

  “We’ve got no choice,” Fergus said.

  Lucian knew he was right. “So, how are we going to do this?”

  “First, you must consent to being blocked. And you are to forfeit your weapons.”

  “Rot that,” Cleon breathed.

  “These are our terms,” the Mage-Lord said. “There is no other way.”

  “I’ll tell you the truth,” Cleon said, only loud enough for the four of them to hear. “If we go on that ship, the Queen will get the Orb by hook or by crook. She has her own agenda, and I want no part of it. If it means death right now, then I’m willing to die.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Serah said. “If you die, then you’ll be leaving the rest of us to suffer at her whims.”

  “My point exactly. It’s better to go down fighting than to become the Sorceress-Queen’s puppet. I lived that life once. Never again.”

  “I need your decision,” the Mage-Lord above said. “My patience wears thin.”

  Lucian knew there was only one right answer. Fighting to the death only guaranteed the Orb fell out of his hands. The Sorceress-Queen must have been completely sure of Mage-Lord Kiani’s effectiveness and loyalty.

  Or she simply trusted in the realization of her prophecy. That she would lead him, the Chosen, to the Orb of Psionics and guide him on his path to find the rest.

  “We’ll come,” Lucian said. “We agree to those terms. But no one gets hurt.”

  Cleon shot him a look of betrayal, while Serah merely looked disappointed. Fergus hung his head, his shoulders stooped.

  “Block them,” Mage-Lord Kiani said.

  At that moment, Lucian felt a curious prickling at his mind, along with Psionic Magic wrapping around the hands of several of the mages above. Serah recoiled as if slapped, while Cleon let out a frustrated shout. Fergus only ground his teeth, giving a deathlike stare.

  And just like that, Lucian no longer detected his ether. A shell of Psionic Magic had formed around his Focus, impossible to penetrate. They were completely at the mages’ mercy.

  The mages and soldiers climbed down into the canyon. They forced Lucian to hand over everything – his pack, his spear, even his canteen, until nothing was left but the clothes on his back. Even then, he was patted down by two bearded guards wearing conical bronze helmets. Once done, the guards stood back, and nodded at the Mage-Lord, who strode up with a heavy gait.

  “They’re clean, Mage-Lord Kiani.”

  Kiani was a sight, at least two meters tall, well-muscled, with a salt and pepper goatee on a late middle-aged face. His beady brown eyes didn’t seem to miss a detail.

  Cleon growled as the man approached. Mage-Lord Kiani gave a slight smirk. Yes, it seemed he recognized Cleon. Lucian couldn’t help but wonder the reason for the bad blood.

  “Mage-Knight,” Kiani said, jovially. “I pray all is well?”

  At this, Cleon gave no acknowledgement.

  “That’s no way to hail your commander. If you give me a salute and a heartfelt apology for abandoning your post, I might be merciful at the court-martial.”

  Cleon only stared up at Kiani, his expression murderous. Lucian had to give it to him; he had a lot of guts to do that.

  “Very well,” Kiani said, disappointed. “Time to get out of this dark, rotting hellh
ole.” His gaze took in all his men. “Straight back to the Zephyr, you lot. Let’s move!”

  33

  No one spoke as Mage-Lord Kiani, his Mage-Knights, and hoplites escorted them out of the Darkrift. Not even a week out of Kiro, and their mission had failed.

  Lucian replayed the capture repeatedly in his head, wondering how things could have gone differently. Whatever scenario he ran, only one thing was sure. It was a miracle they had managed to get so far to begin with. They had survived the Deeprift, tracked down Serah, and evaded at least a dozen wyverns with the Zephyr on their heels. And they would have gone even farther had it not been for Osric.

  Yes, they had been wrong to trust him. It was clear that Mage-Lord Kiani had somehow made it to Sanctuary first and worked out a deal with them ahead of time. Osric got what he wanted: a place for his people to settle on the surface, and Kiani got what he wanted: Lucian in chains.

  The journey to the surface took three days. During that entire time, the Psionic block around Lucian’s Focus did not weaken in the least. There was little talking among the four of them. Indeed, it seemed as if they were marching to their deaths. They were bound and placed in the middle of the party of thirty or so Mage-Knights, with Mage-Lord Kiani leading. Escape was simply impossible.

  On the third day, they surfaced. Lucian was glad to see sunlight again. Moored to the ground outside the cave mouth was the mighty airship Zephyr, its massive wooden hull at least a hundred meters long. But that hull was dwarfed by the enormous envelope above it, connected to the deck by hundreds of lines. The vessel seemed much too large to float, much more fly at the speeds Lucian had seen it go. But on this world, the low gravity made that possible.

  Whatever the case, they were pushed along toward the ship, where the Sorceress-Queen awaited.

  Once they stood under the shadow of the Zephyr’s massive hull, a large basket was lowered from above. The four of them were pushed in, along with Mage-Lord Kiani and the four Psionics he had brought with him, dressed in purple robes with the Septagon emblazoned on the breast. Lucian reached for his Focus, feeling for his ether again. Again, there was nothing. And the Orb of Binding’s presence was just as absent.

  As the basket was hoisted up, Lucian watched the ground drop away. Once above the railing of the ship, Lucian was greeted to the sight of a wide deck, where about twenty crewmen milled about, busy at their tasks. Dozens of thick wooden masts secured the envelope above. Somewhere on this moon were trees, and big ones, too, to construct a ship of this size.

  “This way,” Mage-Lord Kiani said. “Her Majesty awaits.”

  A middle-aged man approached, with slick-backed black hair and a gray uniform with a Septagon emblazoned on the chest. “Mage-Lord Kiani. Your orders?”

  “Captain Rawley, set sail for the Golden Palace as soon as my Mage-Knights are assigned to their battle stations. I would not be caught by wyverns, even if it’s not evening yet.” The Mage-Lord nodded toward Lucian’s companions. “And place these three in the brig, their blocks refreshed every hour by the Psionics. And the Sorceress-Queen wants to see this one posthaste.”

  “No,” Lucian said. “You said you wouldn’t harm them.”

  “And I intend to honor my word. It’s time that you met her Majesty.”

  “That’s what we get for trusting that rotter,” Cleon groused.

  Serah didn’t have the heart to lambast him for that one. Her head hung low, her eyes on the deck. Maybe they should have gone down fighting, as Cleon had suggested.

  “This way,” Captain Rawley said to Lucian’s companions.

  Lucian watched helplessly as his friends were led belowdecks, with all four Psionics following close behind. Once again, he reached for his Focus, but could no more use his magic than before.

  “You led us on an impressive chase,” Mage-Lord Kiani said, “but in the end, I’m the better Radiant than your friend. I knew you were making for Slave’s Run, so the trick was intercepting you.”

  “Well, you missed us on your way down. Passed us right by. So, your Radiance might not be as good as you think.”

  Lucian didn’t know why he’d said that, but the words had the intended effect. The Mage-Lord’s face clouded with anger. “You’re lying.”

  Lucian couldn’t help but smile smugly. “You can think that.” He nodded toward the forecastle, assuming that was where the Queen was. “Lead on. Don’t want to keep Ansaldra waiting.”

  Mage-Lord Kiani’s brown eyes were stern, his face a storm of anger. “You had best mind your tongue and your manner with me, boy. And more so with the Sorceress-Queen. I am the Mage-Lord of the Golden Mountain. You will address me with the respect I’m due.”

  Lucian didn’t talk back, even if he had a mind to. There was no point trading shots with him.

  Mage-Lord Kiani nodded, satisfied. “That’s better.” He looked at some of his surrounding Mage-Knights, all armed with shockspears and wearing robes the color of their Aspect. That might make it easier for Lucian to defend against them if it came to that.

  “Can I get my hands unbound at least?” Lucian asked.

  All ignored him.

  “We’re taking him to the Queen’s stateroom,” Kiani said. “Let’s move!”

  The Mage-Knights pushed him along, and Lucian felt sick to his stomach. Within minutes, he could be stripped of his Orb, and much more, his life.

  He wondered if these people even knew who he was or what the Queen wanted with him. Not likely. If they knew that, one of them might be stupid enough to try and take the Orb for him or herself.

  Kiani led him down a short set of steps into the forecastle. At the bottom, a pair of intricately carved and gilded double doors lay down a short corridor. Two Mage-Knights in violet robes and hoods stood guard outside, bronze shockspears in hand. As Lucian approached, each placed a hand on the handle of each door, opening them in tandem to reveal a luxuriously appointed stateroom filled with rich carpets, tapestries, waxed wooden furniture, and glowing lamps. Lord Kiani nodded him in, while he and his Mage-Knight escort remained outside.

  As soon as Lucian passed through the doors, Mage-Lord Kiani right behind him, he noted the pleasing scent of incense. A wide set of windows, set in the ship’s stern, looked onto the rift as well as a tumbling waterfall, through which the sunlight refracted a rainbow.

  But all of that was nothing compared to the woman standing at that window, her back faced to him. The Sorceress-Queen of Psyche was a young, beautiful, and petite woman, though Lucian couldn’t see how that was possible. She rose no higher than Lucian’s shoulder, wearing a long-black dress sequined with diamonds and many-colored gems, a dress that left little to the imagination. It seemed his suspicions that she had the appearance of a beautiful young woman were completely true. Her black hair was vibrant, and her creamy skin showed not a single blemish or sign of fraying. An anti-grav brand caused the train of her dress to float behind her several meters, the undulating fabric color-shifting through all the hues of the rainbow. Her hair fell just short of her waist, curling sharply toward the end.

  From age alone, Lucian knew this could not be the Sorceress-Queen, unless she somehow had access to longevity treatments here. That was unimaginable, given the limited resources of this world. But the extravagance of her dress and the elegantly appointed cabin begged to differ, as well as her general posture, which was straight, regal, and proud. She stood so still that she might have been a statue, and did not seem to be aware of his presence.

  Lucian wasn’t sure what to do, or what to say. He stopped near the door, not wanting to go any closer to the source of his terrors.

  Mage-Lord Kiani cleared his throat. “Your Majesty. I bring before you, bound and blocked, Lucian Abrantes.”

  He bowed low, as if he were an insect who could not stand her glory.

  “Leave us, Mage-Lord,” her voice seemed too deep and powerful for a woman her age. “I thank you.”

  Kiani did not seem to doubt the Queen’s safety for a moment. A testament to her po
wer, or a gross oversight?

  Lord Kiani slunk away, and the doors closed forebodingly behind. At that sound, the pit that formed in Lucian’s stomach had no bottom. Without his magic, his life could end at any second.

  At last, she turned. Lucian’s breath caught at her beauty. She was young, yes, but there was something in her eyes that was much older and wiser. And those eyes . . . they were violet, as in his dreams, though they were no longer glowing. This short, slight woman, whom he could probably throw ten meters, controlled an entire empire. The face was one of angelic innocence, with wide eyes, an aquiline nose, and full lips. But he knew not to underestimate her or be taken in by her appearance, but such a thing was easier said than done.

  She being a powerful Psionic, he knew it could all be a trick of the mind to gain advantage. He needed to treat her the same way he would treat any Burner. How he would treat an army of Burners.

  She was dangerous. And she most likely wanted his Orb.

  “We meet at last,” she said. Her voice was clear, confident, and alluring. “I’ve looked forward to this day for a very long time.” She favored him with a small smile. “And you are handsome in person. That’s . . . good.”

  Even if he knew the flattery was designed to disarm him, he felt his cheeks flush and he had to resist the urge to turn his face. He couldn’t play the part of a bashful little boy. And yet, her effect made that reaction seem the most natural. Lucian found himself tongue-tied. The Sorceress-Queen might not even need to use magic to get her way.

  “Are you surprised to see me thus?” she asked. “I’m just a woman. A powerful one, to be sure, and beautiful, I’m also told. But like all women of power, I hope to meet someone who is my equal. Someone I can speak to face-to-face without them cowering as if I were a supernova about to consume them.” She gave a small, innocent smile, which did little to soften her. “I believe you might be that man.”

  “Supernova would be putting it lightly.”

  Lucian wasn’t sure why he’d said that. But she seemed pleased that he had, her smile widening and reaching her violet eyes. It made her seem more . . . human. Was it really her, or was it something calculated to lower his guard?