by Kyle West
34
The Sorceress-Queen led Lucian to the bow of the Zephyr. The crewmen and Mage-Knights she passed bowed so low as to almost be groveling. She didn’t pay them any mind, as if they were insects. Several crewmen and even Mage-Knights watched Lucian with widened eyes, as if in disbelief that he could walk beside her as an equal. Even Mage-Lord Kiani kept a respectful distance, his face lowered to the deck. No doubt he was regretting his rough treatment of Lucian earlier.
Her mannerisms signaled not only her power, but that Lucian was an exception to it. Many of the airship’s crew were also bowing to Lucian, albeit uncertainly, especially when the Queen rested her hand on his arm, as if to claim him. Lucian wanted to slide away, but there was no way to do that without being too overt about it.
Thankfully, she let her hand fall as she gestured toward the bow, where six blue-robed Binders stood at the ready.
“No doubt you are wondering how a vessel of this size maintains course in the air,” the Sorceress-Queen said.
All Lucian wanted to do was remind her of his friends, still imprisoned belowdecks. Fergus had told him the airship used Binders to move along, but for now it would be best to humor her. “The thought had crossed my mind.”
Mage-Lord Kiani’s eyes widened, and it took a moment for Lucian to realize why.
“Your Majesty,” he added, the honorific sounding unnatural.
She continued, not seeming to notice the blunder. “We have a motor, of course, but fuel requires Atomicism to synthesize, as does the helium we fill the envelope with. Atomicism is not my strength, and my court Atomicist is back in Dara, anyway.” She gestured ahead, to the long bowsprit jutting ten meters from the front of the ship carved in the likeness of a wyvern. “Binders provide both direction and speed for the ship. Working in confluence, they can get the Zephyr moving very quickly indeed.”
The Sorceress-Queen nodded at Captain Rawley, who stood to attention near Mage-Lord Kiani. “Captain Rawley. It’s far past time we embarked.”
Captain Rawley’s face paled as he swallowed the lump in the throat. “Of course, your Majesty.” He turned smartly to the Binders. “Binders, ready!”
“Aye, Captain,” came the unified response.
He nodded to a nearby crewman. “Raise anchor.”
“Aye.” The crewman marched sternward, barking some orders to the nearby crew who stood at the ready to turn the capstan. So heavy was Zephyr’s anchor that the wheel required six men to raise. Almost as soon as it was raised, the ship began lifting off, rising from the ground below.
“Binders,” Captain Rawley said. “As soon as we clear that ridge, full ahead. Set course for the Golden Palace.” He clenched his jaw a moment. “Overdraw if needed.”
The mages gave no response but following the order to overdraw could not have been easy. Lucian watched from the railing as the rift dropped away. Wind buffeted the ship, causing it to drift to starboard toward the rift’s steep slopes.
“Cross-bind that breeze,” the Captain said. “Keep her on an even keel and in the middle of the rift.”
“Aye, Captain.” At once, three Binders went to the port side, raising their hands and streaming tethers connecting the bowsprit to a mountain peak on the rift’s opposite side. At once, the ship steadied, despite the blast of wind.
“Ahead full,” the Captain said.
The other three blue mages joined in, streaming their own tethers on a mountain peak in the distance. The six tethers intensified in brightness, and Lucian felt the ship picking up speed. The wind rushed past his face.
Lucian noticed one of the blue mages stood at the fore, a middle-aged man with a full, graying beard. It seemed the other Binders were taking the lead from him. As the mountain pulled closer, his tether switched to another mountain, more distant. A moment later, so did the others, and the ship was pulled along toward that one. Having to keep this up all day must have been exhausting. But Lucian had to admit they were moving quite fast, and were only getting faster.
“We shall make Dara in four days’ time, at this speed,” the Sorceress-Queen said. “Isn’t this far better than braving the Darkrift?”
Lucian had to admit it would be far faster this way. Despite her general disagreeableness, perhaps joining forces with the Queen, at least temporarily, was the best option. It was the only thing that made sense. But what would the others think of it? Lucian did not look forward to that conversation.
The Queen stood next to him at the railing, awaiting his answer. But all he could think about were his friends, imprisoned somewhere on this ship.
“My friends need to be freed still,” Lucian said. “Their talents are wasted belowdecks.”
“Your friends will be freed in due time,” she said. “Just watch for a moment. Learn. Allow yourself to relax. Or are you forgetting your most basic lesson of magic?”
“What basic lesson?”
“From silence, power builds,” she said. “You can only be powerful if you are calm and in control.”
Why did Lucian get the feeling she was already trying to train him? “I know that. The Focus, right?”
“Yes, the Focus. You think your power comes from the amount of ether you stream?” She shook her head. “That’s what most men think. The bigger, the better. They see their magic as the metaphorical extension of . . . well, you get the picture. It can be impressive, but if your magic is all raw bludgeoning, you’ll only exhaust yourself and whoever else you’re trying to impress.”
“Couldn’t you have picked a better metaphor?”
She chuckled. “Perhaps. My point is magic takes finesse. It comes from the deepness of your Focus, the steadiness of your resolve. Some of the greatest mages I’ve known had limited pools of ether. Can you imagine what you could do with your Orb if you only learned to Focus properly?”
Despite himself, Lucian found himself intrigued. “So, how do I do that?”
“Hours of introspection and meditation. How else?”
“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”
They were silent as one rift passed after another. Rifts that would have taken days, or even weeks, to traverse. They passed them in mere minutes. This was the distance they had intended to cross? The Sorceress-Queen was right. They most likely would have died.
“Why are we going to this Golden Palace first?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it be faster to go directly to the Burning Sands?”
“We must resupply. The journey to Psyche’s Planetside is long, and the land is barren. And my Binders will need a rest. It will also give me the chance to show you my court. Your friends, too.”
Lucian watched the Binders pull the massive airship along. They were making good speed, now. “I can’t imagine that’s easy to keep up.”
“It isn’t,” she confirmed. “But my Binders are the best in the Worlds. No one gets more practice than them, in war or in peace.”
“Are you not afraid of them fraying?”
“The fraying finds us all sooner or later.”
“What’s your secret, then?”
“Remember what I told you. Learn to Focus properly, and you can stream more purely. Even if the Academies are wrong about most things, they aren’t wrong about that. As misguided as they are, the Transcends are sure of themselves, and take great care when streaming. There must be a good reason for everything you do, whether in magic or in life. What is your reason?”
“To find the Orbs.”
“And yet, you doubt yourself. I hear it in your voice. You never wanted this burden, and yet, the Manifold has chosen you for it.”
She had put it quite succinctly, which was annoying. “That sounds about right.”
“No wonder you’re having the trouble you are. Until you fully accept your destiny, the Orb will be the one pulling the leash, not you.”
Lucian didn’t want to believe her, even if this was the millionth time repeating herself. Believing her meant that all this was true. That he had to change. That he could no longer hold the false
belief that he could go back to his old life.
But most of all, the Sorceress-Queen was the last person he wanted to rely on as a mentor.
“It seems impossible,” he said. “Why would the Manifold have chosen me? It seems beyond belief.”
“I have no answer for that, Lucian. But this is the hand we’ve been dealt, which means we have to try.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m here, Lucian. You’re here. This is a golden opportunity to discover what has eluded so many mages. Within the week, the Orb of Psionics could be in your hand, and the plans I’ve laid out can begin in earnest. And after that, only five Orbs would remain. We will study The Prophecy of the Seven to unlock the locations of the rest. If you truly are the Chosen, those words will reveal themselves to you.”
Lucian had to find a way to get his hands on that prophecy if what she’d said was true. But where to find it? Perhaps the Golden Palace in Dara had a copy.
They both fell into silence. The Sorceress-Queen looked out onto the expanse of the current rift they were in. He couldn’t help but watch her from his peripheral vision. All this conversation had done the last thing he wanted. She had been humanized . . . somewhat. What if all this was really true? What if she really did want to help him? Maybe she was as evil as everyone was saying. But couldn’t there be shades of good in that?
There was a person beneath that royal veneer. A person named Ansaldra, who actually believed she was doing the right thing. And she had a reason for it. She hated the way the mages had been treated after the Mage War and even before it, and thought it was time the mages took the reins – while reining in the fraying. It was an idea Lucian could at least understand, if not get behind fully.
Even if she had been somewhat humanized, he couldn’t allow his loyalties to be divided. His first responsibility was to his friends, not her.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. His first responsibility was to the Orbs. And who could help him find and use the Orbs most effectively?
He drove that thought from his mind. He didn’t like where it was leading him.
“I will permit you to speak to your friends,” she said, “but only if you commit to work with me.”
“Am I supposed to be your pet or something?”
Her violet eyes gleamed with mischief. “If you wish to think yourself that way, then that’s your choice. If you wish to make yourself angry by playing the victim, that’s your choice, too. My advice is to stop being the victim. It’s only then that you’ll experience true freedom. And for that matter, would it really be so horrible to learn from someone who knows what they’re talking about?”
Lucian saw she would accept no other answer, nor did he have another choice. This was his reality, and the sooner he faced it, the sooner he could find a way to extricate he and his friends from this situation.
“Maybe not,” he said. “I . . . can give it a chance. For now.”
The Sorceress-Queen nodded, seeming to accept that answer. For now.
They were passing into a new rift, this one shrouded in fog. Combined with the failing light of evening, it was impossible to see into its depths.
She honestly believed this, that he was the Chosen of the Manifold. There was a chance it was all a trick, but if she really wanted to kill him or possess him, wouldn’t she have done so already? How could he work with her when she had done so much evil? There were crimes she had committed against her own people. Slaves turned the wheel of her empire, while it was said she used Psionic branding to possess and influence people as she saw the need. He had yet to see evidence of that, but he didn’t doubt it was true.
All this would take time to process.
“I’ll just be straight with you,” Lucian said. “You’ve oppressed and angered people greatly during your reign. Unlike you, they don’t get to see your reasons. It’s going to take a lot of time before you can counteract all that.”
“On that, I agree, and I wouldn’t expect anything less. But everything I’ve ever done, I’ve done for the good of magekind. One does not forge an empire on this brutal prison world without spilling blood. To think otherwise is naïve. And unless magekind stands together, then everything I do will be for nothing.”
“Part of me wants to believe you. So, how can I know you are to be trusted? That you really wish for the good of all?”
“That’s the thing about trust,” the Queen said. “At some point, a leap must be made.”
At some unseen signal, Mage-Lord Kiani approached the Queen, slightly bowing his head.
“Yes, your Majesty?”
“Release his friends and escort them to my stateroom. Unbound and unblocked.”
The Mage-Lord’s eyes widened. “My Queen. Forgive me, but I would highly suggest—”
“Do it, and you know better than to question me.” Queen turned her violet eyes on Lucian, as if in challenge. “If we are to learn to trust one another, then it starts with me. Your friends could bring down this entire ship, causing my death and throwing the Daran Empire into chaos. Now, it’s up to you to decide whether indeed we will work together.”
Lucian had to admit that she was taking a great risk. He was especially worried about what Cleon would do, unfettered and unblocked. He might try to take out Kiani, even if it meant his own death.
Perhaps Mage-Lord Kiani recognized this because his mouth worked for a moment. But in the end, he bowed. “It shall be as you say, my Queen.”
Kiani departed, leaving Lucian alone once again with the Queen.
“There is so much more to this,” the Sorceress-Queen said. “It’s best if I share my vision with all of you at once. If there is to be trust between us, it will begin with me.”
35
The four of them were reunited once again, albeit under the purview of the Sorceress-Queen. Lucian had never seen such angry expressions. Angry, and shocked. Even Cleon seemed taken aback by her appearance, although it was possible he had never actually seen her in person. Serah kept her eyes pointed directly at the deck, while Fergus’s chest heaved, as if at any moment he might explode.
But they stood there free, unbound and unblocked, and no one had died yet.
Fergus’s arms became wrapped with green light. Lucian was about to shout for him not to do anything, but all Fergus did was stream a protective ward around the four of them. It was token resistance, unlikely to do much. Certainly, the Queen didn’t seem to be concerned about it.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” she said, with forced patience. “In fact, I’m trying to decide if it is you I should fear. But if we are to take the fight to where it matters, the Daran Empire and the Riftlands must work together. The stakes are too high if we draw out this pointless conflict.”
“Rotting lies,” Cleon spat. “You brand any mage who doesn’t agree with you. You are no Queen of mine.”
She nodded regally. “I agree that I take extreme and unfortunate measures when a mage revolts against me. Branding is an option of last resort, and I wouldn’t expect you to understand, standing where you are. It is an evil, but sometimes, what’s foul on the surface is necessary in service to a greater good. A mage who does not agree with my vision is simply too dangerous to be left alone, especially with the fraying to consider.”
“Cleon is right,” Fergus said. “That’s rot.”
Serah nodded her agreement.
“With the exception of your temporary imprisonment and your blocks, have I wronged you in any way? All of this could have been avoided had Lucian simply listened to me in the first place and met me at the Deepfork.”
Cleon ground his teeth but didn’t respond. And neither did the other two.
The Sorceress-Queen continued. “Psyche is a brutal world, and it cannot be held unless my methods match that brutality. Have you ever tried to control hundreds of mages, many of whom are frayed to the point of madness? Such cannot be done except by the methods I’ve devised. An absolute ruler cannot rule except absolutely. My power keeps the Daran Empire from disintegrating. If any
of you were alive during the early days of Psyche, what I’ve built is far more humane than what existed then. If the tribes of the Riftlands had their way, this entire planet would devolve to a barbarous state. That is what the League of Worlds wants. They want to keep us small, petty, fighting amongst ourselves, clawing to survive every day. Do you know why they selected Psyche as their prison world, of hundreds of available candidates, despite the fact a sizeable colony already existed here?”
At their silence, Lucian knew that they didn’t know, or much less think about it. Just as he had never thought about it.
“It’s the rifts,” she said. “They form natural barriers to the mages ever coming together. And where there are natural barriers, there are social barriers, too. Even now, a mere fifty years after the inception of this prison, cultures have diverged, and even new dialects are forming.”
“What’s the whole point of this rotting speech?” Cleon asked.
The Sorceress-Queen held up an appeasing hand. “If you think you can intimidate me with a little cursing, I would not be the Queen of Dara. And I’ve heard much worse among the dockhands and sailors of Hephaestus Station, where I grew up long, long ago.”
Such a thing seemed unimaginable, but Lucian couldn’t let that fact humanize her further. But it seemed his friends were now listening to her, albeit with skepticism.
“All of this does have a point,” she said. “The Transcends and the League selected Psyche because they surmised the rifts would keep them disunited, separate, bickering. The last thing they want is for the mages to unite. The whole intent of this moon was for us to fray and die, turning on each other like animals.” She smiled bitterly. “Self-appointed genocide, since the Treaty of Chiron forbade outright execution of the mages.”
She paused to let that sink in. Lucian had to admit, a lot of what she was saying made sense.
“If not for me, this moon would still be in chaos. The Riftlands are the only area not under my rule – again, because of the inaccessibility of the rifts themselves. And no, not everyone agrees with my methods, and not everyone is treated equally in the Daran Empire. But my aim is to make magekind strong, not to allow a babel of voices to cause confusion. Democracy is messy, and such messiness is the luxury of a society that doesn’t live in brutal conditions. We cannot afford luxury. We must be strong. If we are to escape this world, we mages must be united, led by a single leader. We must be everything the League is not – strong, unified, and precise in our attacks.”
