The Rifts of Psyche

by Kyle West

  He had to put that out of his mind. He reached for the Queen’s Focus, which was completely at his mercy. He couldn’t destroy it – somehow, he knew that to be impossible. The Focus only died when the body itself died. But he could force the Focus out of this woman and snap it back to its source, remind the Manifold that this wasn’t where it belonged. The Focus would return to the real Ansaldra, wherever she happened to be.

  So, he prodded against the brand the Queen had made. The Orb allowed him to not only see the brand’s inner workings, but also the complex instructions that made it function. He instantly saw those instructions specified that this woman was Queen Ansaldra, that the Manifold would treat this woman’s mind and magic as if they were her. It was a sickening, twisted perversion of Psionic Magic – and it made his skin crawl knowing such a thing was possible. Lucian found the source of the brand’s power, a sort of switch. Tickle that switch with a thin stream of Psionic Magic, and the brand would dissolve. This woman would be herself again, and the Queen would be gone.

  He drew a deep breath and streamed. The brand dissipated, and Lucian felt the Queen’s presence depart. Queen Ansaldra’s eyes – no, this young woman’s eyes – became lucid, their color shifting from violet to green.

  Serah released her Gravitonic stream, mouthing a curse. The unknown woman immediately stood and backed away from them, her eyes wide and fearful and her breaths panicked. It was hard not to see her as the Queen, but there was something about her posture that was different. It was hard for Lucian to place a finger on it, but the way she stood was more solid and less airy. The young woman’s hands were clenched into fists, as if she expected a fight at any moment.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice tremulous. “Where am I?”

  This would be a long story indeed. But it wasn’t one Lucian had the energy to tell right now. He reached into the woman’s Focus using the power of the Orb, just to be sure the Sorceress-Queen was gone. It was only her, whoever she was. Queen Ansaldra was thousands of kilometers away from here, with no way to reach them without her airship – which was gone, anyway. They were safe, at least for the time being.

  Lucian fell to one knee, only supporting his weight from his shockspear. He was tired. So very tired. He fell forward.

  Serah grabbed him by the torso, just in time to catch him before he descended into darkness.

  47

  Snow was falling. Lucian looked into the star-studded night sky, seeing a molten moon providing light. Ahead stood a village of wooden cabins, windows lit and smoke rising from chimneys. It was a cozy scene, and the memory of it was returning.

  Vale, on the planet Aurora. This was from the simulation, the place Emma had grown up. What was he doing here?

  He ran until he was inside the village, his heart thundering. The streets were empty, and there were no sounds coming from within the buildings. He felt pulled by a familiar force, until he saw the great tree that overshadowed the village’s entirety.

  Standing before it was the woman he thought he would never see again. Emma turned as his boots crunched over the snow toward her. She was as stunning as he remembered. Even more so. The year or so since he had seen her had added a maturity to her face that only enhanced her beauty. Her dark hair and heavy coat were laden with snow, but her brown eyes were the same, warm, sad, and happy all at the same time as she looked at him. A smile spread across her face, like the memory of the sun long forgotten.

  He drew her close, and almost cried to be holding her in his arms. He questioned for a moment whether he was somehow dead, but he knew that wasn’t so, somehow. This was a dream, and Emma was far away on Volsung, while he was on Psyche.

  But just because it was a dream didn’t mean it wasn’t real. Certainly, the bittersweet happiness he felt at seeing her was real enough.

  When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. “I knew you were still alive.”

  “This is real, then?”

  “Seems like it.” She watched him closely. “Where are you? What are you doing? I felt you trying to reach out for me across the stars. And somehow, I was pulled here.”

  “How can that be possible?”

  She shrugged. “Who cares? It’s . . . good to see you, Lucian. So much has changed, but at the same time, a lot is still the same. Time stands still here.”

  “Are you at the Academy?”

  She nodded. “I’m a Talent, now. Technically, I have another half year to decide my Aspect, but I already know I’m going to be a Radiant.”

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded. For a moment, the image of her warbled. Lucian frantically tried to reach her again, and only just managed to keep the dream alive.

  “You’re far,” she said. “I can feel it.”

  “I’m . . . on Psyche,” he said. “It would take days to explain everything that’s happened to me. Listen, Emma . . .”

  He wanted to tell her everything then. How much he missed her. How he wished he would have just chosen one of the Transcends so he could have stayed. But he stopped himself short. That would only bring him pain – and her, too, if she felt the same as him.

  Their lives had moved on. She could be nothing more for him than a memory.

  “What is it, Lucian?”

  He opened his mouth, but his words were caught in his throat. With her looking at him like that, it was so hard to speak. So hard to say what was important.

  But at that moment, the dream’s power began to fade. Lucian felt panic as he tried to rekindle it.

  “What is it, Lucian?”

  Her voice was fading, and so was the snow, the village, the tree. A light shone from that tree, illuminating Emma with green radiance. She watched as he was pulled away, as if into a black hole . . .

  “There you are,” Serah said. “Thought I’d lost you for a second.”

  Lucian blinked, finding himself in the last place he wanted to be – the Spire. Somehow, Serah had dragged him down the staircase, and now they were before the tall, open archway leading out into the desert. The Psionic storm was gone, but all the dust it had kicked up still hung in the air. Night had fallen, and the breeze blew cool through the entrance. Of the crashed airship, or any survivors from it, there was no sign.

  The other woman – the woman who had once been the Queen – huddled against the wall, her green eyes lost. It was unreal to see her like that, but those haunted eyes made her seem a different person. Her white dress of pearls was in tatters, dirty, and bloodstained. Her empty gaze seemed to see nothing.

  “Won’t even talk to me,” Serah said. “But she does follow me around and do what I say.”

  “She’s shocked,” Lucian said. “I might have pushed the Queen out of her mind too hard.”

  Serah frowned. “I can’t believe you let her go.”

  “It felt . . . right. Then again, it’ll probably bite us in our collective asses later.”

  “Yep.”

  “Now, the Queen is out there somewhere. Planning.”

  “If the Queen is capable of possessing the mind and body of another person, she’s far more terrifying than I thought.” Serah looked over at the unknown woman. “And . . . I do feel sorry for her. She tried to run away, but came back when she realized there’s only desert out there.”

  Lucian’s throat clenched when he remembered Fergus and Cleon.

  “What about Fergus? Cleon?”

  Serah’s face fell as she shook her head. “They’re . . . at the base of the stairs. I laid them out, side by side. I’ll . . . need help with the rest.”

  It was as he expected, but that didn’t take away from the sick wrenching at his gut. Lucian followed her. As good as her word, both men lay side-by-side at the base of the stairs. Bloodied, but with the bodies of at least ten Mage-Knights around them, many of them severely burned. Among the dead was Mage-Lord Kiani, who still had Cleon’s shockspear jutting from his chest. Both were simply dead, with no discernible wound. As if the Queen had simply reached into their minds and . . . tu
rned off their lives.

  “No doubt they gave us enough time to get to the Orb,” Serah said. “And . . . it’s good that Cleon got his vengeance.”

  Lucian’s stomach fell. He hadn’t even considered that letting the Queen go would be a dishonor to his memory. Guilt clawed at him like a thing alive.

  Serah knelt beside Fergus, tears in her eyes. “Sleep well, Captain. I wish you’d stayed alive long enough to see the mission through. This whole thing . . . this was what you wanted. To make a difference.” The tears fell, wetting his dusty, begrimed clothing. “Well, you did. I just wish you were alive to see that.”

  At that moment, Fergus coughed and Serah jumped back as if he were an adder.

  “Fergus!” Lucian said, hope swelling in his chest. “You’re alive!”

  The Captain started to prop himself up but was forced back down by Serah.

  “Oh my God. Fergie, I can’t believe it!”

  “Did you get it?” Fergus rasped. “Is the Orb safe? Is the Queen dead?”

  “How are you even alive? What happened?”

  Each of their questions went unanswered as Fergus’s eyes roved upward, toward the unknown woman sitting against the wall by the open door.

  “It’s a long story, but the Queen is no longer any danger to us.” Lucian paused. “At least, not for a long time. I have the Orb.”

  Fergus’s eyes questioned, but he was simply too tired and in pain to ask more.

  “I’m weak, Lucian,” he said. “I . . . don’t think I can even think straight.”

  “Just relax,” Serah said. “Rotting hell, you’re alive!”

  He turned to look at Cleon beside him, his eyes watering.

  “He must be alive, too,” Serah said. “Let’s see if we can wake him up.”

  Lucian felt for Cleon’s pulse. His skin was colder than Fergus’s, and there was no sign of life – no pulse, no breath, and he just felt . . .

  “He’s gone,” Lucian said.

  Serah looked at him. “How do you know that?”

  “He killed Kiani, in the end,” Fergus said. “And he said something about that being enough for him. He told me to go to stop her, but I couldn’t move, and I thought I was dead, too. Now, though, I understand what happened. He drew the Psionic ward onto himself, made it into some kind of magnet. It drew most of the power of the Queen’s attack, and I got something of an . . . aftershock, which I apparently survived.”

  Lucian saw what he meant. Cleon had sacrificed himself, that at least one of them might live. It just deepened the sorrow he felt.

  “He had a hero in him after all,” Serah said. “I . . . underestimated him. And freely admit that I was wrong about him.”

  It seemed so amiss that the person who had never wanted to be here in the first place was the one to have died. Lucian wiped his own tears, the heaviness in his heart making him sink to the floor.

  “Thanks for everything, Cleon,” he said, his voice thick. “It’s . . . my fault this happened. But without you, without your actions, your lessons, your bravery . . .” He shook his head. “None of this could have happened. I won’t let your sacrifice be in vain.”

  Serah and Fergus nodded at that.

  “He annoyed me, if I’m to be truthful,” Serah said. “I’m going to miss that. Somehow.”

  “He was a good watchman,” Fergus said. “A former Mage-Knight of Dara. Knightlier than any of these ones sent after us. And the best Thermalist I knew, and I’ve met many.” He gave a slow nod. “And one day, Ansaldra will answer for his death.”

  Fergus’s eyes went up to focus on the woman, who was watching them from across the Spire’s entry hall. Her green eyes were wide, her face curious.

  Fergus sat up, and with help from Serah, managed to stand fully. “And what of her?”

  “That’s not Queen Ansaldra,” Lucian said. “She was controlled by her. The real Queen is probably back at the Golden Palace.”

  Fergus’s eyes widened a bit at this revelation. “How is that even possible?”

  “Really powerful and corrupt Psionic Magic,” Lucian said. “I can vouch that this woman isn’t the Queen anymore.”

  “She’s refused to talk to me so far,” Serah said. “Shocked, I guess.”

  “I imagine so.” Fergus considered. “Is she blocked at least?”

  It was hard for Lucian to remember the details – things had gone hazy at the end. All Lucian did remember was casting out the Queen. So, he reached out toward the woman’s Focus and found the block was still there, working as intended. She was indeed a mage, which was probably required for the Queen’s magic to have worked.

  “The block is still there,” he confirmed. “She won’t be able to stream until I dismantle it.”

  Fergus nodded. “Until we interview her, we cannot be sure of her loyalties. It’s possible she was some ally of the Queen’s. Or she may be a victim. But we have an important matter to attend to first.”

  Lucian knew what he meant. “Feels wrong to bury Cleon here, in this place . . .”

  “I know what you mean,” Fergus said. He looked up at the interior of the Spire. “Maybe we can think of this place as a mausoleum for the greatest warrior Psyche has ever known.”

  Serah sniffled. “I like that.”

  Fergus went over to Lord Kiani’s corpse, and unceremoniously yanked out Cleon’s shockspear. “At least this might go with him into the afterlife.”

  They lifted his body – an easy thing to do in Psyche’s gravity – and carried it outside the Spire. Each of them confirmed that he really was dead, and not just sleeping under some strange, demented Psionic Magic. There was no heartbeat, no breathing, no electrical impulses, all confirmed by them scanning him with their Focuses.

  So there, under the light of the gas giant Cupid, they buried him deep in the sands, along with his spear. There were no rocks or anything else to mark his grave, so they did the best they could to honor him – telling stories, conversations they’d had, the things they would remember most about him, and how they would carry him with them into the future.

  “I’ll always remember what he taught me,” Lucian said. “I won’t ever be as good a Thermalist as him, but he taught me about brands. And without his lessons, I would have never been able to block off the Queen’s magic. This victory is more his than mine. And . . . I will remember his loyalty, what it means to fight to the last breath for what you believe in. I’ll never be the same because of his sacrifice.”

  There was a moment’s pause before Serah stepped forward, reflective. “He was a good man. Cursed almost as good as me, and he knew how to call it like he saw it, despite what others thought. That’s a good quality to have, and something I’ll remember for myself in the future.”

  Fergus watched for a moment, his tears drying quickly in the desert air. “Rest in peace, great warrior.” It looked as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.

  They stood there for a while, Serah resting her head on Lucian’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, grateful for the comfort. Something had shifted between them – just what, Lucian couldn’t say.

  Fergus looked at them, a small smile on his lips. “At least some good has come out of this whole thing.” He glanced back at the Spire. “We should head back. Find out who that woman is.”

  Fergus was right. There was still work to be done. Together, they returned to the Spire.

  48

  When they got back, the unknown woman was asleep, curled up behind a stone pillar on the opposite side of the entrance. The three of them kept an eye on her while they did the grisly work of going through every corpse. There were no survivors, and none of them had much in the way of supplies. They picked up six canteens, some full and some not, about two days’ worth of full rations for all of them, including the woman, as well as twenty shockspears, all cast from bronze – though Lord Kiani’s, like Lucian’s, was made from graphene.

  “Take it,” Serah said to Fergus. “You’ll get more use out of it than me.”r />
  For a moment, it seemed he was about to argue with her, before realizing he couldn’t argue with good sense.

  Once everything of use had been collected, they gathered the bodies and took them outside. It was gruesome, disgusting work, but it needed to be done. The Spire would be their shelter, at least for now, and Lucian didn’t much like the idea of sleeping next to the dead.

  Using magic, they were able to create a mass, shallow grave, into which they placed the bodies. By the time that was done, the light of the sun was beginning to rise above the dunes. They washed their hands with the canteen water – not ideal when they needed true disinfectant, but there was nothing else to be done.

  When they returned to the Spire, the woman was still asleep.

  “I can keep watch,” Serah said.

  Lucian was too tired to argue. As soon as he lay down on the stone floor, sleep took him.

  Lucian slept like the dead buried outside, swimming through dreams unending. Emma’s face swirled among nightmarish visions of the Sorceress-Queen. Cleon shook his head disapprovingly. The Orb of Psionics glowed, seeming sinister in the darkness.

  When he awoke, it was still morning. No, it couldn’t be morning. Evening then. The light was different, and it felt he’d slept for a long time.

  Serah and Fergus were already up, sitting around a branded fire floating a few centimeters off the stone. It had grown chilly. Lucian looked around, but there was no sign of the woman.

  “Where is she?” he asked. “Has she talked?”

  Serah shook her head. “She walked outside an hour or so ago. Your block still seems to be active because it looked like she was trying to stream.”

  Lucian nodded. “Maybe I can try talking to her.”

  Serah shrugged. Lucian got the feeling she was still displeased he let the woman live. Fergus was drinking a bowl of soup, a blanket wrapped around his broad shoulders. He didn’t seem in the mood for conversation. After everything, Lucian didn’t blame him.