by Kyle West
She paused, to let the words sink in. “Or so such a line might be translated from his mad garble. Ever since the end of the Mage War, many mages on Psyche have heard those words and have sought the Orb of Psionics, to no avail. But the prophecy clearly speaks of Psyche. The White World with red-whorl eye must be Cupid. Psyche is the moon with violet and violent sky. The Burning Sands lie under Cupid’s gaze, and they even derive the name from those lines. And the Amethyst of Starsea is clear enough. Each of the Orbs was called by its attendant jewel. Psionics is violet in its manifestation. Therefore, the Orb of Psionics, the Amethyst of Starsea, lies buried somewhere in the Burning Sands, under the Great Gaze of Cupid’s Eye.”
Cleon suddenly stood. “All right. Enough. I know I don’t belong here. I don’t understand a word of what anyone is saying. I’m leaving. I’ll never breathe a word of this to anyone, you have my promise.”
“You’re in too deep now, Mage-Knight,” Fergus said. “Keep your seat.”
Lucian thought Cleon would really leave this time, but to his surprise, Cleon sat back down, sinking into a sullen silence.
“The Sorceress-Queen said the Orb is on Psyche as well,” Lucian said. “At least, she said as much in my dream. I don’t think she wants to kill me. At least, not immediately. I think her plan is to use me to find the Orb of Psionics, somehow.”
He left out the part about her invitation to work with her. All the Elders knew that by now, but to say so out loud in front of Fergus might only flare his suspicions and make things more difficult going ahead.
“I wish you well in your quest, Off-Worlder,” Fergus said. “You can find the Burning Sands far beyond the Pass of Madness. Perhaps with your Binding powers, you will find a way where others have not.”
At those words, Lucian felt a despondence such as he had never known. Was that truly to be his fate, to be sent on a mad quest with almost no possibility of success?
Well, that was what he signed up for the moment he gave himself up to the prison barge.
“Getting to Dara itself is a nearly impossible journey,” Elder Sina said. “Much more the Burning Sands beyond. They say those who enter that place lose their way and never come back. Lucian can’t ever hope to uncover the Orb of Psionics alone. It is only with the power of that Orb that he can hope to defeat the Sorceress-Queen and her Psionic Magic.”
“Then there’s no hope,” Cleon said.
“No,” Ytrib said. “There is no use saying something is impossible until you’ve tried.”
“Many have tried to find it,” Fergus reminded him. “All have failed.”
“But that doesn’t mean it is impossible,” Ytrib said, stubbornly. “I know. It’s easy for me to say, sitting here.”
None of them seemed to consider the obvious: what if Lucian didn’t want to do this? He knew he had no real choice. The Sorceress-Queen would hunt him wherever he went, of that he had no doubt. And there was the even more impossible goal of getting off Psyche altogether. The Orb of Psionics could apparently help with that as well, though he didn’t know how.
“I have no choice,” Lucian said. “I will leave tomorrow if that’s what it takes.”
“You cannot do this alone, Lucian,” Elder Ytrib said. “You will need help. If we were sending you off to die, we would send you alone. But you dying will not solve our problems, but only exacerbate them. As we mentioned before, the worst thing possible would be for the Sorceress-Queen to take the Orb you already have. So, we must do whatever we can to prevent that.”
“Elder,” Fergus said, nervously. “What are you suggesting?”
Elder Ytrib leveled his gaze at the captain, his bushy eyebrows rising. “You know exactly what I’m suggesting. I called you and Cleon here not only because you know the truth about the Orb. I’ve called you because the both of you will be helping Lucian find the Orb of Psionics.”
15
Fergus’s expression became grim, while Cleon’s jaw hung open. Even Lucian couldn’t help but stare at the Elders in disbelief.
“Wherever Lucian goes, the Sorceress-Queen will follow,” Elder Ytrib explained. “With the Sorceress-Queen’s men in the Riftlands, and possibly the Zephyr too, we need our most powerful Radiant to go with him. That Radiant is you, Captain Fergus Madigan.”
At these words, Fergus nodded, though his eyes still seemed shocked. “Of course, I will do whatever you ask of me, Elder Ytrib. But if you send me away, I won’t be able to defend the village.”
“Kiro will be lost if Lucian fails,” Elder Ytrib said. “And the Queen will eventually be drawn here if he were to stay. Lucian and the Orb he carries are our salvation, along with the Orb of Psionics. We must believe that it’s there and can be found.”
From Cleon’s pale face, it looked as if he might heave at any minute. Lucian felt much the same.
“If that’s true, then I will take every guard in the village,” Fergus decided. “Whatever gives us the greatest chance of success and keeps the Queen’s men away from here.”
“On the contrary,” Elder Gia said, softly. “There can be no more than four of you. The last thing we want is to attract attention, and the more people who go, the more likely it draws the Sorceress-Queen’s eyes.”
“Why can’t Lucian ward himself?” Fergus asked.
“You know the answer to that,” Elder Gia said. “He is young in the ways of magic, despite the power of the Orb of Binding. You will teach him not only to ward himself, but to stream magic. You are well-versed, even in the Aspects that are not your strengths. There is no better guardian to appoint to Lucian.”
Guardian? Lucian found the word distasteful. It made it sound as if Fergus were adopting him.
“They shouldn’t have to come if they don’t want to,” Lucian said. “I can find my own way.”
“Fool,” Fergus said. “This isn’t about any of us, or what we want. The fate of Psyche is at stake, and if your story is to be believed, the fate of humanity itself. Everything depends on finding the Orb and defeating the Sorceress-Queen before she finds you.”
Slowly, everyone’s gaze shifted to Cleon, who groaned.
“Is he okay?” Elder Sina asked.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Elder Erymmo said.
“Watchman Cleon?” Elder Ytrib asked.
Cleon only groaned louder.
“Why is he being forced to go, anyway?” Lucian asked. “I understand Fergus, with his wards and all. But why Cleon?”
“Cleon must go for three reasons,” Elder Ytrib said, holding up a finger. “One, he knows about the Orb of Binding.” He held up another finger. “Two, Cleon is an accomplished Thermalist, and his strongest Aspects complement Fergus’s weaknesses, meaning they can ward against almost anything.” Ytrib held up a third finger. “And last of all, your path will take you through Dara and the Pass of Madness, the only way into the Burning Sands. Cleon has lived much of his life in Dara and will know how to navigate the streets.”
At this, Cleon actually did heave, but nothing came out but water.
“Get a hold of yourself, man!” Fergus said. “Anyone this lily-livered will run at the first sign of trouble!”
“He didn’t run in the Greenrift,” Lucian said.
“Not Dara,” Cleon said. “I’m not ready for that.”
“You’re going back, whether you’re ready or not,” Fergus said. “The Elders have spoken.”
“This isn’t my fight. My life is here now. I have a girlfriend. I’m . . . starting to put the past behind. And now, you would make me face it again?”
The past? What in the Worlds was he talking about? Cleon had run from something in Dara, that much was clear. Lucian couldn’t help but be curious.
“Our time spent in Dara will be minimal,” Fergus said. “We have one mission and one mission only: to find the Orb of Psionics and use it to end the Sorceress-Queen’s reign of terror. Dara will be one of the most dangerous parts of the journey, but with you, our chances of success are all the greater.”
Cle
on shook his head. “I’m going to be recognized. I was a Mage-Knight. People know me there, even if it has been five years.”
“So, you won’t go?” Lucian asked.
He heaved a sigh. “Seems I have no choice, do I? If I refuse, I’ll be exiled for my troubles, or at least reviled.”
“Why are you being so difficult?” Fergus asked.
“Difficult? You realize we’re going to die? And probably long before we reach Dara and the Golden Vale!”
“If that is our fate, then that is our fate,” Fergus said. “We are the only ones who can find the Orb of Psionics. We are the Riftlands’ only hope. The Worlds’ only hope!”
“That’s rotting madness,” Cleon said. “Even if we somehow made it to Dara and through the Pass of Madness, we’d still have two thousand kilometers more just to get to the Burning Sands, if not more. It’s so hot there it’ll melt the skin off your very bones and there isn’t a drop of water to drink. Add to that dust storms, moonquakes, and constant lava flows from Cupid’s gravity, and you’re only guaranteeing what is already a foregone conclusion. Our deaths.”
“That is our path,” Fergus said, easily. Lucian had to wonder if he was faking that confidence. “Either be exiled, Mage-Knight, or help us. Your choice.”
“I already said I would help,” Cleon said. “Doesn’t mean I won’t complain every rotting step of the way.”
Fergus shook his head and sighed. “These are the men I’m to lead into the Burning Sands, Elder Ytrib? Can I not choose some others?”
“Four is already too many,” Elder Jalisa said, her voice rattling. Her expression seemed weary, which might have explained her recent reticence in the conversation.
“Who’s the fourth?” Fergus asked, his expression not holding out much hope.
“It would be one of us, but we are too old for such a long, dangerous journey,” Elder Erymmo said. “And we will need capable mages to defend Kiro, for the Queen’s agents will no doubt come here anyway. As it stands, we might even die before you do.”
“Then we must evacuate the village at once!” Fergus said.
“We will certainly do what we can,” Elder Sina said. “However, it will be impossible to hide this village. We will have to band with the other communities to give you three a head start. And hope with all of you gone, the Queen’s focus will turn away from the Deeprift.”
“If our fourth is not anyone from the village, then who is it?” Fergus asked.
Every eye then went to Elder Ytrib, whose face was a mask of sorrow. Lucian wondered why they were looking at him like that. He wasn’t going.
“There are two paths to Dara,” Elder Ytrib said. “One is through the Riftlands, which will take months to cross. And the other is through the Darkrift, which is fastest, but also the most dangerous.”
Lucian was wondering where Elder Ytrib was going with all this.
“If it were any other circumstance, I would urge the first option,” Elder Ytrib continued. “But the Sorceress-Queen has a greater chance of finding you if you travel in the open. Especially if she is roving the rifts with the Zephyr.”
Elder Jalisa scoffed. “Even if she is looking for Lucian with it, they have a better chance of survival traveling the Rifts.”
Elder Erymmo nodded at that, apparently agreeing. Lucian had to admit the Darkrift sounded ominous.
“I took the Darkrift once,” Cleon said. “I would never go that way again. I only made it here through sheer luck. Anyone who goes down there is bound to lose their way.”
“That is where your fourth comes in,” Elder Ytrib said, who was now looking at Lucian. “I believe you’ve met my daughter, Serah.”
Lucian’s eyes widened at that. Serah was his daughter? He fumbled for words at this revelation.
“No one knows the Darkrift like her. That is no guarantee of safety, but she’s been all over the Riftlands and knows more secret paths than anyone. Though she was exiled by my word, she is still my blood. I . . . love her dearly, and even now wish she were home, and not out there.” He shook his head. “But that cannot be.”
“It can be if you just give the order,” Lucian said. He wondered how the Elder could have exiled her, especially if she was his daughter. It was hard to imagine anyone doing such a terrible thing.
Fergus looked as if he wanted to punch Lucian. “No fray can live in Kiro, Lucian. Not even the daughter of an Elder. The law applies to everyone, great or small.”
Fergus was just the type of person Lucian didn’t like. The goody-two-shoes type, always following the rules to the letter, no matter the consequences, and no matter who got hurt. He didn’t have the strength to argue with him.
“I met Serah on my way down here. If not for her, I’d be dead from the wyverns and would have never found this place. She is nowhere near frayed, even if she’s showing some physical signs. Her mind seems fine.”
Elder Ytrib’s face paled, along with Gia’s, and Lucian got the feeling he had gone too far. Ytrib at last spoke, choosing to ignore Lucian’s point. “I know if you three find Serah, she will lead you as far as Dara. If anyone has mapped out Slave’s Run and the Darkrift, it’s my daughter.”
“I thought Slave’s Run was just a story,” Fergus said. “Something the Daran slaves believe because it gives them hope.”
“My daughter has told me it exists,” Elder Ytrib said. “I’ve spoken with her. Quite recently.”
Now, every eye went to him. Fergus’s expression seemed the most shocked. It meant Elder Ytrib had broken the law that all Rifters were supposed to follow.
“Yes, I’ve broken the law. Many times. But you don’t understand the pain I feel.”
“It was at my insisting,” Elder Gia said.
“No,” Elder Ytrib said. “It’s my fault alone.”
“I don’t understand,” Lucian said. “Why can’t you talk to Serah? Why have these laws in the first place? They seem . . . well, stupid.”
Elder Jalisa’s face was stony. “The Code is necessary for the safety of the Deeprift. In the past, frays have banded together and laid waste to what little farmland we have, even killing. Any fray can turn into a Burner at any moment. We have our laws for a reason. It’s how we have survived this long.”
“I admit my fault,” Elder Ytrib said. “And I’m ready to abdicate my seat on this council if others here call for it. I only said this much to let you know, beyond a doubt, that my daughter has explored the Darkrift substantially. More than that, she has located a passage she believes to be Slave’s Run.”
“Believes to be,” Elder Jalisa said. “It’s still safer to go through the Riftlands to reach the Golden Vale. It’s tenuous, yes, but my vote is for the more traditional path. That said, it might be most prudent to let Fergus decide as need dictates.”
“I will do my best,” Fergus said.
“The fate of the Worlds stands upon this tower of slender reeds,” Elder Jalisa said. “The merest breeze will displace them.”
At this sobering reminder, all went quiet.
“So, when do we begin?” Lucian asked.
Everyone looked at him, as if he should know the answer. As if he were the one to give the rest moral guidance. Surely that couldn’t be the case. Surely, things were not already this desperate.
“Cleon,” Lucian said. “I’m sorry you’re a part of this.”
Cleon didn’t respond. The words sounded hollow, even if Lucian hadn’t meant them that way.
Lucian turned to Fergus. “I know we don’t see eye to eye on things. But we’ll have to work together from here on out. I’m willing to listen to you, and even to let you lead, but only if you are willing to not discount me for my age or call me Off-Worlder.”
Fergus ground his teeth, as if this were too much to ask. In the end, however, he let out a sigh. “Done.”
“It should be said that none of us are doing this because we have a choice,” Lucian said. “I think we’re all aware of the stakes, so I won’t go over that again.” He looked at the othe
rs. From their long faces, his speech wasn’t doing much to inspire. “We have a wild card, though. We have the Orb of Binding. With that, we might make it farther than we ever thought possible.”
“How?” Cleon asked.
Lucian shook his head. “I don’t know. If I had any choice, I wouldn’t be here right now. And since you guys are roped in with me, we have to try. Focus on the small goals first. Finding Serah should be easy enough, right? She’s not a day’s walk up the rift from here, just beyond the Snake Pass. If we walk fast, I bet we can be at her cave by tomorrow.”
Her companion, Ramore, was another problem entirely, but Lucian wouldn’t mention that yet. He wanted to make this seem easy. He’d warn them about Ramore once they were on the trail.
“Simple enough, I guess,” Cleon said. “So, when do we begin this mad, rotting quest?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Lucian said. “Before the break of dawn.”
Cleon whistled. “You’re a cruel bastard, aren’t you?”
“He’s right,” Fergus said. “Even now, that Mage-Lord, his Mage-Knights, and those hoplites are marching up the Greenrift for the Deepfork. If the Zephyr is giving them a lift, then they’ll be here even sooner. If it were me, we’d leave tonight. But I understand if you both need to recuperate from this morning.”
Lucian shook his head. As if Fergus didn’t need the rest as well. If Fergus were going to be this insufferable the whole journey, finding the Orb of Psionics would be the easy part.
“I can arrange for your supplies,” Elder Gia said. “Food, water, cookware, packs, tools. You must travel light, but you will need sufficient provisions to see you to Dara and beyond.”
“Assuming we make it that far,” Cleon grumbled.
“We will,” Fergus said. “We will, because I said so.”
“That’s nice.” Cleon stood. “Well, I have to take a leak. And make love to my girlfriend one last time before I head off on a suicide mission.” He looked at Fergus, to Lucian. “I’ll see you gents tomorrow, bright and early.”
This time when Cleon left, no one stopped him.