The Rifts of Psyche

by Kyle West

  Those words made his skin go cold. Maybe she was right. Was he just being stubborn? Spending time with her was already lowering his guard, making him see things her way, little by little. And the more time he spent with her, the more his guard would lower.

  Her eyes watched him, all innocence, but seeming to want something . . . more from him. The idea of that was ridiculous, so much so that he immediately wanted to discard it.

  But the realization hit him like a thunderbolt. She didn’t want to merely be his teacher. Or his mentor.

  She wanted a person strong enough to stand beside her. To even rule beside her.

  She wanted a king.

  Her violet eyes watched him, as if suspecting he knew the truth.

  “What you want from me,” he said, finally. “It’ll never, ever happen. That would be the ultimate betrayal to myself.”

  From her unsurprised reaction, and her small, victorious smile, he saw that he had guessed correctly. “I think you’ll find you’re capable of things you can scarcely imagine now. After all, look at how far you’ve come since your youth on Earth. I will say this. Is it really such a bad idea? Am I really as awful as you think? Do you think me unattractive or unsuited?”

  He imagined that potential future, a future millions of men would have jumped at. He could hold all the Orbs, become the new Immortal of Starsea. And she would be his queen, and together, they could rule all humankind. Armadas, Mage-Lords and Mage-Knights, all under their command. The image was so clear in his mind that it was like a punch in the stomach. Could that vision be true? Was the Manifold pushing him toward that fate, to become molded into someone he couldn’t even recognize? Would it happen even if he fought against that destiny with every breath? It seemed a force greater than himself, a river pushing so hard that it was pointless to swim against the current.

  Lucian had to decide which way to go. To let that fate carry him to its inevitable end – or to fight against it. He stood on the brink, and the future of billions depended on him. The desire for power, the fight for survival, the hand of a beautiful and capable woman who he might one day match in abilities.

  She was willing to fight for that, to even die for it. Was he?

  All he needed right now was to breathe.

  “I need to go.”

  He turned his back on her, half-expecting some magic to be streamed against him, to force him down the path he envisioned. But in the end, the door shut behind him, and he escaped unscathed – the decision put off for another day.

  Hours later, Lucian stood with his friends at the stern, unable to speak as he watched the Riftlands pass below. His mind was a muddled mess, all his motivations and former goals in question. He wasn’t sure how to bring this up to everyone, or even whether to bring it up. Already, he felt separate from them, and if he shared his fears, they would no longer see him as the same person. They might even see him as the enemy.

  All he could do was watch the passing landscape below and stew on it.

  It was clear they were not in the Riftlands anymore. The deeper rifts had been replaced by shallower, but wider, canyons, and the mountains between them were not as sheer. And the air was warmer, the sky bluer, the climate gentler. There were even puffs of white cloud that would not have looked terribly out of place on Earth. They even passed small villages in river valleys, with farmland along riverbanks. That told Lucian that wyverns and other predators were not much of a threat here.

  “We are getting close to Dara, now,” Fergus said. “Perhaps several hours away.”

  Lucian couldn’t bring himself to speak. He had never felt more lost, and every moment that passed, the others seemed more distant. Especially Cleon, but Serah too, in her own way. He didn’t blame them, but what else could be done? Their clothing was finer than anything they had ever worn, but it paled in comparison to his. It made him feel even more alone.

  Over the following hours, the landscape became more varied. Rivers, lakes, and deep forests filled narrow valleys. Walled settlements rose from high hills and plateaus. Roads crisscrossed the verdant surface. An entire new world spread below them, rugged and wild. But that wildness tamed ever more with each passing hour. The farms became larger, the towns more populous, the roads wider, and the wild forests were replaced with curated woodland. In the more populated areas, a thin veil of smoke hung in the air.

  And then, in the distance, Lucian noticed a long line of mountains stretching north to south, the tops of which were lost to white cloud. Those mountains loomed taller and taller as they approached. Impossibly tall. Lucian wouldn’t have been surprised if they reached tens of kilometers. It didn’t look natural. The mountains separating the rifts paled in comparison.

  “The Mountains of Madness,” Fergus said. “I never thought I’d see them.”

  Cleon’s eyes became strangely reminiscent. “I’m coming home, Lynne. For what little good that’ll do you.”

  Everyone watched him, Serah with pity, and Fergus with curiosity. Cleon hadn’t mentioned his sister in the four days since their mutual audience with the Queen. It was for him to talk about if he so chose.

  “Keep your head in the game, Cleon,” Fergus said. “This isn’t over yet.”

  Cleon shook his head. “She’s got us by the balls. Rotting hell, we even have our magic back and there’s not a damn thing we can do.”

  If there were any other way to reach the Orb, Lucian would have taken it. But saying as much wouldn’t do any good.

  “Do you think she meant any of what she said a few days back?” Serah asked. “There were points where she almost had me convinced.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt most of it is true,” Cleon said. “That’s the thing about good liars. Ninety percent of what they say is the truth, so finding the lie becomes impossible.”

  “Where’s the lie, then?” Lucian asked. “She needs me to find the Orb, otherwise she wouldn’t have me here. She needs you guys because she knows I won’t help her otherwise.”

  “That’s comforting,” Cleon said.

  Serah shook her head. “Well, clearly she’s smitten with you. Just try to remember there’s an old lady behind that fake body of hers.”

  “Jealous?” Cleon goaded.

  “I am in no mood,” Serah said. “Surely, I’m not the only one who noticed.”

  “That part doesn’t add up,” Lucian said. “Not once have I ever heard of magic that keeps someone young. The only exception is longevity treatments, but those are fairly recent and haven’t spread much farther than Sol and the First Worlds, so it’s hard to imagine she would have that here. Maybe that’s where the lie is.”

  “So, you think she has an Orb?” Cleon asked doubtfully. “She claims she’s the most powerful Psionic in the Worlds, right? What if that’s because she already has the Orb of Psionics?”

  The others looked at him, confused. It was Fergus who broke the silence. “So, why would she need Lucian, then? And why would she lie about it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she has the Orb of Psionics, and the Orb in the Burning Sands is another one entirely.”

  Serah shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Lucian said Orbs slow aging. Even with one Orb, she’d probably still look middle-aged.”

  “We don’t know the rate of aging,” Lucian said. “It’s not like we have a precedent here.”

  “It’s an interesting idea, but I think she might be telling the truth,” Serah said. “Just not the whole truth.”

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Cleon,” Lucian said. “Has she always looked this young?”

  “She doesn’t show herself often, but when she does, she likes to play with the light in a way that you can’t really see her. It was pretty common knowledge though that she was some old hag.”

  “So, this transformation had to have happened recently,” Lucian said.

  If she didn’t hold an Orb, then Lucian was out of ideas. One thing was for sure: someone of her age and heavy magic use would almost certainly show signs of
fraying.

  None of it added up. Longevity treatments were popular among the League’s rich, but it was hard to imagine how she would have the infrastructure and industry here to support that. They weren’t going to figure it out now, so he set the thought aside.

  Looking toward the bow, Lucian saw the mountains were much closer. From north to south, they stretched far above, almost like a wall rather than a mountain range. He could see why they needed to go through Dara first. There was no way through those mountains except for a large tunnel that wasn’t visible at this distance. The Pass of Madness was the only way to the Westlands, after which came the Burning Sands and presumably the Orb.

  But now, they were close enough to see a familiar scene from Lucian’s dreams.

  “Dara,” Cleon said.

  Serah watched, her eyes wide. “Looks big, even from up here. Is it supposed to be that big?”

  Below them spread a wide, golden valley, as far as the eye could see north to south, ringed in by mountains on all sides. The Golden Vale of Dara was as beautiful as any landscape he had seen on Earth. Perhaps even more so. This was the heartland of Queen Ansaldra Dara’s empire – rolling farmlands, clustered villages, gentle rivers, all flowing south toward some unknown sea.

  And in the far distance toward the west was the crown jewel of the Golden Vale, the Imperial City of Dara itself, situated in the lower slopes of the Mountains of Madness. The buildings basked golden under the light of the morning sun above, the city’s size, towers, roads, and many terraces far grander than anything he remembered from his dreams. A high wall, also golden, ringed the half of the city not built against the mountains. Thousands of aureate towers rose above winding streets, streets that stair-stepped up the mountainside. More terraces and roads snaked up the mountain – dozens of them – all of which led to the high Pass of Madness above, now close enough to manifest as a shadowy tunnel. With the height of those mountains, the Golden Vale would spend most of its time in shadow, leaving only the morning for it to be true to its namesake. The sun was perhaps an hour from sinking behind the high peaks above.

  Lucian got the sense he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder to see the Sorceress-Queen approaching, dressed in a velvet red dress, with the giant Mage-Lord Kiani beside her in his bronze armor, purple cape, and plumed helmet.

  “We’ll be landing soon,” she said, her face betraying no emotion. “The Zephyr will resupply overnight. As that happens, I invite all of you to my soiree. Just a small affair, to get you used to the court, and to introduce my most loyal nobles to the wonderful people of the Riftlands.”

  “What the rot is a soiree?” Serah asked.

  “Fancy people party,” Cleon said. “Sorry, your Majesty. We’ll take your most comfortable room, along with some banquet food sent to our door, with a taster to make sure it’s not poisoned.” Cleon looked at Mage-Lord Kiani. “Preferably this guy.”

  “Perhaps I should reword,” the Sorceress-Queen said drolly. “I insist you attend my soiree. It’s important that our association going forth should get off on the right foot. Mage-Lord Kiani shall be in attendance with his wife.” She looked at him. “Will you not, Mage-Lord?”

  Cleon’s expression paled, and for once, he didn’t have anything to say.

  Mage-Lord Kiani smirked. “Most certainly we will, your Grace. It would be a shame if you didn’t get to see my dear wife, Cleon.”

  “That’s enough,” the Queen said. “Suffice it to say, your presence is mandatory.”

  He and the Queen retired to the forecastle.

  “My sister,” Cleon said, looking as if he had just taken a punch to the gut. “My failure will be staring me in the face.”

  “What can we do?” Lucian asked.

  “Nothing,” Fergus said. “Smile, and act as pleased as swine in mud.”

  “Rot that,” Cleon said. “This is my one chance to free Lynne. To right my wrongs.” He clenched his fists. “I’m not going to let the opportunity pass.”

  “That’s what she wants you to do,” Lucian said. “If you off yourself voluntarily, she won’t have to do it herself.”

  “He’s right,” Serah said. “She’s probably trying to isolate Lucian. Pick us off one by one until he’s alone and without support.”

  All of them were solemn as they considered that notion. That only made Lucian feel guilty about what he and the Sorceress-Queen had already talked about. They needed to know her eventual plans for him, but for now, he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. After all, even he couldn’t believe it was true.

  “I can’t ask you guys to risk yourselves anymore,” Lucian said. The next part would be hard to say. “The Queen told me that all of you would be free to leave if you want. So, that’s what you will do. Leave. Save yourselves before this gets any worse.”

  All of them watched him in shock. Even Cleon, to Lucian’s surprise.

  “Come off it,” Fergus said. “I don’t intend to break my word. Not now, not ever. I will help you find the Orb of Psionics or die.”

  Serah sucked in some air. “That’s a bit . . . intense.”

  Fergus ignored her. “I must admit, I was somewhat doubtful of you to begin with, Lucian. But after everything, how could any of us leave you to this conniving, scheming woman?”

  Heads nodded all around. How could they be so committed to helping him when defeat was so sure? Would he have done the same for any of them? To his shame, he didn’t know the answer to that.

  But their commitment only firmed his resolve to see this through. If they were still on board, then he couldn’t give up, no matter how bad this got.

  “We’ll attend the soiree,” Lucian said. “Keep a low profile, and don’t fall for any of the Queen’s traps.”

  “That means no drama,” Serah said, looking at Cleon.

  “If my sister is there, I can’t promise anything.”

  “We know she will be there,” Fergus said. “And if you challenge Lord Kiani, it will mean your death.”

  “I can’t do nothing,” Cleon said. “This is the only way I can make things right.”

  Fergus took him by the arm and drew him close, speaking low. “Doing nothing is exactly how you save her. Not with violence that will serve no purpose but to jeopardize this mission. She’s saved as soon as Lucian has the Orb of Psionics and can use it to—”

  Serah held up a hand, instantly cutting Fergus off. Lucian looked around, but they were still alone. At least for now.

  Cleon looked from Fergus to Lucian, then back. “You sure he is going to do that, Captain? Seems like every day he’s becoming the Queen’s man more and more.”

  “You fool. He’s just playing the game. As you should be doing. You need to talk less and use your head more.”

  Fergus went back to watching the city pass below, his expression baleful.

  When the Zephyr began to descend, the city of Dara loomed ever larger. They were close enough for Lucian to make out men in the towers of the high wall. Carts drawn by horse-like creatures with long necks rolled over the widely paved highway leading through the city’s gates. Swarms of people crowded the busy streets, avenues, and alleys. There were easily thousands in this city. Tens of thousands. The mages could only be a small fraction of the population, an aristocracy of Mage-Knights and Mage-Lords to rule over these masses. Lucian had known that already, but he hadn’t expected there to be so many non-mages.

  “How are there so many people?”

  Fergus watched below, as if he himself couldn’t believe it.

  It was Cleon who ended up answering. “Psyche is where the Worlds send their human trash. Criminals, miscreants, and scum. This is all of them, plus their progeny. Dara is growing all the time. When I left, it was already bursting at the seams.” He watched the packed streets. “The Sorceress-Queen, as much as I hate her, is highly effective at keeping the people in line. She took a lot of people with different backgrounds and built an empire with them. And the tool she uses to do that is fear.”

&n
bsp; As they passed over the streets, the shadow of the Zephyr fell upon the roiling crowds. Many stopped what they were doing to look up into the sky. As much as Lucian didn’t want to be impressed, he was, even more so since this city had been built with nothing more than human labor and most likely magic when the occasion called for it.

  It was clear where they were heading: directly ahead, toward a large palace built into the slopes of the gargantuan mountain, a shimmering palatial complex basking like gold under the sun, with multiple walls, halls, bridges, and high towers. Lucian was awed at the sheer size of it. The scene was all too familiar from his dreams, but in person, it loomed so much larger.

  Now, he was here in the flesh. There could be no waking up, no relief at the realization he was thousands of kilometers away from this dreaded place.

  The Golden Palace of Dara awaited.

  37

  When the Zephyr touched down, the ship’s deck became a swarm of activity. Men on the ground chained the ship to thick bronze stakes to keep it from floating away. Crewmen and Mage-Knights arranged themselves in two lines, forming a corridor running from the entrance of the forecastle to a large boarding ramp. The crewmen and mages stood ramrod straight, bronze spears and round shields polished and gleaming in the late morning sun.

  Lucian and the others had yet to receive instructions, so they waited by the railing.

  Mage-Lord Kiani appeared from the forecastle and approached them, inspiring a scowl from Cleon.

  “You are in the residence of the Sorceress-Queen Ansaldra Dara. If you threaten anyone within these walls, I have her Majesty’s blessing to deal with it as I see fit.” He smiled nastily, though that smile seemed to be mostly reserved for Cleon. “I’ve been tasked to lead you to your rooms personally. The Queen will see you next at the soiree.”

  “If only it could never be again,” Cleon said.

  Mage-Lord Kiani ignored the jibe, calling over his shoulder. “Holden! Decker! Get your Mage-Knights here, posthaste.”