The Rifts of Psyche

by Kyle West

  The Zephyr’s shadow fell upon the mountainside. The Binders at the bow tethered the mighty vessel until it was swallowed by the tunnel. Now inside, it was much larger than Lucian had initially thought. The Zephyr had plenty of space to maneuver, and below, Lucian could see a sizeable town had been built on the pass’s floor. A long wall of rock bisected the tunnel east to west. It seemed the town was guarding that wall, defending the Golden Vale from the Westlands. Was there something on the other side that was so dangerous?

  Serah stood next to him, watching the passage with awe. “I never thought I’d see Planetside. They say it’s a wasteland, full of terrible monsters and the roughest people on all Psyche.”

  Planetside. Lucian remembered the gas giant Cupid could only be seen from one side of Psyche, since the moon was tidally locked. And because of the extra light supplied by Cupid, along with its tidal forces, Planetside was said to be much warmer than Voidside. But Lucian supposed he would be seeing for himself soon enough.

  It didn’t take long for the Zephyr to pass through. Lucian’s breath caught at the sheer change of scenery. Beyond the Mountains of Madness stretched a shadowed, barren wasteland. Rugged hills empty of vegetation stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by a wide river running from the lower slopes of the mountains from somewhere in the north. For the first time since his arrival on Psyche, the terrain was flat enough for Lucian to notice the nearness of that horizon – and being so high up, it was all the more evident. It felt as if they would fall off the edge of the world.

  But just beyond the horizon was what appeared to be a long, white hill.

  “What in the Worlds is that?” Lucian asked.

  “Don’t you know? That’s Cupid.”

  It was huge, dominating the majority of the horizon. And Lucian knew that every day, it would only grow larger until it took up most of the sky. By that point, they would be in the Burning Sands– and close to the Orb of Psionics. Wherever it happened to be in that vast expanse.

  A modestly sized city clung to both sides of the wide, brown river they were approaching. The city’s buildings were short, squat, and made from mud brick. To the south, the river was lost to the curve of Psyche’s horizon, claustrophobically near. Lucian felt a sense of vertigo just looking at it. To the north was terrain even more forlorn, twisted mountains with pointed peaks. The only green was by that river, which Lucian figured to be the lifeblood of the region. Far to the west, he could see nothing but the curved line of the horizon.

  The ship dropped lower. Lucian figured the Binders were too high up to find focal points, so they needed to be closer to the ground. Once a few hundred meters above the dusty land, the airship leveled out and was pulled forward. Lucian looked back at the mountains, a veritable wall of rock that closed them in. It was hard not to feel completely separated from everything they’d left behind.

  “It’s like an entirely different world,” he said.

  The sudden clanging of spears made Lucian turn. He placed a hand on his own spear and was readying to extend, when he saw it was only Cleon and Fergus sparring on the deck. Apparently, sightseeing wasn’t on their list of priorities. The bout drew the eyes of the crew, who didn’t exactly pause their duties administering the airship, though they were clearly less attentive to their tasks.

  Cleon flurried his spear three times, his face a mask of intent concentration. Fergus danced aside, creating space and not breaking a sweat. Fergus circled around, knocking Cleon’s spear aside with ease as he placed the point of his own at the tip of Cleon’s scrawny neck.

  “Your form is too aggressive,” he said. “Your anger makes you goaded by any feint.”

  “I’m not angry,” Cleon spat. “Again!”

  Fergus shrugged, and the two men dueled once more. Cleon’s form, if anything, was even more aggressive, while Fergus’s were practiced, almost lazy. His lack of effort only seemed to enrage Cleon further. To Lucian’s surprise, Cleon came close to stabbing Fergus a couple of times – although, it was clear that Fergus was allowing Cleon to get that close for some reason or another. Perhaps to enrage him further? Reaching his Focus, he could feel that the tips of their spears were branded with reverse bindings, which would keep them from tearing into flesh at the last moment. Still, it seemed a deadly dance that could end with someone getting unnecessarily hurt, or even killed.

  “Why are they doing this?” Serah asked.

  Cleon gave a shout, going all in with a leaping attack that left his stomach exposed. Fergus easily went for the kill with a quick and efficient stab. Cleon flew, pushed back by the force of the binding, and collapsed to the deck.

  “Well done,” came a gruff voice. Mage-Lord Kiani had emerged from the belowdecks, his shoulders broad and bronze armor gleaming, despite the lack of sunlight. “Perhaps you might be raised to Mage-Knight under my banner. Sir Fergus has a nice ring to it, no?”

  Fergus sheathed his spear, his stern face putting an end to that notion. He did not favor the Mage-Lord with an answer.

  Cleon by this point was scrambling up, his spear at the ready. “My challenge stands, Kiani. Your life, or mine.”

  Lord Kiani guffawed. “Please. After that display, you’d only be forfeiting your life. And what would be the fun of that? Besides, I’d rather clear the air with you. Your sister lived a good life, as short as it was. It is a noble cause to bear the seed of a Mage-Lord.”

  Cleon ground his teeth and charged. Even as Kiani readied his own spear, Lucian sprang into action, reaching for the Orb of Binding without thinking. It obeyed him instantly, maybe due to his decisiveness. He streamed two tethers and drew their weapons into each of his open hands.

  Both looked his way. Cleon’s chest heaved with anger, while Lord Kiani stared coldly.

  “Never stand between a man and his prey, Lucian,” Mage-Lord Kiani said. “Or you might find yourself the new target.”

  Lucian felt a pushing at his Psionic ward, and he instantly increased its strength to match the attack. But it was only a distraction. Lord Kiani attempted to draw his spear back with Binding, though that tug was weak compared to Lucian’s own tether. There was no way the Mage-Lord could get the spear back. Not unless Lucian allowed it, or the Orb of Binding failed him.

  The Mage-Lord’s face reddened as he realized his predicament. Nonetheless, Lord Kiani streamed harder, not wanting to be shown up.

  At last, he relented, and a dangerous smile spread across his face. “I guess her Majesty wasn’t lying when she said you were the best Binder in the Worlds.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  All turned to focus on that melodic voice. The queen glided forward, today wearing a violet dress and cape, with a laced bodice with an opening that left little to the imagination.

  “Your Majesty,” Lord Kiani said, giving a graceful bow. “You honor us with your presence.”

  “And you are attempting to honor me by . . . killing each other? How manly.”

  Lord Kiani gave an embarrassed cough. “Err . . . no, your Majesty. Merely practicing our forms. Rifters against Darans, as it were.”

  “Indeed?” Her droll voice told Lucian that she doubted that very much. “Well, if you were truly practicing, don’t stop on my account.”

  Lord Kiani cleared his throat, turning back to face Cleon and arching an eyebrow.

  “I think I’m spent,” Cleon said. “I’m not your dancing monkey.” At the Queen’s intense stare, Cleon added sarcastically, “Your Majesty.”

  “What about you?” she asked, looking at Lucian. “Were you a part of this impromptu tournament? It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it could be quite diverting.”

  “I wasn’t, your Majesty.” Lucian said. He didn’t like acknowledging her as Queen, but Cleon had done it. If Cleon could play along, then so could he. Then again, his tone communicated in no terms was he going to put on a show for her. And from the Queen’s icy stare, she fully got the message.

  “Very well,” the Queen said, all but giving an exasperated sigh.
r />   She left them there, her face pale as she retreated belowdecks.

  Once she was gone, Serah whistled. “Damn. The balls on you.”

  “That was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

  “You bet your ass it was.”

  Lucian sighed. “Well, she doesn’t deserve any better. A tournament? Has she lost her mind?”

  “That rejection was almost enough for me to feel bad for her,” Serah said. “Almost.”

  She and Lucian were no longer the focus of attention. Instead, most were on the starboard side of the Zephyr, looking north across the cracked badlands at a brown mountain range to the north. A great dust was rising at the foot of those mountains.

  Lucian ran to that side, placing his hands on the railing with Serah right behind him. The wind was blowing harder now, enough for the wooden hull to creak under the increased force.

  “What is that?” Lucian asked.

  “That would be our doom if we don’t shift course,” Cleon said, coming to join them. “Not much for the Binders to grab onto out here.”

  Another five minutes passed, and the wind had picked up even more, enough to make the great hull of the Zephyr sway uncomfortably. Lucian had trouble keeping his feet, and the turbulence almost made him feel like he was trying to waterwalk. Particles of sand stung his face, though the bulk of the storm was minutes away. As insane as the thought was, he wondered if the Sorceress-Queen had conjured this storm because he had pissed her off.

  “Doesn’t look good,” Serah said. “The ship needs to find shelter, and fast.”

  The crew was scurrying about, following the orders barked by Captain Rawley. The sails, which were usually furled, were let loose and they filled with wind from the north. The ship veered south, but Lucian knew there was no way they could escape the storm entirely.

  “Better get belowdecks,” Serah said. “Won’t take much of a gust to send you flying.”

  Lucian imagined she was right. Before he took shelter, he noticed many of the sailors were donning metal boots, which he imagined would help them remain rooted in place, though it greatly slowed their movement on the deck. By now, though, most were in position to brace for impact.

  Lucian watched the oncoming storm one last time, no more than a hundred meters distant. It was advancing fast. He and Serah ducked belowdecks, the last of the non-sailors, right before the wall of wind pummeled the Zephyr’s starboard side.

  42

  Lucian lost his footing and flew into the air, crashing against the wooden wall. He was tossed about the heaving corridor, only to be thrown down a staircase leading to the crew cabins.

  Lucian found his feet, finding himself alone in darkness. He streamed a light sphere, the aura pushing back the shadows.

  “Serah?”

  His voice was barely audible above the din of wind outside. Shouts emanated from belowdecks as the ship heaved to and fro. The deck was angled, as if the ship were going down sideways.

  He had to find Serah and the others. If this ship was crashing, then they needed to save themselves.

  He clawed his way up the deck, tethering himself to a door frame at the top of the stairs. Lucian surged forward, just in time to see the double doors of the Queen’s cabin burst open with Psionic force. The Queen herself emerged, staying rooted to the deck with a Gravitonic stream. She cast him a short glance before climbing the stairs and going out into the storm. What in the Worlds was she doing?

  Lucian followed, but not easily. He tethered himself toward the exit. Peering down the dark corridor, he saw no signs of Serah. Could she have taken shelter in one of the cabins?

  The ship heaved yet again. This time, however, the deck was leveled out rather than pitching downward.

  Lucian pushed his way toward the deck, thinking Serah might have come out this way. When he pulled himself outside, there was no crosswind, no blinding sand. That sand instead fell like gentle rain, with nothing but Psyche’s light gravity pulling it down. The ship was surrounded by a violet, protective shield, outside which the storm still raged. And at the center of the deck, with her feet rooted to the surface with Gravitonic Magic, stood the Sorceress-Queen with her arms outspread, her entire form bathed in violet light. Her posture was one of defiance, of power.

  All the crewmen watched in awe, and it wasn’t a moment later that Serah stumbled out from the forecastle, joining Lucian at his side.

  The Zephyr, now on an even keel, descended toward a high mesa, which the captain probably meant to use as protection from the wind. Was the Queen powerful enough to hold the shield that long?

  It wasn’t even a question. The shield held over the next two minutes as the ship took shelter behind the rock formation. The Binders kept the ship steady long enough for the crew to lower the anchor. The deck became a hive of activity, the crew working to resecure the lines and furl the sails. Even back here, there was still enough wind to push the Zephyr back into the storm sweeping around the mesa’s sides.

  Only once all was secured, the Queen released her stream. There was no sign of stress on her face. The crew watched in awe, even as the wind whipped across the deck. The lee of the mesa was not a perfect shelter, but it was enough to ride out the storm.

  Her eyes went to Lucian before she returned belowdecks.

  “Rotting hell,” Serah breathed.

  He knew why she’d said it. Attacking the Queen, at least directly, simply wasn’t an option. For the first time, they had seen her power. How could a mage be so powerful without the benefit of an Orb?

  Serah joined him at the bow, and the two stood silently for a while. The Zephyr stayed behind the mesa for hours, enough for the afternoon sun to rise across the Mountains of Madness. When the dust settled, Lucian looked toward the west, noting the outline of Cupid taking up the entirety of the horizon.

  “We could have never crossed this on our own,” Lucian said.

  “It would have been a challenge for sure. I wonder what happens if we go through all this fuss only to find Arian’s prophecy was a lie, or that there is no Orb of Psionics.”

  “It’s getting closer,” Lucian said. “I can feel it.”

  She looked at him. “You really think you can find it, don’t you?”

  “I can’t think of anything else I have besides this mission.”

  “Really?” she asked, amused. “You can’t think of one other thing you might have? Or even could have?”

  What was she getting at? “Be serious. You know what I mean.”

  “You never struck me as the noble type. Being the Chosen. Finding all the Orbs, all that rot.”

  “It’s not rot. If it is, then I’ve wasted everyone’s time.”

  She shook her head. “And why should it be your burden? Why don’t you take that nice Orb you have and retire? Find a nice girl and all that.”

  Lucian saw immediately where she was going with that. And the way she was looking at him made him unsure of how to answer. The feeling wasn’t unwelcome, but it did make him feel conflicted.

  “Only one minor kink in that plan,” Lucian said. “How long can that nice life last if all of us are dead in ten years? It might take longer, or not. But too much weird shit has happened for me to deny it now. Until I’m proven otherwise, this is what I need to do. Besides, I can’t retire. Psyche isn’t home. It’s too—”

  “Uninteresting?”

  “No, definitely not. How are you able to live here? No offense, but it’s pretty rough, with all the wyverns, slavery, mad queens, and whatnot.”

  Her blue eyes became distant. “Perhaps because it’s the only thing I’ve ever known. But even to my eyes, there’s beauty beyond the ugliness. There always is if you look for it.”

  “This world has its moments,” Lucian admitted.

  “Life is short on Psyche,” Serah said. “Especially for people like me. We have to do all our living in a short amount of time. There’s no time for frills, rot, or batshit.”

  She lowered her eyes, then laid her head on his shoulder. He felt himself s
often to her touch and pulled her closer to him. It was nice to have someone. To be wanted.

  He’d missed that feeling.

  “Is this okay?” she asked.

  Lucian nodded. “More than okay. I’m just . . . no good at these things.”

  “What things? Vulnerability?” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Well, you certainly don’t make it easy. It just feels like you’re waiting to take a shot every time I . . .”

  She looked at him. “Every time you what?”

  “Every time I want to tell you how I’m feeling.”

  “Oh? And how is that?”

  “See? There you go again.”

  “It’s a real question.”

  “I never know with you. One minute it feels like you see me that way, and other times, it just feels like you’re poking at me.”

  “Poor Lucian,” Serah said. “You know what flirting is, right?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I guess I’m just too serious.”

  She put a finger on his chest. “Yes. You are very much that. You are perfectly dark and brooding. I mean, it has its charms, but it’s only interesting for so long, you know? I much prefer laughter, smiles, and rainbows. Life’s too short to brood.”

  “Is that so? Well, maybe you need someone broody to balance you out.”

  “Hmm. I hadn’t considered that.”

  They watched the westering sun as it sunk behind Cupid’s rim. That light emblazoned the planet a fiery orange, making it seem as if the gas giant were a sun melting into the desert.

  “In the spirit of honesty and not taking shots at each other,” Serah said, “I should tell you the real reason I haven’t left yet.”