The Rifts of Psyche by Kyle West (i love reading .txt) 📕

large brick building, the only one that was two stories. This village had to hold at least a hundred people, if not more.

“This way, Off-Worlder,” Captain Fergus said, leading the way and using his spear as a walking stick. Unlike Lucian’s old spear on the Isle of Madness, his appeared to be made from bronze, and it almost certainly didn’t self-retract.

Lucian hurried after him.

A gaggle of laughing children ran across their path, all looking at Lucian. Two women paused their work drawing water at the stream, watching Lucian go by while speaking in hushed whispers. Two old men sat on the porch of a nearby house on stilts. They were smoking something or other, while following Lucian’s passage with their eyes.

“I take it this place doesn’t really get off-worlders,” Lucian said, trying to break the ice.

Fergus remained silent.

Lucian cleared his throat. “Where are you taking me, Fergus?”

“Captain Fergus to you. We have an empty hut in the back of the village. You can stay there. For now.”

His tone clearly implied Lucian wouldn’t last long. Lucian bit back the sharp remark that wanted to come. He had to be on his best behavior, and he needed this place to survive. After he was settled in, he could figure out his next move.

Their path wound through the left bank of Kiro, a trail of wooden slats buried in dirt forming the main drag. They passed numerous homes and buildings. They also passed several of the town’s inhabitants, most of them dressed in well-worn leather clothing. Some also wore clothing that seemed to be made from a material similar to cotton or flax, if more roughly made than what Lucian was used to seeing. All they had here were the resources of this world, along with the ingenuity to make something of them. Lucian was further impressed when his path took them by a water mill, after which was a steep drop ending in a waterfall.

The waterfall tumbled into an underground lake, around which were a few more buildings, but the torchlight ended there, probably signifying the end of Kiro. The larger, two-story building was on the opposite bank, and it seemed one could reach it by taking the path by the mill, toward the long rope bridge.

They descended a steep set of steps that took them to the cavern floor. They were deep enough in the cave that it would have been pitch black if not for the copious amount of burning torches. Fergus led Lucian to the very last building, what Lucian suspected was the least desirable home in the village, since it was the farthest from everything.

“This is it,” Fergus said. “I hope it’ll do.”

“It beats sleeping outside.”

“Humph. Well, you can put your things . . .” Fergus looked him over, before realizing Lucian didn’t have any things. “You can put yourself inside until it’s time for you to give your Accounting.”

“What’s the Accounting, again?”

“It’s your chance to address yourself to the community, and the Elder Council decides whether or not you can stay.”

“If I stay, will you stop calling me Off-Worlder at least?”

“You’ve already been accorded more respect than you’re due. Off-Worlder.”

“What do you have against me, Fergus?”

His expression darkened. “Captain Fergus. I will tell you straight up. I don’t believe a word of what you’ve said. What are you, sixteen in standard years?”

“Twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two, I don’t know.”

“Really?” This news seemed to be a shock to him. “And an Earther by the sound of your accent.”

“Have you met many Earthers, Captain?”

“One too many,” he said, drolly. “Get yourself cleaned up. When using your chamber pot, make sure you’re well downstream of where folks draw their water. Once done, come to the bonfire outside the meeting hall.”

“Is that the big building?”

“Yes, the big building. You have an hour. Don’t be late.”

Fergus left, and Lucian was glad for it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with him much longer.

He went inside the hut and streamed a light sphere, finding the inside to be surprisingly accommodating. There was a small table and chair, carved with able skill and craftsmanship, if not much artistry, and on top of the table stood several candles. The cot along the wall looked quite tempting, and Lucian had to stop himself from lying down. If he did that, he wasn’t going to be waking up for a long time.

What did Elder Ytrib expect of him? Apparently, the fang wasn’t enough of a ticket of admittance. His stomach churned at the thought of talking in front of the entire village, but he had certainly been through worse. Alone in this hut, his false bravado meant nothing. Soon enough, they’d find out the fraud he was. Captain Fergus had mentioned pitting him against some of his warriors. Surely that couldn’t be happening tonight. If it did, then he would be out on his ass within a couple of hours.

Even if he didn’t have to prove himself in battle, he was expected to speak in front of everyone. He’d never been one for speeches, and his throat was raw from all the talking he had done with Serah. After not using his voice for so long, his speech was a bit rough. First impressions were everything, and it was important that this community accept him . . . at least for now. The alternative was starvation and death. That was, if he wasn’t killed by a fray or wyvern first.

He pushed these thoughts from his mind as he streamed a small bit of heat into the candle wick, allowing the sphere to wink out. He used that candle to light the others, finding a leather tunic, pants, and boots waiting for him by the hammock. How had they had time to prepare all this? Things seemed to work fast around here. He just hoped the clothing fit him. On the table was a bowl and a straight razor, seemingly made from flint. There was a bowl of . . . something . . . next to the razor.