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

this – carved with swift running water from who knew where, until it collected in some place of darkness deep beneath the surface. For all he knew, that water might fall to the center of the moon itself. The thought seemed ridiculous, but perhaps this world was small enough for that to happen.

Each side of the rift was lined with multiple rows of terraces, each filled with green vegetation. This was where they had to be going. The terraces ended about a hundred meters above the level of the water, where the steep slopes became bare and brown. Even higher, far above all their heads, the terrain was rough and rocky, and Lucian could see even more caves. They would need to watch above as much as below. Wyverns could be lurking in those shadowy entrances. If some were to come out, there would only be a short amount of time to seek shelter.

Lucian and the red-haired watchman brought up the rear.

“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” the watchman asked.

Lucian nodded his agreement. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The guard laughed. “Neither had I. Not until I came here.”

Lucian put out a hand. “I’m Lucian.”

“I know,” the guard said, taking his hand. “My name’s Cleon. I’m a Thermalist.”

Lucian took the hand. “I guess you could say I’m a Binder.”

Cleon nodded toward the group making its way down below. “It’s just you, me, and Fergus that can stream out of this bunch. Aside from our Elders and another three old ones back at the village, that makes for all the mages of Kiro.”

“Not many,” Lucian said.

“No. We mages are a rarity, even on Psyche. Though in Dara, there are many more. A lot of opportunity there for a mage.”

Lucian wondered why Cleon was telling him this. Like him, though, it seemed he wasn’t from this world, or at least not from the Riftlands, so that gave them one thing in common.

It took another half hour before they’d reached the terraces below. Lucian stood next to Fergus and Cleon as the villagers labored at the harvest. It was hard not to feel like they were forcing the villagers to the hard task, at least at first. But the guards spent all their attention facing outward from the harvesters, scanning the rift for signs of trouble. That told Lucian it was a team effort, each person playing their part according to their skills.

It was important to do well. If Lucian didn’t prove himself today, he might find himself harvesting with the laborers. He was sure Fergus would like nothing better than that.

“You need to be looking up as much as down,” Fergus instructed them as he walked by on one of his rounds. “Wyverns from above, humans from below.”

“Yes, sir,” Cleon said, saluting.

Lucian copied the salute, and at an arched eyebrow from Captain Fergus, added his own, “Yes, sir.”

When Fergus strolled away, Cleon leaned closer to Lucian. “You watch below, I’ll take the sky.”

“Sounds good to me. Where are you from, Cleon?”

“I’m a slum rat from Dara, originally.”

“Dara? I thought you were an off-worlder, too.”

He shook his head. “Most Psycheans are natives. Because I was a mage, I rose to be one of the Queen’s Mage-Knights.” He gave a bitter laugh. “How proud I was of that. It worked for me, for a time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

His expression darkened. “Long story. I won’t bore you.”

The story probably wasn’t boring, but Lucian knew better than to pry.

“That’s why I’m here. Hoping for the day all the tribes of the Rifts are strong enough to take down Dara and the Sorceress-Queen. Who knows? It might happen. Or she may crush us all. She’s taken all the Golden Vale by now, and even most of the Westlands beyond the Mountains of Madness. Her empire covers most of the moon, all the way to the Burning Sands on Planetside. All that’s left really are the Riftlands.”

“Stop your yakking, Cleon!” Fergus called.

Cleon shut his mouth. Lucian only knew one thing about the Sorceress-Queen. He did not wish to ever see her in his dreams again. But that would likely not be the case. His fate was intertwined with hers, if only because he held the Orb of Binding. The thought made him sick.

Things seemed quiet in the Greenrift. The day grew brighter, but the mist hanging in the air didn’t seem to dissipate. Even so, Lucian could feel the sun burning through it.

When Fergus was far away, Lucian asked Cleon another question. “How far is Dara from here?”

Cleon cast a glance in Fergus’s direction before answering. “Hard to say. If you follow the roads through the Rifts, several months. I went by a faster and more dangerous route. I followed the Darkrift, paying a guide, and ended up somewhere in Snake Rift. After that, I found my way to the surface. That took me about a month, give or take a few days. After the Elders of Kiro heard my story, they let me in. They said anyone who could survive the Darkrift was a welcome addition to their community. Truth be told, though, if you have magic and a working brain, they will let you in easily.”

“I thought I told you two to can it!”

When had Fergus come back? Cleon stood straight to attention, while Lucian was slower in obeying. Fergus got in his face and stared him down, hard.

“Step forward, Off-Worlder.”

There was nothing for Lucian to do but advance, drawing the eye of every watchman and half of the gathering villagers.

Fergus was now in his face, expression grim. “Keep. Watch!”

Instantly, every watchman’s attention refocused on their watch points, while the villagers returned to their harvesting with renewed vigor.

Fergus paced back and forth in front of Lucian, his face a storm cloud of anger. His grip on his spear tightened, as if he were itching to use it.

At last, Fergus seemed to reach a breaking point, nodding to the space in front of him. “Stand across from me, Off-Worlder. It’s time for your first lesson.”

Lucian most