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

“Why’s it called Slave’s Run?” Lucian asked.

“The answer is in the name,” Serah said. “Escaped slaves use it to run from Dara to the Riftlands. Less so in recent years since the Sorceress-Queen has firmed her grip over the Golden Vale and beyond. The name has stuck, though.”

“I took the longer path, but went through the Darkrift for most of it,” Cleon said. “It was not easy in the least, and it would take several months to make it to the Golden Vale. And that’s not counting any scuffles we get into on the way.”

“So, Slave’s Run would be faster?” Lucian asked.

Serah nodded. “Much faster. Assuming you can get there, it’ll cut weeks off your journey.” She smiled bitterly. “The catch is you have to go through the Darkrift to reach it. And the Darkrift is a labyrinth. Even I haven’t fully explored its depths. Besides the risk of losing your way, there’s gloombat colonies, Burners, and of course the danger of falling down a hole you can never get out of.”

“All right, that settles it,” Cleon said. “We’re going the long way.”

“Maybe so,” Fergus said. “But if we ever need to go the other way, the question is, can you lead us to Slaves’ Run or not?”

“I can. However, you should go the long way. In this case, your friend Cleon is right.”

“We are not friends,” Fergus said. “He is my subordinate, and I am his captain.”

“That’s harsh, Boss,” Cleon said. “Well, we’ll have plenty of weeks to bond yet.”

The Captain’s face remained stony. It was clear he had given up instilling any semblance of discipline into the former Mage-Knight long ago.

“The trip aboveground would take months,” Lucian said. “And that’s if everything goes smoothly.”

“Better to take your time and be alive than look for a shortcut and be dead,” Cleon said.

“What about the Zephyr?” Fergus asked. “The Queen and her troops are actively hunting for Lucian. Doesn’t that change the equation a bit?”

From Serah’s silence, it seemed it might have.

“I don’t want to go into any bloody, rotten, stinking Darkrift,” Cleon said.

“You must, if that is what we decide,” Fergus said. “You’re a part of this group, whether you like it or not.”

“Not by choice,” Cleon muttered.

“What about you, Lucian?” Fergus asked.

Every pair of eyes went to him. Fergus, his face serious and steely. Cleon, whose blue eyes betrayed fear. Serah, who just looked tired and wanted this conversation to be over.

“We should sleep on it,” he said. “Maybe the morning will bring answers.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night,” Serah said. “I’m still confused about a lot. Like how you found this rotting Orb to begin with. But I just can’t focus on anything right now.”

“Before you rest,” Fergus said, “be sure to stay near us. I’m warding Radiance, which will keep anyone from detecting our streams, while Lucian is warding Psionics, which will stop the Queen from interfering with our dreams.”

Her face paled when she looked at Lucian. “She really is after you, then.”

“This isn’t a game. I wouldn’t be doing this unless I absolutely had to. I know you don’t have all the information yet, Serah, but I will answer any questions you have. It would be great if you could come with us. At least part of the way.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “For now, I need some shuteye.”

The four of them ended up sleeping side by side, nearly touching. The cave was still cold despite the close quarters, and the cold was only accentuated by the howling wind outside. Water dripped on Lucian’s face from the condensation of everyone’s breaths. He covered his face with his jacket. But before he allowed himself to fall asleep, he set his Psionic ward, making sure it was strong enough to cover all four of them.

Once done, he closed his eyes.

23

When Lucian awoke, his skin was burning. Or rather, the fire was coming from directly below his skin, like insects stinging him all over.

He tried to keep himself from screaming, but he could only hold out so long. Everyone was up in the instant, with Fergus streaming a light sphere.

“What in the rotting hell is going on?” Cleon asked.

Serah was soon rubbing something on Lucian’s skin that spread instant coolness and relief. The pain didn’t completely ebb, but at least he wasn’t screaming anymore. Fergus looked on worriedly while Serah continued rubbing in the balm.

“What is that?” Lucian asked.

“Karealas sap,” she said. “Good for all manner of pain. No fray’s kit is complete without it. There’s nothing better for immolations.”

“Immolations?”

“A side-effect of overdrawing,” Fergus said. “Not uncommon a day or three after the incident in question.”

“Overdrawing? I’ve barely . . .” Then Lucian remembered the fight with the wyverns. Overdrawing had been necessary to stream his kinetic wave. And he may have overdrawn during the fight in the Greenrift, too. Things had happened so fast that it was hard to remember.

Whatever the case, he had streamed more in the past few days than he had in months. And that was bound to have some effect.

“I get immolations, too,” Serah said. “It’s just part of being a mage.”

“Then how come I’ve never heard of it before?”

“It’s likely your Academy shielded you from such information, at least to begin with,” Fergus said. “At Irion, we didn’t teach our Initiates about them. And it’s not something often spoken of, because . . .”

As Fergus trailed off, Cleon picked up the slack. “Well, we might as well be straight with him.” Lucian had a feeling he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear. “It’s a sign of fraying, Lucian. It happens when you overdraw.”

“I see.”

Lucian sat up. The pain was all but gone, and he put his shirt back on. “Well, I’ll have to be careful.”

“See that you do,” Fergus said. “Sometimes, overdrawing can’t be avoided. You need ether to get out of a hard situation, we’ve all been there. Just know that it can lead to some particularly bad immolations down the line.”

“You