The Rifts of Psyche, Kyle West [i love reading .txt] 📗

that it would take an entire day to ascend, if not longer. Various towers and small villages straddled its length, villages he supposed survived off the trade that passed through the mountains.

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