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

about brands, but he saw no other option. Using the Orb of Binding, he redirected the stream protecting himself to Serah, surrounding her with her own branded Binding shield. He somehow knew the effect would only be temporary, but it should help her last a few more seconds. To reach her physically, they would have to break the shield first.

He was making the final spiral – now directly above the Queen and her Mage-Knights, he was lost to sight, and safe from direct magic attacks. The violet light emanating from the Orb was blinding, but there was no time to wonder at it. He ran toward that blindness, and he couldn’t think about the consequences. He cleared the last step and galloped in low gravity across the flat, marble floor. He could see the pedestal, the prize before him, surrounded in a purple aura that had to be some sort of shield.

He was tripped up, either by another tether or a kinetic push. He crawled across the floor, entering the Psionic aura, feeling a curious coolness overwhelm him.

He stood, and before him saw the pedestal holding the glowing violet Orb of Psionics, just as the Orb of Binding had been on Volsung. Standing directly behind it was a bearded, hooded figure, arms folded, with completely white eyes set in a wrinkled face.

The old man raised a hand, and the purple motes of light swirling around the Orb went still in the air. All sound ceased, save for Lucian’s heavy breaths and the slight breeze that swirled around the Orb. Looking back at the stairs, he stood alone. No one was chasing him any longer – and peering through the open ceiling above them, even the Psionic storm had come to a dead stop.

Somehow, time itself had stilled for this moment. All that was left was Lucian, and the old man.

He could be none other than Shantozar, the Oracle of Psionics.

46

Lucian watched the floating, violet motes streaming from the Orb. He stood about five meters away. With just a few more steps, it could be in his hands. But if this were anything like the Orb of Binding, he could not simply walk up and take it.

He had to prove himself worthy.

“You must be Shantozar,” Lucian said. “Unless I miss my guess.”

Shantozar nodded. “That is certainly the name Arian gave for me in his Prophecy. And that name will suffice.”

“Did you speak with Arian?”

The Oracle watched him carefully. “Not as you and I are speaking now. But we had . . . conversations. And those conversations formed much of the basis of his Prophecy of the Seven. As the Oracle of Psionics, it was easier for me to communicate with him. And perhaps I had more motivation to.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Shantozar gave a rueful smile. “You are not ready for that knowledge, Aspirant for the Orbs. I daresay you seek to claim my Orb as yours by right. No doubt you have traveled far and have endured many hardships. And now, the moment of truth. Will I give it, or not? Will I find you worthy to bear the Amethyst of Starsea? Are you the Chosen of the Manifold, or merely another pretender?”

Lucian wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He didn’t see the Orb as his “right,” but he did see himself as the only one he trusted to hold it. “That about sums it up.”

“You certainly have proven something by finding this place,” Shantozar said. “The Psionic maelstrom I created with the power of the Orb could not hold you back, showing me that you are well-versed in Psionic Magic. Either that, or my storm was too weak.”

“I had help,” he said.

“Ah,” the Oracle said. “That is not something I counted on. You see, we Vigilants worked alone, not trusting even family to help us. To see your friends fight for you so . . . is strange to me.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “And in accordance with my own prophecy, you’ve come here with one of the Seven Jewels of Starsea.”

Lucian nodded. “Yes. The Orb of Binding.”

“The Vigilant of that Orb’s name might roughly translate as Rhana in your tongue,” he said. “She was a warrior of great beauty.” He smiled in reminiscence. “And my bitter rival.”

Lucian looked over his shoulder. “Look, I don’t want to rush you, but I have a friend out there who needs my help.”

Shantozar held up a wrinkled hand. “As soon as you entered the aura, time stopped. It is powerful Radiant magic that will abide until this Orb passes to another. It was sealed with the Seven Aspects and will not pass until the last suns die and the universe is a graveyard of black holes.” He smiled bitterly. “I daresay we have time. As much as we need to figure things out.”

“Okay,” Lucian said, hardly comprehending magic that powerful. “What must I do to gain the Orb of Psionics, then?”

“Understand that this is not a light thing you ask of me. I would see it in the right hands. The price of failure is too high.”

“Wouldn’t the right hands be someone who already has one of the Orbs?”

“Not necessarily.” He gave a frigid smile. “The right hands belong to the one who is most capable. The one who is wisest, who is mature enough to see the task through to the end. One who has a strong vision and plan for the future, and a dedication that will sacrifice anything for the fulfillment of that plan.”

Lucian went cold at that, since that last line especially seemed to describe Queen Ansaldra, and not him.

“Do you know how far I’ve come?” Lucian asked. “How hard I’ve worked, how many times I almost died to reach this point? For this to end with you telling me I’m not good enough . . . I’m sorry. I don’t buy it.”

“Ansaldra is powerful indeed. For her to even contact me with Psionic Magic, despite my own powerful wards wrought with the