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

in the sands, along with his spear. There were no rocks or anything else to mark his grave, so they did the best they could to honor him – telling stories, conversations they’d had, the things they would remember most about him, and how they would carry him with them into the future.

“I’ll always remember what he taught me,” Lucian said. “I won’t ever be as good a Thermalist as him, but he taught me about brands. And without his lessons, I would have never been able to block off the Queen’s magic. This victory is more his than mine. And . . . I will remember his loyalty, what it means to fight to the last breath for what you believe in. I’ll never be the same because of his sacrifice.”

There was a moment’s pause before Serah stepped forward, reflective. “He was a good man. Cursed almost as good as me, and he knew how to call it like he saw it, despite what others thought. That’s a good quality to have, and something I’ll remember for myself in the future.”

Fergus watched for a moment, his tears drying quickly in the desert air. “Rest in peace, great warrior.” It looked as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.

They stood there for a while, Serah resting her head on Lucian’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, grateful for the comfort. Something had shifted between them – just what, Lucian couldn’t say.

Fergus looked at them, a small smile on his lips. “At least some good has come out of this whole thing.” He glanced back at the Spire. “We should head back. Find out who that woman is.”

Fergus was right. There was still work to be done. Together, they returned to the Spire.

48

When they got back, the unknown woman was asleep, curled up behind a stone pillar on the opposite side of the entrance. The three of them kept an eye on her while they did the grisly work of going through every corpse. There were no survivors, and none of them had much in the way of supplies. They picked up six canteens, some full and some not, about two days’ worth of full rations for all of them, including the woman, as well as twenty shockspears, all cast from bronze – though Lord Kiani’s, like Lucian’s, was made from graphene.

“Take it,” Serah said to Fergus. “You’ll get more use out of it than me.”

For a moment, it seemed he was about to argue with her, before realizing he couldn’t argue with good sense.

Once everything of use had been collected, they gathered the bodies and took them outside. It was gruesome, disgusting work, but it needed to be done. The Spire would be their shelter, at least for now, and Lucian didn’t much like the idea of sleeping next to the dead.

Using magic, they were able to create a mass, shallow grave, into which they placed the bodies. By the time that was done, the light of the sun was beginning to rise above the dunes. They washed their hands with the canteen water – not ideal when they needed true disinfectant, but there was nothing else to be done.

When they returned to the Spire, the woman was still asleep.

“I can keep watch,” Serah said.

Lucian was too tired to argue. As soon as he lay down on the stone floor, sleep took him.

Lucian slept like the dead buried outside, swimming through dreams unending. Emma’s face swirled among nightmarish visions of the Sorceress-Queen. Cleon shook his head disapprovingly. The Orb of Psionics glowed, seeming sinister in the darkness.

When he awoke, it was still morning. No, it couldn’t be morning. Evening then. The light was different, and it felt he’d slept for a long time.

Serah and Fergus were already up, sitting around a branded fire floating a few centimeters off the stone. It had grown chilly. Lucian looked around, but there was no sign of the woman.

“Where is she?” he asked. “Has she talked?”

Serah shook her head. “She walked outside an hour or so ago. Your block still seems to be active because it looked like she was trying to stream.”

Lucian nodded. “Maybe I can try talking to her.”

Serah shrugged. Lucian got the feeling she was still displeased he let the woman live. Fergus was drinking a bowl of soup, a blanket wrapped around his broad shoulders. He didn’t seem in the mood for conversation. After everything, Lucian didn’t blame him.

Lucian went out into the night. He was surprised at the chill, considering how hot the desert was during the day. A long walkway of paving stones, lined with broken columns, led into the desert. At the end of that walkway stood the woman, her white dress shimmering under Cupid’s reflected light. Lucian almost felt a chill watching her. It was as if the ghost of the Queen were still among them. He had to remind himself that this wasn’t her, and that the real Queen was alive somewhere.

But he couldn’t lower his guard. After all, a new person meant new potential dangers. His decision to save her could backfire massively.

There was only one way to find out who she was, and whether he had made a mistake in letting her live.

Lucian cleared the distance in about two minutes. He stopped about ten meters away from the woman, who gave no sign of knowing he was there. He was wondering how to break the silence when she turned. Her face was sorrowful, but only a little of the haughtiness of the Queen remained. She looked Lucian up and down, her green eyes narrow and mistrustful.

“Can I get you anything?” Lucian asked. “Food? Water?”

She shook her head.

“Can you speak?”

Silence.

“Is there anything I can do to help you? Anything I can tell you to clear up confusion?”

More silence.

“Your mind was possessed by the Sorceress-Queen of Psyche. I don’t know how much of that you remember, but that’s over now. My name is Lucian. I’m the