Lucian didn’t bother mentioning that “all” the Voice of the Manifold required was a practical impossibility.
You want me to give you the Orbs, and that will stop the fraying?
Yes. It will stop the Time of Madness. I can use their power to keep the fraying at bay. I can repair myself. Make myself work again.
Why me? Why not someone powerful, like Vera?
There was a moment of silence. It is not her part to play. She has her role. But not as Chosen. And you were the more likely . . . candidate.
What was that supposed to mean? I have so many questions. I need help. I can’t do this by myself.
You will have help. Just get the Orb of Psionics, by whatever means possible. Trust in the plan.
The plan? What plan?
Follow your purpose, and everything will be as it was meant. You are Chosen, Lucian. It is your destiny. You will become the most powerful mage in the galaxy, mastering magic even the Ancients believed impossible. You will bend the Worlds to your will. Even now, you can listen to the Heart of Creation and hear my Voice. If that is not evidence, what is?
Where does the Sorceress-Queen fit into all this?
You must let her help you.
That’s it? Is she going to kill me, or not?
I’ve told you all you need to know. Trust in the plan.
He wanted to scream in frustration. You enjoy this, don’t you? You’re like some capricious god torturing a mortal. How do I shut this off? I won’t have it anymore!
The Manifold is everywhere, Chosen. And the ether follows you, like mass to a star. Wherever you go, I can follow. The ether wants to be used. The more Orbs you gather, the clearer my Voice will become. You are a Vigilant of Starsea. My Chosen.
I want to find all the Orbs and stop the fraying. Nothing more or less.
Then do as I’ve said, and your wish will be granted.
Lucian knew he was missing something, that this Voice of the Manifold was only telling him what he needed to hear. But all the important details, the motivations, were lacking. He was nothing more than a pawn in a game larger than his imagining.
And if I don’t?
Then the Madness will take you, and your species will be ground to dust. And the Starsea Cycle will have added to its graveyard of races.
At that moment, the dream ended, and Lucian awoke.
41
The next morning, Cleon was woozy, but coherent. The four of them were quiet as they got ready. Lucian felt gloomy, not wanting to talk about his dream. The last thing the others needed was more bad news.
They dressed in travel clothes far richer than anything Lucian had worn in his life, aside from the outrageous ensemble from last night. He wore a loose button-down travel shirt with plenty of pockets that came with a similar jacket, sturdy pants cinched with a fine leather belt, and supple boots that fit him perfectly. On the belt, there was even a holster for his spear, large enough to hold his weapon in the retracted position.
The others dressed in similar attire, grumbling about needing to depend on the Queen even for clothing, but what they had worn before was so dirty and grimy that it was beyond repair. They packed a few other articles as well, not knowing how long the trip would take.
The servants delivered breakfast, rice porridge in a savory red sauce spiced with the native caro pepper. The mood was somber, and for that Lucian wasn’t surprised. It seemed they were stuck in the Sorceress-Queen’s web with no possible escape.
Hardly anything was said as Jarvis led the four of them to the airship. They were given their own cabins, a rare luxury on a ship that easily crewed two hundred people. Just around the corner from their berths was the Sorceress-Queen’s own private quarters, not twenty steps away. It was hard to tell if that was supposed to be an honor, or so she could keep an eye on them.
Also traveling with them was Mage-Lord Kiani, the Butcher of the Westlands, who was staying in the cabin adjacent to the Queen’s. How the Queen expected peace with both him and Cleon aboard her ship, Lucian couldn’t guess. In truth, he was more preoccupied with the dream he’d had last night. He’d tell the others eventually, but for now, he just didn’t have the heart. He was deflated, and at this point, it seemed there was little they could do to regain control of their mission.
Thankfully, the Sorceress-Queen didn’t wish to see any of them – at least, not immediately. There was nothing left but to wander the deck and watch the passage through the Pass of Madness, into the Westlands and Psyche’s Planetside.
The Zephyr cast off just when the golden morning sun alighted upon the Golden Vale, rising above the eastern mountains. The wind was cool and fresh as they ascended over Dara, its streets thrumming with life despite the early hour. The ship veered west, rising higher and higher. Lucian craned his neck, but even so, the peaks of the spindly Mountains of Madness were lost to the haze of blue sky. He marveled that even on a clear day, he still couldn’t see their tops. Their slopes were brown and bare, seeming to hold little, if any, life except for the terrace farms above the city.
The pass itself, nothing more than a wide, square tunnel – seemed to be located several kilometers above the valley floor. As the Zephyr approached, Lucian could see dim daylight at the end. Due to the height of those mountains, their shadows would keep the other side in twilight until at least the afternoon, the shadow extending far beyond the horizon. Below, he could see a narrow road cut into the mountainside, leading from the city to the pass. There were so many switchbacks
