He opened his eyes to see only darkness. The candles had burned out, and the tiny cell only had a small, high window to the outside. Which of course was dark right now, since it was night.
Lucian got up, throwing on a fresh set of brown robes and slipping on his leather boots. He stumbled toward the door, taking a while to find the latch.
When the door creaked open, it was the last person Lucian expected.
Psion Gaius, the apprentice of Transcend White herself, stood in the hallway. Lucian’s eyebrows shot up—he had to have the wrong door. The Psion’s cold blue eyes stared at him, set in an angular face shrouded by heavy black brows. The brows were a stark contrast to his balding head, where a thinning ring of graying hair clung like a laurel. The respect due to someone of Psion Gaius’s stature was almost equal to that of a Transcend.
Lucian lowered his head. “Psion Gaius. What can I do for you?”
Psion Gaius’s thick brows lowered. “Transcend White has summoned you.”
Lucian’s blood went cold. They couldn’t be kicking him out this soon.
There was no choice but to obey. “Of course, Psion Gaius.”
“I’m aware of the Quiet Hours,” Gaius said. “This takes priority, per her words.” He nodded toward his room. “Wash your face, straighten your hair, and do your best to compose yourself.”
“Of course.”
Lucian debated whether he should shut the door. He settled for cracking it. He splashed cold water on his face, the shock doing a good job of waking him up. The Transcends simply didn’t summon Novices, and the hour was long before the usual waking time.
Upon his return to the hallway, Lucian followed Psion Gaius down the corridor to a set of stairs. For the first time, he would be seeing the Volsung Academy’s upper reaches.
They made it to the second-floor landing. The corridor extending outward looked much the same as the first floor. Lucian followed Gaius up the next set of stairs until they were on the third level of the Academy, the purview of the Transcends themselves. Gaius strode forward, sure of his destination. Other than the heavy silence, nothing about the Transcends’ level was starkly different. At least, not until Lucian felt the coldness of a breeze hitting him from around the corner.
He immediately saw why. Around the corner was a long colonnade, which ran alongside the Academy. It was completely open to the elements, supported by stone pillars on his left side. Open archways on the right led deeper into the Academy, but all of them were dark. Between the pillars stretched the wide, dark expanse of the Northern Ocean, the sky above teeming with foreign constellations. Anytime he saw the stars here, it only reminded him of how far he was from home.
They walked to the other side of the Academy until they reached a wooden door that led into the Academy’s northeast tower. This must be Transcend White’s office and quarters.
Psion Gaius gave three firm knocks.
A reedy voice emanated from within. “Enter.”
Gaius opened the door and bowed. Lucian followed suit, making sure to bow even lower than Psion White. He couldn’t humble himself too far, especially considering what Damian had told him.
“Thank you, Psion Gaius,” Transcend White said. “You may go.”
Psion White bowed again before departing, casting Lucian a bemused expression that seemed to wonder what he was doing here. Well, that was two of them.
When the door closed, the following silence was heavy. Transcend White seemed to ignore him at first, focusing instead on some papers on her desk, behind which she was seated. Lucian shifted his feet and tried to keep himself from wringing his hands. There was little in the room that might give Lucian a clue about who she was. There were few trappings—only the bare walls, floor, and ceiling. A fire burned in a small hearth near the Transcend’s oaken desk, lending ample warmth. That desk was well-made and had a few open books upon it, along with some old-fashioned pens that used ink. Today, her hair wasn’t braided and flowed as freely as her twin’s. He suppressed a shudder. He might as well have been staring right at Vera. What was their story and the nature of their disagreements?
Lucian valued his life, so he didn’t mean to ask.
When the silence had gone on for a torturous length of time, Lucian wondered if he should be the first to speak. He held out until he could no longer stand it, even if it was a breach of decorum.
“What do you wish from me, Your High Eminence?”
“Say not a word,” she said, cutting him off. She scanned her papers, her eyes roving back and forth as if madly searching for some clue. Another minute passed before she leaned back in her seat and raised her eyes to meet his. That gaze was identical to the one she had unleashed on him the day they met, three months ago.
Lucian had the feeling, as her eyes bored into his, that she was doing more than looking. A strange chill covered his skin as if static were pulling at the hair on his arms. What was that feeling? In the end, he must have imagined it, because as soon as he noticed it, it was gone. Transcend White steepled her fingers.
“Sit, Novice Lucian.”
He sat.
“I’ve heard reports that you are struggling with the training.”
He wasn’t sure if he could speak yet, so he remained silent. She seemed to be waiting for an answer, so he decided to risk it.
“My progress has been slow, but I’m working as hard as I can.”
“Are you?” Her expression seemed to question that. “I hope so.” She studied him a moment longer. “It gives me no pleasure to say this, but it would seem my sister is mistaken about you.”
He blinked. Was it happening already? “What do you mean?”
“I’m almost her equal in magic,” Transcend White said. “And yet, I cannot fathom what it is she saw in you. Your progress has been slow. Completely unremarkable. My sister would not have offered to take you as her Psion unless she had seen something in you. And yet, your block remains resolute. You struggle every day to overcome it. For one reason or another, the Manifold remains closed to you. Enough to the point where I’m beginning to doubt your story.” She shook her head. “But no, I can’t deny it. You did meet my sister. She did see something in you. Only, why could that be?”
It was almost as if she were speaking to herself, each question spoken in a rhetorical tone.
“I told Vera myself that there was nothing special about me.”
Transcend White’s eyebrows shot up. “And her reaction?”
“What I said before, your High Eminence. She didn’t seem to think so. She mentioned something about me being marked.”
“Well, you may just be a slow learner. Why do you think that is, Lucian?”
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“I don’t know,” he said. “My mother often said the same thing.”
Her eyes widened slightly. Why would his saying that surprise her?
“Yes, about that.” She looked at him a bit longer. “This will not be easy, so I’m going to come out and say it. I didn’t summon you here to only talk about your progress. Though I am interested in that.”
Lucian straightened in his chair and tried not to betray his nervousness.
“I hate to say this, especially when you are already struggling so much . . .”
Why was she hedging? He became more alert, his heart began to race.
“If it’s about my progress, I promise to try harder,” Lucian said. “Yesterday, I felt like I was close . . .”
“It’s not that, Novice,” she said. “It was strange that you mentioned your mother because this is about her.”
At those words, Lucian’s heart nearly stopped. Before he could say anything, Transcend White continued.
“There was a battle outside Starbase Centauri. Though the League Fleet ultimately prevailed, Swarmer bombers destroyed the carrier your mother was stationed on.”
Everything went cold, like a shock of cold water. But then, he felt resistance. It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t be dead.
“Did she manage to get off?”
From Transcend White’s lack of response, he knew the answer to that question.
“That’s impossible,” he whispered. “Chiron is a First World. If the Swarmers are in Alpha Centauri . . .” His mother. “No. You must be mistaken.”
He leaned back in his chair, vertigo making him dizzy. That was when Transcend White pushed a piece of paper across her desk toward him.
“This is the dispatch.”
Lucian picked it up with trembling hands. He scanned it, reading it once. Twice. Then three times. Numbness crept into his hands, down his arms, into his heart.
I regret to inform you, on behalf of the U.N.E. navy’s Chief of Staff, Zira Giroux, of the untimely death of your mother, Captain Mira Abrantes. She died on 5 August 2364, defending humanity against a surprise Swarmer fleet. Her ship was shot down by a torpedo that slipped past the U.N.S. Refuge’s point defense systems. The destruction was total. A service will be held on 10 August aboard the U.N.S. Encouragement. Given the impossibility of you or any next of kin’s attendance, a subsidy of 2.5 Worlds Credits will be deposited in your name and can be collected at any League Fleet Office in the League of Worlds to make funeral arrangements. Again, on behalf of the Chief of Staff, please accept the Consolidated League Fleet’s deepest condolences.
Images of his mother flashed through his mind. The one brutal fact he was aware of was how little they had seen each other over the years. How precious and few their memories were. The sense of loss wasn’t only for what was, but for what might have been. He had always thought there would be more time.
He had been wrong.
He was blind and deaf to everything. He was barely even aware of Transcend White watching him from behind her desk, with not a trace of emotion on her face.
“You have my condolences, Lucian. It seems your mother was a brave woman. And it would seem the Worlds are in for dark days again . . .”
Why was she saying "was"? He drew a deep breath to steady his nerves. He sat there, dazed.
This isn't happening. This isn't happening.
“Take the night to process the news,” Transcend White said. “Here on Transcend Mount, many come from . . . troubled pasts, and many have suffered a similar loss while training. As difficult as this situation is, know that you are not alone.”
The words sounded trite and pointless. He wanted to be anywhere but here. “May I go now?”
“Of course. But one more thing before you leave.”
Lucian stopped, his hand shaking on the doorknob.
“Not a word about the Swarmers. If word gets out, we will know it was you. We Transcends will address the Academy in our own time. We don’t want to cause undue panic or distract the Novices from their studies. It would seem this is a single Fleet, against which the League prevailed. We pray that is the end of the matter, and we mages will not have to get involved.”
There was no choice but to nod in agreement.
He left her office, stumbling down the pillared colonnade to the staircase. He clung to the dispatch in his hand. It was dated August fifth, and Lucian had no real way of knowing what that corresponded to here. He’d lost track of the standard calendar long ago.
If the dispatch was true, then it meant his mother had been dead for a month. Possibly longer. The news must have been freshly delivered.
The funeral had happened. For a whole month, his mother had had a funeral. He’d been training, struggling, fighting, and all the while, she had been cold and lifeless. Never to move, laugh, or breathe again, probably in a million pieces floating in the cold vacuum of space.
And why had Transcend White delivered the news? It didn’t seem like something she would take upon herself.
Lucian couldn’t think of that now. Whenever it happened, one fact was immutable: Lucian would never see his mother again.
Going down the stairs, all the old, sequestered fears from childhood became freshly open wounds. Back then, he would lie awake at night, wondering when he would get the news. He had mostly put those fears behind him. But now, they were manifested.
And he was here, light-years away. Helpless. Alone.
She was dead. He would never hear her cheesy jokes. Never get her support. Never get another word of advice.
And the Swarmers were back. But here on Transcend Mount, that fact seemed so distant. He’d heard not a word about it, so how many knew? The Transcends, surely, and perhaps some of the Talents.
Lucian wandered the dark halls and corridors. He favored areas far from people. To his relief, he didn’t pass anyone. He wandered down hallways that likely hadn’t seen a footstep for weeks. Most of the Novices and Talents would be in their rooms or meditation chambers. Lucian walked in an almost unconscious haze, feeling as if he were in a dream.
Every time she had deployed, she came back. Sure, she came back with more lines and wrinkles, but her eyes were the same.
But now, she would never come back.
Transcend White had no reason to lie about it, no reason to forge an official dispatch. He thought of his conversation with Damian. How uncanny that he had mentioned they only told you about family in the case of a death.
He could only hope other parts of the conversation with Damian didn’t prove to be as prophetic.
Somehow, without even realizing it, Lucian ended up in the back courtyard, on the northern part of the island. He stood alone in the darkness. He strode toward the cliff overlooking the dark, cold ocean. There, he gazed at the bleak scene. How easy it would be to jump. Was there any point in staying alive? He would never be a proper mage now, not with this distracting him and his progress already so slow.
All his hopes that things would turn out fine were an illusion. His life now had two possible roads. He could follow the training, follow orders until he rose high enough to give them. Or he could fail. And if he failed, he had nothing waiting for him but Psyche.
Of course, there was a third option. Take but a few more steps north, and all this would be over. Lucian doubted he would be the first to do such a thing. That rocky shore below must be littered with at least some bones.
“I won’t have it.”
His voice sounded small and weak. Why had he come here instead of following Vera? Why had he let his mother go off to fight again? He should have convinced her to go to Halia and live with his Uncle Ravis. Would that have been so hard to encourage? As an executive for Caralis Intergalactic, he could have given her a job that paid as well or better. Sure, they were on bad terms, but he could have convinced her to make that choice.
If only he had the power to change the past. But no one, not even a mage, was as powerful as that.
“I won’t have it!”
The wind carried his words away, rendering them unheard. He curled his hands into fists. A hot, familiar fire burned at his core, spreading to every limb. That fire spread, suffusing his muscles and bones with boundless, burning energy. The air warped before him, the stars elongating in long, bleeding streams that curled against the black void above. This power demanded an outlet. The burn had become unbearable. It demanded release, but how?
Such pain. Lucian screamed, pushing the energy out of him in a concentrated wave. That power found an outlet: a distant iceberg, floating a kilometer away. Resistance pushed back against him. Great resistance. The iceberg was far, and Lucian knew his magic might not find a connection.
He needed more power. More ether. He was beyond caring at this point. His body burned hotter, and his Focus extended to the iceberg itself. He tried to control the rush, but the image of his stone collapsed in the torrent of magic. He pushed against the berg, feeling it buckle beneath the magical wave. His accompanying roar was eaten by the wind. Surely, such power would cause him to fray. But at this point, he didn’t care.
Then, the iceberg moved, crumbling into the dark water as a fissure tore through its center. A thunderous crack echoed off the northern walls of the Academy. Lucian’s bones vibrated with its force. The fire within was extinguished, having ripped from him completely. He felt . . . empty. Hollow.
His shoulders sagged, his lungs burned for oxygen. Lucian gasped at the cold air. Sweat coated his skin. He watched, in fascination and disbelief, as the iceberg continued to crumble. Large, bluish chunks of ice splashed into the dark surface of the ocean.
He stumbled back from the precipice, his brown robes swirling in the wind. The iceberg was obliterated by now, broken into hundreds or even thousands of pieces. Flotsam of ice was being borne by the currents of the ocean.
He had finally streamed. It had only taken the death of his mother for it to happen.
He ran back to the Academy, fearful that someone might have seen. He had to get inside before the noise drew people out here. He could only hope everyone was busy with their meditations. If anyone were looking out here at this very moment . . .
He was almost inside the Academy when he thought he saw a face from the second-floor colonnade, but it was gone almost as soon as he’d spied it. The shadows were so deep there that he couldn’t be sure he’d seen anything at all.
He would have written it off, but for some reason, he could think of no one other than Talent Khairu.