Though the daylight outside the cave was dim and gray, to Lucian’s eyes it might as well have been high noon. It seemed to take forever for his eyes to adjust to the light. A steady scraping sound emanated from the direction of the fire, where Linus was cleaning shellocks. Each scrape sent a peal of pain ripping through Lucian’s head. The sound stopped when Linus looked up at Lucian.

  “You’re alive.” His voice said he found this fact surprising. He went to the aqueduct, filling a cup before coming to Lucian. “We thought you were going to die, to be honest about it.” He held the cup to Lucian’s lips. “Drink. The worst should be over.”

  Lucian guzzled the water until it was gone, downing the cup in seconds. He had never tasted anything so good.

  When Lucian spoke, his voice was cracked from disuse. “Did I really almost die?”

  “Seemed like it,” Linus said. "How are you feeling?”

  “I have a headache,” Lucian said. "Correction: I have a terrible headache.”

  “That’ll pass. Give it a few days, drink plenty of water. Till then, stay in bed.” Linus broke into his wide, gap-toothed smile. “You made it! I’ll be damned.”

  Lucian was wondering just how many Linus had watched die. Lucian knew he wasn’t completely out of the woods, despite Linus’s assurances.

  Lucian slept more after that. When he woke again, it was evening. His fever was back, but not quite as bad as it had been before. The thought of using magic was tempting, but he knew doing so would undo everything he’d suffered. He had some sort of block in place, but he wasn’t sure whether it was permanent. The smallest trickle of ether might be enough to disintegrate it.

  How many days had he been in this cave? He had lost consciousness somewhere around the fourth day, counting in Volsung increments. After the darkness, anything was a fair guess.

  He faded in and out of sleep until he felt well enough to eat. He had a light broth made from seafood and small bits of seaweed. He was no longer in his original clothes, but the same roughly woven tunics Linus and Plato wore, made from some plant the men called tundra flax. His undergarments were clean, meaning the men had been changing him like a baby.

  Why were these two going through so much effort just to keep him alive? Despite their eccentricities, they seemed to be good people. They helped without the expectation of a return favor.

  It had been a long time since Lucian had experienced that.

  Plato returned, brewing a tea made with some herbs gathered from his garden. It tasted vile, but after a few minutes, Lucian felt a sense of calm while his headache disappeared. It made him wonder where this stuff was when he needed it.

  “Locals call this northland tea,” Plato explained. “The weeds grow wild here, in patches of lichen and damp places. It makes for an excellent pain reliever in the absence of morphine.”

  “Addictive, too,” Linus said. “Almost as bad as magic.”

  “Yes,” Plato said, agreeing with Linus for once. “It’s best to limit it, and you were too sick before to make use of it. Believe me, this stuff does not help when the Ordeal pains are at their worst.”

  Lucian watched Plato. “How many people have you convinced to go through this?”

  The two older men shared an uncomfortable look.

  “Might as well be honest about it,” Linus said. “About twenty gave it a try, give or take. They either give it up entirely or, more rarely . . .”

  Lucian had only to look at their faces to realize the truth. “You weren’t joking about dying, then. You could’ve told me.”

  “Then you would have never tried. It may seem harsh, but the only way out is through.”

  “And it beats the other option, dying on Psyche,” Plato said. “Even if the chance of surviving the Ordeal is one in ten, it’s better than fraying.”

  Lucian couldn’t imagine anything worse than what he’d gone through. “Glad to see you’re agreeing on something for once.” The throbbing in his head had returned, but at least it was dulled by the tea. “I’m not completely through it, am I?”

  “We can’t say for sure,” Plato said. “We haven’t done enough tests to have measurable results. This time, we made sure you fasted and had a bit of Sea Drink first.” He smiled. “Perhaps that’s the key.”

  “See?” Linus said. “I told you so. And you said I was mad to give it to him!”

  “What are you talking about?” Lucian asked. “You two don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

  Linus laughed. “You’re only now figuring that out? The only thing I do know is that magic will kill you. Ergo, don’t use it.”

  Plato nodded his agreement, but Lucian remembered his fevered dreams. There had been two voices; the first seemed to be the one that told him to find the Aspects. And the other one he wasn’t sure of. At the end of the darkness, he had seen the Septagon. And that had not been his Focus. It had been something else . . .

  Madness. Sheer madness.

  He had to put this all behind him. He would live the life of a mage no longer, so far as it was in his power. As Linus and Plato had pointed out many times before, it was either this or Psyche.

  And he most certainly didn’t want to go to Psyche.

  #

  The next day, Lucian could get up from his hammock and take care of himself. He could use the bathroom, wash his face, and eat his food. Plato made him a weaker brew of tea, which helped him sleep and get through most of the long, dark hours. After a week, most of his Ordeal symptoms were completely gone. He didn’t dare reach for his Focus. That might be too much temptation to stream, thereby undoing all his hard work.

  When he was down on the shore fishing with Linus, he suffered a sudden bout of nausea, which soon passed. As he was foraging for herbs with Plato, he was stopped in his tracks by a terrible migraine. As one brutally cold day passed into night and back into day, the intermittent symptoms faded. Slowly but surely.

  Soon, it was cold enough for the snow to not melt on the ground, despite geothermal heating, except where the springs were thickest. Linus showed Lucian how to craft snowshoes. He made them from the sturdy reeds growing beside the stagnant pools. After this was done, Lucian could walk on top of the deep snow.

  And so, the days passed. The daylight hours waned until there were about four hours of weak twilight each day. The nights were almost as bright, with rainbow auroras painting themselves across the sky. Lucian had never known such cold, and he was never out for more than an hour or two. The older men had stocked the cave for the long Volsung winter, in case the weather turned unbearably cold. A hoard of shellocks, crustaceans, and oysters lay iced in winter snow, while plenty of plants from Plato’s gardens had been harvested.

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  Lucian did what he could to make himself useful. They had saved his life, and the only way to pay that back was by working. And he worked hard. He learned in weeks the skills of survival that had taken Linus and Plato years to develop. There was little hunting on the island, especially in winter. But Linus promised to take him hunting for rock shellocks when the weather warmed. Plato tended his winter garden by the hot springs, using irrigation channels warmed by the ground farther inland, where the snow had yet to reach. The channels split into smaller arteries, feeding patches of tubular plants. They grew fat, purple fruits that Plato assured Lucian were safe to eat. After digging in the muddy soil, Plato showed Lucian a root vegetable. It looked like a strange cross between an eggplant and a toadstool.

  “Were you an engineer or a farmer before you were a mage?” Lucian asked.

  The plump man smiled. “Neither. Everything I’ve done here, I learned by trial and error. I’ve been here twenty years, Lucian. That’s a long time to learn, and the best way to learn is to teach yourself.” Plato went on to describe the various plants that grew seasonally. “Little but frost fruit grows in this weather. In summer, you can expect more variety. If the frost fruit is warm under the turf by the springs, they’ll bear fruit. Not even harsh weather can freeze these things.” For emphasis, he touched one of the tubes, about his height. Its outside seemed more akin to rubber than anything living. “The frost fruit saved the first colonies back in the 2190s.”

  Plato often punctuated his explanations with short history lessons. It was such a waste for an intelligent man like him to spend his life here in exile. What could this brilliant man have done if he’d had freedom? The alternative, though, was worse. He could be on Psyche instead, his skeleton lost in some chartless crevice.

  “What’s your story?” Lucian asked. “How did you come to be here? You’ve told me a bit, but not everything.”

  Plato paused his gardening and smiled wistfully, and perhaps bitterly. “You don’t want to hear my story, Lucian. I came here in my forties and I don’t expect I’ll live to see warm lands again. My family—what’s left of it, anyway—could be dead as far as I know.” He heaved a sad sigh. “What’s the use of thinking about the past? I’ve trained myself to stay rooted in the present.” He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “There are no shrinks here unless you count Linus’s Sea Drink.”

  Lucian didn’t. “I don’t understand. I don’t mean to be harsh, but isn’t life . . . hopeless here? It’s so gray, dismal, and cold. I don’t think I could go on for twenty years like you.”

  Lucian almost regretted saying that, but he had to know what gave Plato the strength to go on. To his relief, the older man nodded his understanding.

  “Nothing is ever the end unless you decide it is.” He pointed at a spot a few meters away, where a small rock shellock was scuttling sideways. “Take that creature, for example. It’s known nothing but this island its whole life. This island is its whole world. As far as it’s concerned, nothing extends beyond the sea that bounds it. We’re cursed with knowledge, Lucian. We know there is a world beyond. Even if we were to somehow forget, every few months a new exile arrives. Most can’t manage to make it in this place.”

  “Then how have you made it here?”

  Plato’s expression darkened, as his brow furrowed in thought. “Many times, I have thought of leaving. Fear keeps me here, I think. Linus is more optimistic than I, though his harsh laughter is a shield for sorrow. Of course, Psyche could be less brutal than this island. Especially when you consider we must live without magic here. It’s a matter of being content with less. To be grateful for the small things that make life livable.” Plato shrugged. “And work. So much work, you can hardly think. People who can train themselves to not want the things of the world might learn to live without them.”

  Lucian listened. Could he learn that same lesson, or would he always be cursed with the knowledge of what could be?

  Plato went on. “I do what I can to ensure this island is a better place to live. Not only for me but for someone in the future if they decide to stay. In that way, I might save a few from being tempted by Psyche. I believe I will outlive everyone who decides to take the shuttle. At least, until I’m on my deathbed. But I won’t say I’m not tempted every time I hear that crackle in the sky. Several times, I’ve made the journey halfway to the shuttle, only to turn back for the cave. I came to this island at the ripe age of forty-four. I was a promising Talent of the Volsung Academy with my aim set on the Red Seat.”

  “The Red Seat?”

  “Transcend Red’s station,” Plato explained. “It was between me and another woman named Umbra.”

  “Is she the young one there now?”

  “No,” Plato said. “She’s different. Umbra died hunting a rogue on Astravan. No, it was between Umbra and me for the Red Seat. I . . . made some mistakes, shall we say. Mistakes she was able to take advantage of, to the point where my very sanity was called into question. I’d rather not go into details. Things got desperate, so I did whatever I could to secure my place. I could not abide working for that damnable woman.”

  “You were a Red Talent then.”

  Plato nodded. “In the end, I undid myself. I have no intention of going on to Psyche. I mean to live out the rest of my days here in contemplation.”

  It sounded like a sad existence to Lucian. Then again, he was suffering the same fate.

  Plato’s face was still grim. “Some live their entire lives in ultimate freedom. They can hop on a ship and go anywhere in the Worlds they please. Yet they choose to remain where they are. Why is that? One could argue I’m freer than they if I see this island as my world. A world in which it’s possible to find happiness.”

  “And have you?”

  From the lowering of his brow, Plato seemed frustrated by Lucian’s line of questioning. “I’ve been trying for twenty years. Some days, it seems like I have, like today. I need conversation—stimulating conversation—or I can’t be happy. As useful as Linus is, he’s not much of one for deep thoughts. Great with hunting and fishing. All people have their niches to fill. But two people do not make a happy community. And we can’t allow anyone to live with us who can’t pass the Ordeal.” Plato clapped a hand on his shoulder. “But I have high hopes for you, Lucian. The time of your final test is coming soon.”

  “What do you mean, final test? Wasn’t the Ordeal my test?”

  “Linus and I were waiting for you to recover before talking about it. Few enough make it through the first phase, so we haven’t done the second test in years. But despite the winter nights, it must happen before the next shuttle comes. That could be days away.” Plato looked at him seriously. “Are you feeling well enough?”

  “I suppose,” Lucian said. “What is this second test? If it’s anything like the Ordeal, I don’t know if I can handle it.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. It will be difficult in its own way. As far as Linus or I can tell, you’ve given up using magic. You haven’t streamed since before the Ordeal. All that’s left is to test your resolve. Only then can we accept your place here.”

  “And the other option is the shuttle.”

  “Yes.”

  They finished up the gardening and went back to the cave before dark overcame the island. Multicolored auroras danced above in the sky. Streams of pink, green, and violet colored the constellations. As beautiful as the lights were, it was far too cold to stay outside long. It was a relief to be back in the cave and by the central fire, warming himself.

  Over that fire, Linus was boiling a pot of shellock and herb soup. Lucian was getting tired of eating the same thing, but it was better than the fare served at the Academy. Here, there were no restrictions on flavor or texture.

  Once dinner was over, the three of them sat around the fire, drinking and getting a decent buzz going. Sometimes, life here wasn’t so bad. Only sometimes, though. He wondered what it might be like to have Emma here, too. He hated thinking about her. It was the easiest way to feel sad and lonely. What was she doing now? Nightly meditations, most likely.

  “Something got you down?” Plato asked. "Drinking will do that to you if you’re not careful.”

  “He’s thinking about a girl,” Linus said. “I see it on his face. Why don’t you tell us about her?”

  “It’s not a girl.”

  “Ha! Look at him blush.”

  “It’s the fire,” Lucian said.

  “Yeah, the fire right here,” Linus said, pointing to his crotch. “A young man like you. It’s cruel to be put up here with us two.” He chuckled. “Those mages act all high and mighty, but there are liaisons on the sly. There always will be if you mix the sexes.”

  The idea that he and Emma might have had something more was too painful to stomach. “Are you done?”

  “Struck a chord, have I?” Linus asked. “Let it all out, son. You won’t feel better by keeping secrets.”

  “What about your secrets?” Lucian asked. “Whatever this next test is, I’m ready for it.”

  Linus shot a frustrated look at Plato. "Did you tell him?”

  “It’s about time, anyway.”

  Linus looked from one to the other, then stroked his long, gray beard. “Fine, then. The sooner, the better. It’s been a while since we’ve had a shuttle.”

  “Have you been checking the village?” Lucian asked. “Someone else might have arrived.”

  “There’s no smoke,” Linus said. “I’ve been walking far enough to see it every day. As far as I can tell, we’re ready for our trip to the Caverns.”

  The Caverns? That sounded foreboding. “When do we go?”

  “We’ll spend the rest of the night packing,” Linus decided. “Leave a few hours before dawn. With luck, we can make it there before we freeze our asses off.”

  “And what’s the test?”

  “I’ll say this much. If the mages knew what we know, they would have built their damned academy here.”