Lucian felt a light kick on the shoulder, rousing him from sleep.

  “Up you get,” Linus said. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

  Lucian forced himself to get up, packing up camp while Plato got the morning stew ready. The events of the previous night ran through his mind. He would not have been surprised had it all been some insane dream. And yet even now, as he packed, the Orb of Binding was bound to his Focus. Invisible, but present, like a second heart.

  He couldn’t deny what had happened. If it were a dream, it was like no dream he had ever had.

  They ate quickly. Linus and Plato were probably thinking of the long walk ahead. All Lucian could think about was the Oracle, her words, and the Orb of Binding.

  The only way he could be sure it had happened was by testing the Orb. But that would mean breaking his block, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet.

  They had a long way to travel. Testing would have to come later.

  They bundled up and warmed themselves as much as they could by the fire. Then, they doused it with snow. After Plato rearranged the lichen logs along the wall, the three men set off.

  The weather was warmer than before, but that wasn’t saying much. Or perhaps Lucian was only getting used to it. They set a fast pace, Lucian fighting exhaustion with every step.

  He made his mind blank as he followed the path the two older men set for him. They walked across the gray, snow-ridden flats, each kilometer much the same as the last. Nor did they stop when night fell only a few hours after the sunrise. Linus did not pause—not for a minute. A fire would be hard to maintain in this blasted landscape, and there wasn’t even the fuel to start one. They would be walking long into the Volsung night, not resting until they reached home. The promise of good stew, a crackling fire, and his hammock was enough to keep Lucian moving.

  Hours passed. They ate frozen fish and seaweed on the trail. When they reached the high hills, they took shelter in a cleft. Linus did a little digging and scrounged up one of their caches. Inside were lichen logs, which they used to start a fire. By now, Lucian’s teeth were chattering, and his extremities were numb. Warmth was necessary if they wanted to make it back home with all their fingers and toes.

  They also heated some stew. Food was necessary to have the energy for the rest of the march. An hour later, they were off again. Trying to get up the slope was a battle of will, Lucian fighting exhaustion and cold with every step.

  But Linus had steered them well. They passed through the hills, emerging in the relatively flatter terrain beyond. The two men knew the way so well that they did not need torchlight. When Linus announced they were about an hour from home, their pace increased.

  It was only a quarter of an hour later that a massive boom reverberated across the landscape. Linus and Plato shared a worried look and hurried to climb a nearby hill. Once at the top, they scanned the southern horizon. An orange trail streaked across the aurora-infused sky, heading for the island.

  Lucian didn’t have to ask what it was.

  “Run!” Linus called.

  Lucian ran. He found it hard to keep pace with the hardened old men. Even Plato, with his extra heft, had no trouble matching Linus’s swiftness. The prison shuttle would have thermal scanners on board. A quick survey of the island would reveal all three of them out here in the open, ripe for the picking. Only the shelter of the cave would keep them safe.

  Under the dancing auroras, they ran across the snowy hills, Lucian’s lungs burning with cold. When they reached the top of the next hill, he spied the ocean beyond the cliffs. They had about a kilometer to go. He ran hard, his legs rebelling, wanting to quit. But he couldn’t quit, even if the cold air felt like icy knives stabbing at his lungs.

  He had already lost the two older men in the distance. Yet, he pressed on. He had no choice. The orange streak had dissipated by now, but a contrail was still visible in the southern sky. Even now, the ship was surely roving the island, seeking prey. It would likely be over the central village by now. If Lucian were lucky, they would investigate it despite the lack of heat readings. If he were unlucky, they would continue their scan of the island’s southern half.

  Lucian soon reached the entrance of the trail leading down into the cave. There was no sign of Linus or Plato, so they had to be down there already. He started down the path, but something stopped him.

  He couldn’t run. If anything about last night was real, he couldn’t stay here. Even Binding Magic wouldn’t allow him to escape this island. Civilization was simply too far away.

  So, what was the answer then? To allow himself to be captured and sent to a moon where there was absolutely no possibility of escape?

  He remembered then what Linus and Plato had called Psyche: the Mystery Box. He didn’t know what he would get if he went there, but there might be some chance of escaping, of figuring out the next step.

  In all of Linus and Plato’s years here, neither had figured out a way to get off this island. What made him think that he would? Then again, the same argument could be made for Psyche.

  It all hinged on this moment. Could he be the Chosen, as the Oracle had suggested? Was the best way to find the other Orbs to leave this place behind? Psyche was at least movement, changing his circumstances. He knew it was madness. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself.

  He turned away from the trail and walked inland.

  He was only walking for half a minute when lights rose above the hill ahead, blinding him with their brilliance, accompanied by the roar of a spacecraft's engine.

  He could only hope Linus and Plato were safe, their heat signatures hidden by the ground between them and the ship.

  Lucian did the only thing he could do. He lifted his hands and placed them behind his head.

  And he kept walking.

  When the ship’s engine ebbed, Lucian knew they had spotted him. He walked toward the light, taking in the sight of the vessel shadowed against the aurora-filled sky.

  When the ship landed, a boarding ramp extended from amidships with a metallic whir. The boarding door slid open, and a stream of men with gauss rifles and energy shields clomped down the ramp. There were about a dozen of them. Would they shoot him on sight, or take him to Psyche? Lucian’s heart thundered as he realized he might only have seconds left to live.

  “I surrender,” Lucian called out. The roar of the ship drowned out his voice.

  “Don’t move!”

  That was when something sharp pricked against Lucian’s skin, right in his abdomen. He had enough time to look down and see a hole in his clothing, along with a dart.

  His head swam, and darkness took him.

  He awoke in a white-walled cell lying on his back. Head pounding, he forced himself into a sitting position. He kept his eyes closed, fading in and out a couple of times before coming to full wakefulness. The cell was small, though not quite as small as the one on the Burung. He had a small cot, a toilet, and a sink. There was no window except for the small one at head level in the door. And in the background, there was a strange whirring sound. An energy shield, maybe? He wouldn’t only have to bust through the door to escape, but the shield lying beyond it.

  Lucian was not inclined to test his abilities against that.

  How long would he have to stay in this place alone, without so much as a conversation to break the monotony?

  He could only hope that they hadn’t found Linus and Plato. He could never forgive himself if they had been captured.

  Panic clutched his chest, and almost by reaction, he sought his Focus and fed it all his fears. It didn’t make them go away, but it allowed him to see the problem from a grander perspective. And beyond the Focus, he could sense the power of the Manifold. It was a sleeping giant, an entity he had not touched in weeks. How easy it would be to reach for it now, to let it consume him until there was nothing left of his block.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  But there was more than himself to consider. There was the Orb. He was now its steward, perhaps even this Chosen the Oracle had been talking about. And he had to find the other Orbs, as difficult as that would be. As impossible as that would be.

  The door slid open, revealing a soldier clad head to toe in crimson plasma armor. His energy shield was engaged, forming a protective bubble of light around him. With both hands, he held a gauss rifle, while his head was hidden beneath a conical helmet with a tinted visor.

  Lucian willed his heart to slow down. He needed to stay calm here. Nothing good would come from panic. He held his Focus, deciding it was best to be ready for anything. He didn’t want to use magic, but he would do so without hesitation if this soldier so much as twitched that gun in his direction.

  “You don’t seem crazy yet.” The soldier’s young, male voice came out garbled and robotic.

  Lucian elected not to speak. He would do so only if the soldier asked him a direct question.

  “You’re onboard the LPB Worthless. That’s League Prison Barge. You’re being transported to Psyche, per the treaty the government of Volsung has with the Volsung Academy.” From the soldier’s tone of voice, it was clear he was reciting a script. “Per the Treaty of Chiron signed in 2314, you have no right to a trial, but must be informed of the reasons for your imprisonment. Those reasons are: you are a registered exile of the Volsung Academy, and per the Treaty of Chiron, a registered exile mage must be excised to the prison moon of Psyche, kept alive and hale in proper conditions aboard a reasonably kept prison ship, and safely put down on the moon’s surface. Do you have any questions?”

  “Yeah,” Lucian said. “How long until Psyche?”

  “A long time. For you and me both.” The guard sounded bored as if he would rather be anywhere but here. “The energy field surrounding your cell, in case you’re wondering, will make your magic pretty much worthless. Prison barges have the biggest power plant of any League vessel, and those power plants make these shields impossible to break. And if you do manage to break out—which has never happened before—there’s a Century of the League’s Wardens to greet you with their shields and gauss rifles, the best creds can buy. If you somehow take them out, the ship itself can’t be overridden. Any course deviation must be verified by every First World. So, unless you have people in place on Earth, Chiron, Volsung, Oceanus, and Tethys, then this ship’s course can’t be altered.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on trying.”

  “That’s a good boy.”

  “You have a lot of confidence in this shield.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” The soldier’s voice sounded a bit nervous. It hadn’t been Lucian’s intention to make the man second-guess his beliefs. But questions often had a way of doing that.

  “Can you be any more specific about how long it will take?”

  “Months?” He looked back over his shoulder. “Any hint of trouble, well, things won’t go too well for you. Good behavior gets rewards. We’re not maniacs here, though some of the guards are, to be honest.”

  The man was rambling, and Lucian was wondering what the point of all this was.

  “Anyway. It gets damn boring on here, even for us. Oh yeah, I was supposed to ask. Was there anyone else on that island, or just you?”

  “Just me,” Lucian said. “There was another exile who committed suicide in the village.”

  “Yeah, we found him,” the guard said. “Well, that’s all I wanted to know. As I said, if you don’t raise a fuss, we might see about a slate to help pass the time. You need to stay quiet for a week, though. Think you can manage that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Smart mage. All right. Take it easy. Don’t fray on us just yet.”

  The cell door slid shut, and once again, Lucian was left to his own devices.

  Lucian found the guard’s friendly nature strange. Maybe they found that treating the mages well tended to have better results. It might even be more useful than the shields and cells surrounding the ship’s perilous cargo.

  Well, Lucian knew there was little hope of escaping. He didn’t think the guard was lying to him about anything. And even if Lucian had the Orb of Binding, he still didn’t know how to use it, or even if it would give him the miraculous powers the Oracle had mentioned. What those possibilities were remained to be seen.

  Lucian realized that there was only one way off this ship, and that was the Mad Moon. The main question was how to occupy his mind in the meantime.

  The only thing he could think about was his conversation with the Oracle. Whether he liked it or not, this was the path he had chosen on the spur of the moment. For now, it was the way forward. But just as he had an Orb, someone else out there had one, too. Or even multiple Orbs. And they’d had them for well over a century. That person could still be alive today. The Oracle said the Orbs granted longer life, but also that it wouldn’t grant true immortality until all Seven were held by the same person. And that person would be the Chosen of the Manifold.

  It was hard to swallow, but he had to believe it was true. He had boarded this ship, staking his future on it.

  For the first time in a long time, he would have the chance to think. And so, he thought, even long after the first meal of hot porridge was delivered through the wall. There were six more Orbs out there, somewhere. And then he had to take those Orbs to the Heart of Creation. He could find that through the First Gate, in Dark Space. Where the Alkasen lurked.

  He repeated the details over and over in his mind until they had infused themselves into his memory. Seven Orbs. Seven Oracles. And one other who had at least found one Orb. Of all the places in all the Worlds, Linus and Plato had led him into that cave. Or had something drawn him there?

  Conjecturing wouldn’t lead to solid answers. He knew some mages believed in the Orbs and had even gone off to seek them. Was it so hard to believe that one of those dozens of mages had found one?

  Thinking of Linus and Plato filled Lucian with sadness. In their minds, they must have thought they had left him behind. If they were wise, they hadn’t come after him. Lucian could only hope.

  Whatever the case, Lucian realized that something new was coming with Psyche. Something he was not prepared for. No doubt hundreds of mages, mad and sane, had made Psyche their unwilling home. It wouldn’t be possible to know how to prepare for the Mad Moon until he touched down.

  The Cupid system was two Gate jumps away from Volsung, meaning it would be at least a few months to get there. But if this ship was beginning its round by traveling away from Psyche, it might be well over a year before he saw the surface of the Mad Moon.

  Lucian was not sure which he preferred. The cell was small, yes, but it was also safe. For all he knew, he might die the minute he set foot on the Mad Moon. That would be convenient for the League. As soon as a mage stepped outside the airlock, it was only to breathe a poisonous atmosphere. Lucian realized they couldn’t do that, though, at least according to that treaty the soldier had recited to him. Then again, if the League didn’t intend to follow the treaty, they wouldn’t waste massive resources to bring mages to Psyche in the first place. Then again, that safety only guaranteed his conveyance to the surface of the Mad Moon. It didn’t guarantee his safety beyond that.

  Lucian played many scenarios in his mind in a nonstop stream. He even imagined Psyche might be a relative paradise, where mages had made the best of things. Why not? Linus and Plato had done that with the Isle of Madness.

  Lucian meditated, he slept, and he ate. There was nothing else to his life. Despite the guard’s promise, there was no slate. Compared to the drab walls of his cell, the gray skies and rocks of the Isle of Madness were a rainbow tapestry. At night, he would dream of the auroras, the sharp cold wind with its clean salt-laden scent. He could hear the scuttling of rock shellocks in the tundra. He could see Plato in his gardening, and Linus in his fishing. He hoped they were both doing well with whatever they had left of their lives.

  And of course, he dreamed of Emma, longing for her warm embrace in the coldness of his cell. He dreamed of the Oracle, too, and her words to him. It seemed like something that had never happened as the days and weeks ticked by. It became a dream, but a dream he chose to believe in.

  He had nothing else.

  He didn’t dare stream. He had learned to live without magic, thanks to Linus and Plato’s lessons. But he knew he would never know the truth of what the Oracle said unless he streamed Binding Magic at some point.

  That meant waiting for Psyche. He would try then. Something told him, in that brutal place, streaming was a fact of life. One couldn’t survive without it.

  But if the Orb was real, then he would have an advantage over every other mage there. Perhaps his only advantage.

  If he died, however, none of it would matter.

  Lucian only knew a day had passed every time the lights dimmed. This happened ten times. Then twenty. Then thirty.

  By this point, Lucian had thought about everything there was to think about. He talked aloud if only to hear a voice. He was moved to tears at various points. Soon, there was no emotion left but numbness. He felt divorced from mind and body, as much an object as his cot, sink, or toilet. Unmoving, uncaring, adrift in a sea of imagination and dreams.

  He spent most of his time with his eyes closed. And in the darkness of his mind, there was stillness and calm. He found a new purpose—to prepare his mind as much for Psyche as possible. To do what no mage had done before.

  Escape.

  He reached for his Focus, willing himself to hold it as long as possible. He sensed his pool and the Manifold beyond it. He felt for each of the Seven Aspects, one by one. His block was still there, but he knew he could dissolve it at any moment. At some point, he would have to stream again. And he would stick to Binding Magic, as far as it was possible. He needed to be alive and healthy to complete his mission.

  He always told himself to hold out another day. To wait. And to hold onto his Focus, from the moment he awoke to the moment he slept. He would hold it until the day of his arrival.

  He no longer paid attention to the light or his meals. He would eat and not be mindful of the taste, almost as if he weren’t eating at all. He went through the ritual of the weekly shower the guards allowed him. He never met any other person or saw any face, for the guards hid their features behind their helmets at all times.

  Weeks bled into months. His beard had grown thick, falling to his chest. His hair was long and shaggy, nearly reaching his shoulders. What month was it now on Volsung? Winter was surely over, and the Novices would again be training under a northern sun. He had a vision of Emma training, learning, on the path to becoming a Talent of the Academy. He hoped she never thought of him. He hoped she might forget him forever and walk the path denied to him.

  And then, one day, the door slid open, revealing an empty corridor. The buzzing of the energy shield, which had been a constant background drone for months, was gone.

  Lucian’s heart raced; his mind did not accept this new reality. It had to be just another dream. This cell was his home now. His life.

  He had almost forgotten that there was a wider universe out there. The only world he knew was the one inside his mind.

  “Stand,” came a forceful male voice from some hidden speaker. “Walk outside your cell and do nothing more on pain of death.”

  It was only with that command that Lucian realized the truth.

  They had arrived. Soon, he would be walking on the surface of a new world.