Remnants: Season of Wonder (A Remnants Novel)

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “We are the protectors of your new Ailith kin. I raised Tressa and Tyree raised Killian, right here in the city,” he said, “when their own parents were killed.”

  “Understood. But Clennan, why did you not train Tressa to wield a weapon?” Niero said gently, his eyes shifting from Tyree to Clennan and back again. “It was the charter of every Ailith protector.”

  “He did,” Tressa said, taking a deep breath and shaking her head. Twists of auburn hair moved around her shoulders. “It is only that I cannot bear to inflict pain on another. Perhaps as a healer, it is not within my blood.”

  “The warrior is within every Ailith’s blood,” Niero said dismissively.

  “No,” I said. “She tells the truth.” I had to let the others know of my … incapacity. Warn them that I could help, but might not be ultimately reliable. “In battle this night … Something’s transpired with my gift since our own ceremony within the Citadel. Now I feel every emotion around me. It’s almost as if it’s physical, Niero. And once blood is shed or pain is felt, it’s as if I feel that pain as well.”

  Niero’s eyes narrowed.

  “Well, that was not foretold,” Vidar said with a humorless laugh, clapping Ronan on the shoulder. “You’re going to have quite the task ahead of you, brother.”

  Ronan shoved off his hand, concerned eyes washing over me, trying to think through the information I’d given them. Bellona stared hard at me, disappointment edging her eyes. Tressa gave me the pained look of a sister who knew my frustration, but she seemed to have accepted it. Even before we arrived. Before her reception as an Ailith, sealed with the armband. Her look of understanding irritated me, and I glanced away.

  I didn’t want to be understood. I didn’t yet understand it myself.

  “It is all right,” Niero said. “Our sisters are as the Maker intended them to be. We must trust in their gifting, even if they cannot be the warriors we imagined. And I will seek ways to aid them in managing it.”

  “There is more than one way to be a warrior,” Tressa said gently.

  Niero’s eyes searched hers. “Agreed. I shall look forward to seeing how that might come to pass, sister. But for now we must escape this city. Before they find us.”

  “We have much yet to say,” said Tyree.

  “And you shall say it,” Niero said. “After we are free from the reach of the Lord of Zanzibar. Because something tells me he won’t appreciate the fact that we’ve stolen a prisoner sentenced to die from his own castle walls.”

  “You’d be right on that count,” Killian said. “If they catch us, our death shall not be swift. It shall last days.”

  I shivered, my mind too readily comprehending what he could mean.

  Ronan slipped his big hand around mine as they discussed options for our flight, our clasped fingers hidden by the folds of our long oilskin slickers. I hoped my face did not betray my surprise. But what I felt from him was courage. Hope. Faith.

  While there was a part of me that hungered for love, I’d take what I could get, even if it was only my dearest friend trying to ease me back to comfort and peace. I dared to give him a quick, smiling glance, and his eyes — those beautiful greenbrown eyes I loved so much — smiled back at me. Could he feel my emotions? They sang within me, but the predominant one was gratitude. With gladness a close second.

  I wanted him to hold my hand forever. I wanted to feel this connection with him, this blessed communion of emotion for days, weeks.

  But Niero was already on the move, picking up his pack. Urging those so recently healed of the Cancer to find their way back to their homes and families. “You must not tell them of what you’ve witnessed,” he said, raising a finger and slowly looking each one in the face.

  “Why not?” cried a boy. “It’s a miracle!”

  “Yes, why not?” asked a young man past his second decade. “Why not shout it from the city walls? Such glad news has not been heard in generations!”

  “Because we must not yet be discovered,” Niero said, glancing around at us. “There is much to do before our enemies are certain that the Ailith are on the move. And talk of Tressa’s high gifting will only fuel their fires of interest.” He looked back to those around us. “Please. I beg you. For our sake, keep silent. Because our work has just begun. There will come a time when we will want you to share it. Just not yet.”

  Slowly, each nodded. And I saw Tyree and Clennan share a satisfied look.

  In the end, we had to leave Tonna’s stabled mudhorses behind. There weren’t enough of them to carry us, and the guards would be paying far too much attention to those who exited the city anyway. Even though they were on heightened alert, with stealth we managed to draw near; upon Niero’s hushed “now,” Bellona and Killian took down a pair of guards with arrows, each deadly sure in their target. The men fell out of sight, and we froze and held our breaths, waiting for a shout of alarm. None came, and the seconds passed swiftly, each a moment closer to the next patrol along the wall. Killian heaved up an iron claw, and loops of rope disappeared up and up.

  I was already finding it difficult to breathe. Ronan took my arm and pulled me a few steps away. He reached for my other arm and leaned in close, his forehead nearly touching mine. “You can do this, Andriana,” he whispered. “Just keep your eyes on me. Pretend we’re in the trees again.”

  That was how our trainer had tried to wean me of my attachment to the ground — sending us high into the swaying cedars, in the wind and rain. To the top of a mountain ridge, again and again. Each time, the way I managed to keep moving, to not seize up in terror and refuse to move, was to keep my eyes on Ronan. Every handhold and foothold he took, I took afterward.

  “Without pause,” Ronan whispered. We both knew Niero was looking back at us, the others already climbing the rope.

  “Without pause,” I whispered back, my voice tight and strangled.

  Ronan took my hand firmly in his and went to the rope. He grabbed hold of it as high as he could, lifted himself up, and pulled up his knees, letting the rope interlace through his feet. Using the break-and-squat method we’d been taught, he pushed upward and repeated the movements. I made the mistake of looking above him, to Tressa just clearing the edge. And Bellona rising, nocking an arrow and letting it fly. She looked down at us, urgency coming off her in waves.

  “Dri,” Ronan said. “Come on.”

  Niero edged nearer to me and took my hands in his, then placed them high up on the rope, still covering them. He looked into my eyes. “You can do this, Andriana.”

  And in that moment, I thought I could. Courage seeped into me. I moved mechanically, falling a bit behind Ronan, but comforted by the fact that Niero was beneath me. I had the distinct impression that if I fell, he could reach out and grab hold of me, save me. But don’t think about falling, Dri. Nothing but the next squat. The next reach. Follow Ronan. Keep your eyes on Ronan. Sweat beaded on my brow, ran down beside my nose. I felt the salty taste of it on my lips as I licked them, swallowed hard, and reached again. In minutes we’d reached the top of the forty-foot wall, and Ronan reached down to grab my wrist and pull me the rest of the way up. Then he reached for Niero. The others were already going down the other side; only Bellona and Vidar were still atop the crennellated walkway, each peering the opposite way, waiting for the dead guards to be discovered. “Go, go,” Bellona urged.

  I know Ronan couldn’t see my expression in the dark — the nearest torch had been extinguished, which might draw its own attention any second — but he knew me. Wordlessly, he took a second rope and fashioned quick knots, panting so hard I could feel his breaths wash over me. “What are you doing?” Niero hissed. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Go,” Ronan said. “We’ll be right after you.”

  I heard the thrum of Bellona’s bowstring and looked up in time to see a soldier fall on the short stairwell of the next tower. His companion began to cry out, but her next arrow sliced through his neck, effectively silencing him. I gulped and then swallowed
down the bile rising in my throat, dimly aware that Ronan was sliding a loop around my leg, and then the other, pulling it up to create a seat then wrapping the belt around me.

  “As entertaining as this is, we really should be off,” Vidar quipped.

  I had no more time for delay or complaint. Ronan didn’t whisper a “Ready?” warning or anything. He just shoved us off the edge. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his back, knowing I must be hurting him yet unable to do anything else in my terror. My heart was pounding so painfully that I wondered if it would explode. Right here. Along the wall of Zanzibar. My companions would have to leave my dead body behind, or carry me along in order to leave no evidence of who had breached the high walls.

  The rope shuddered and I swallowed a scream, concentrating on Ronan, the comforting smell of him. A smell I’d known for years. Of pine and leather and a musky, manly sweat. I pulled in closer and put my head under his chin, my nose against his sweater, trying to convince myself that I was back home. Just doing an exercise with our trainer. Not on the brink of disaster. Or on the perilous edge of endangering not only myself but my precious Ailith kin too. Only that thought kept me clenching my teeth and my lips closed.

  At last, at last my feet touched soil and my knees gave way. I would’ve fallen, a limp, pathetic mess, but Ronan held me up. He took hold of my arms as Bellona and Vidar and Niero joined us. Niero wordlessly unknotted my rope cradle and slid it from my legs. And then we began to run, waiting for the shouts, the bells, the arrows.

  But none came.

  When Clennan and Tyree had to stop, I leaned over, hands on knees, panting, struggling not to fall all the way to the ground again. The wall was far behind us now. I’d faced my worst fear and made it through.

  Correction, Dri. Ronan and Niero bodily hauled you over the wall. Deep within, I knew that had it been up to me, I would’ve found another way out. Or died trying. Anything but go up and over …

  “What in the heck was that?” Bellona said, lifting her chin. I could see her outline five feet away, in the dim light of the waning moon. But I didn’t have to see her face in order to make out her resentment. She walked over to me. “What in the heck was that?” she repeated. “You could’ve gotten us killed!”

  Ronan edged between us. “Back off, Bellona,” he whispered, his tone carefully tempered.

  But she didn’t look away from me. “Are you incapacitated by heights? Is that it? If so, it would’ve been good to know before we were facing off with a kajillion enemy guards.”

  “I know,” I murmured, forcing myself to rise and square my shoulders. “I’m sorry. There was no time.”

  “Next time,” she said with disgust, leaning closer, ignoring Ronan’s hand in a V at the base of her throat, preventing her from actually touching me. “Make time. Saints, those old guys made it over easier than you.” She whirled around and looked at the rest of the group. “Any others with a phobia we should know about?”

  The group was silent, stricken by her anger but understanding it too.

  “I’m not super fond of spiders,” Vidar said, all white teeth in the dark.

  “Vid,” Bellona warned.

  “I’m serious. Eight legs? That’s downright freaky.” I could see his deep dimples in shadow.

  “Vid,” Bellona repeated. “You want to talk serious? Any weakness among us weakens us all,” she said, shaking off Ronan’s hand and brushing past my shoulder.

  “She’s right,” I said, in barely more than a whisper. “I might endanger you all.”

  “There’s not a one of us who doesn’t have a weakness,” Niero said, placing his warm hand on my shoulder as I took a shaking breath. “You’ve done well, Andriana. And you too, knight,” he said to Ronan. His dark eyes moved back to me. “But you must lean on the Maker to show you the way through this fear, Andriana, as you would any others.”

  “This isn’t like any other fears,” I whispered faintly.

  “Ah,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

  He moved away from us then, leaning down to retrieve a canteen from his pack, which he then passed around. Vidar cracked a joke, hoping to lighten the mood, and soon we were walking again, all of us eager to put as much distance between us and the dark city before the sun rose.

  “Why hasn’t an alarm still not sounded?” Clennan asked, voicing the question on all of our minds.

  “He won’t like it,” Tressa said. “The Lord of Zanzibar. He’ll see it as an embarrassment. We’ll have wounded his pride. And made ourselves a very powerful enemy.”

  “That’s all right,” Vidar said. “We came, we saw, we scurried away into the night. No need to ever go back there, right, Niero?”

  Niero remained silent.

  After a beat, Vidar said, “I don’t suppose it’s in you to lie to us once in a while, is it, man? A little fib once in a while might make our way easier. We won’t hold it against you, I swear.”

  “Yeah,” Niero said. “That’s not how the Maker made me.”

  Vidar sighed audibly. “Sometimes honor and integrity suck.”

  I didn’t care why no alarm rang that night, really, only felt deep thankfulness that grew the farther we got from the dark city’s wall. We padded at an even, steady pace, the old men lumbering, farther and farther behind, but with ragged and yet determined breaths. We continued on through a deep, incessant, drenching rain and the bone-deep chill of predawn. As the sun began to lighten the skies to the east, Niero paused at a ravine and urged us down and into it, fearing that even though there were miles between us, the guards on the towers of Zanzibar might see us through their looking glasses and come after us. “We’ll never outrun them,” he said. “Our best course is to hide through the day and resume our journey come nightfall. The rains will wash away our prints.”

  “We hope,” Vidar said under his breath.

  We followed along the ravine, seeking to discover a cave to shelter in. But while we did not find a cave, we found a curious rusting metal construct.

  “What is it?” I asked, as Niero put his hand on the open, ragged edge. The top of it was three times as tall as he.

  “A transport, from the War,” said Tyree. “I’d heard there was one out here.”

  As it began to rain again, Niero shrugged and said, “I call it sanctuary,” clambering in.

  We all hurried inside, as even our oilskins had become soaked in the constant rain. On the walls were the rotting remains of belts and cushions on top of a metal bench. Chairs, I decided. The partial skeleton of one soldier still hung against a sagging chest belt, as if strapping him in for eternity. I hurriedly looked around for others. Vidar and Bellona were already in the front, where I could see small, dirt-encrusted windows. “Two more up here. Looks like they died, never trying to get out.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “How? How’d they get here?”

  “It was a war plane,” Clennan, said, comprehending by our expressions that we did not recognize his words. “In the olden times, there were huge machines that flew in the sky. Planes,” he said, thrusting his flat hand forward, “and helicopters, which had the power to hover as well as fly forward. They were part of the country’s defense. And her offense as well.”

  We of the Valley shared confused looks. We knew of the War, of course, and had read of such machines. But this was lost history rising before our eyes. We’d seen other old machines in the ancient, abandoned villages when we’d gone out gleaning. Cars. Dishwashers. Boxes I’d heard called computers. But never anything that flew in the sky. Where had the rest gone?

  As we sifted through the old plane, looking for usable supplies and finding them long-since stripped — by Drifters, most likely — we spread out our bedrolls along the benches and laid down to listen to our elders share what they knew.

  “What more do you know of the War?” Tyree said.

  “I know that it began, far to the East,” Niero said.

  Tyree grunted, taking a seat as if the action pained him. “There was severe unrest.
Radical thought. Terrorists, they called them. Governments fell. Others rose. As did ancient rivalries.”

  “Both sides vowed to never be taken,” Clennan said, eying Killian.

  “Vowed to fight to their death. Vowed to see their own nations destroyed before they fell to their enemies,” Tyree said.

  “Which they did,” Clennan said.

  “It was all destroyed,” Killian put in. “Every major city. They unleashed toxins that set the Cancer free, washing through the populations of those that had survived the bombs, destroying them from within. And then it evolved and seemed to stay with us, in us, rising again and again in every generation.”

  Tressa winced, even though this history was clearly known to her. But I sat still, enrapt. I’d known of the War — of the time when all changed and our people fled into hiding — but little else. Why had my parents not told me? Had they not known either? This part of history was not in the books we’d read; it was passed from one generation to the next in story.

  “The climate had changed decades before, making things all the more tumultuous. First a long drought, which weakened us from within — setting one kingdom against another due to fighting over water. Then the Great Wet that we still know of today, though, to my eyes, it seems to be lifting.” He shrugged. “Still, crops failed from lack of rain, then from drowning. Animals were hunted to extinction. Some bodies of water became riddled with a brain-eating parasite, so even those surrounded by water became fearful of drinking it. And the Cancer …” He shook his head. “For several generations, those who lived thought they would be the last of their kind.”

  We were all silent for several long moments, trying to absorb such horror.

  “So is it true? Are we are all who remain?” Bellona said. “What of the others who once lived beyond the Desert?”

  Tyree shrugged. “I’ve heard tell that there are others still across the Great Seas. Pacifica purports that she protects us all from them, and maybe she does.” He lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug, hands splayed. “Zanzibar trades with her, as do others. And she must not suffer the Great Wet, because we get wheat, salt, and fruit from her trader trains. Stores no other kingdom can deliver as of yet. Clearly, there are still people there. And from what we can gather, that is where most power emanates. Zanzibar and other kingdoms all bow to that one in the west.”