Remnant

by Brenda J. Pierson

  He was a Varyah. Life could never be normal again.

  Her mind circled through the last weeks, a constant stream of memories made too clear by the pain of loss. It was as if the Windrunner she’d known had died, leaving his ghost in her thoughts and this corpse behind. As much as she wanted to believe he was still Windrunner, he couldn’t be. Not with that horrid magic in him.

  But he’d always had that magic. The man she’d known had Destruction magic just as the man who walked … not beside her, but off to the side, does. Yet that Windrunner had been a good man. She’d known it. Did that mean he could still be a good man, even with that magic discovered, identified, and growing within him?

  She glanced at him. Her heart ached seeing the pain in his expression. He shouldn’t look like that. He should be smiling and making bad jokes that still somehow made her chuckle. He should be Windrunner, the way he was.

  Could he still be that man?

  She had to believe he could overcome his magic. Her whole philosophy had been turned upside down when Windrunner arrived. He’d given her a way out of the world she’d come to despise. But if he was really evil, if his magic fated him to become Varyah, and therefore corrupt to the core … then she’d left all that was good in the world to follow him.

  None of that made sense. Windrunner was good, despite his magic. She knew the Godspeaker was corrupt, despite his. That had to be right.

  It had to be.

  Still, she couldn’t bear to look at him. Varyah.

  She couldn’t believe she was hoping to be proved wrong. Varyah were evil. Their magic was dark, dangerous, and sickening. She could almost feel it now, permeating the air, making her choke …

  No. Not almost. She could feel it. Varyah magic. Close.

  Her staff was in her hands in an instant, without her having to think of it. The wood was warm with magic. She took a bit of it and Created a shield around herself, then Created strength within her. Both were ethereal concepts and difficult to enact, but she’d practiced with these tricks for years. They used almost all of her magic reserves. What choice did she have, though? She needed the advantage should an enemy appear.

  Her blood ran hot at the thought of confronting a Varyah here. She’d waited her whole life to repay them for her pain. She was more than ready to start now.

  The dark magic washed over her, raising goosebumps on her skin and making her shiver with disgust. Where was it coming from?

  Brinelle shot a glare at Windrunner.

  “What?” he asked. He raised his hands in surrender.

  He seemed genuinely confused. Besides, his magic was still raw. He didn’t have much control of it. This was more refined, much more skilled and powerful than anything Windrunner could have conjured. “Varyah magic,” she whispered.

  “It wasn’t me,” he said, showing her his palms as if to prove his innocence.

  “I know that,” she said. She was sick with worry. If Windrunner hadn’t cast the magic, that meant there was another one out there. “Something’s wrong. Can’t you feel it?”

  He started to shake his head, then paused. His brow furrowed as he stared into the distance, concentrating. She could see the darkness fall over his face, his expression twisting into something cruel. It looked unnatural on Windrunner. She wanted to smack it off.

  “Fi’ar!” Brinelle shouted.

  The urn warrior materialized from the darkness, running toward them with incredible speed. “What is it?” He held his long knives ready, and he looked eager for a fight.

  “Can you feel it?” Brinelle asked.

  Fi’ar paused. “It is nothing,” he said.

  Windrunner shook his head. “No. It’s not nothing. I can feel it now.” His eyes met Brinelle’s, and much of the darkness vanished. His eyes flit down to her side. Her knuckles were as white as her staff. Windrunner paled.

  She had to consciously ease her grip and back away from the urge to strike at Windrunner. He wasn’t the source of this magic. But knowing he was Varyah didn’t help.

  Brinelle put her back to her companions and scanned the horizon, though she knew she wouldn’t see anything. If there was a Varyah around, they would be too skilled to be noticed. And if they were as powerful as their magic indicated, they could be standing right beside her and she’d never know.

  She cast another look at Windrunner. She couldn’t help the suspicions from rising. Stop it. He may be a Varyah, but he’s been loyal from the beginning. He isn’t an enemy waiting by your side to strike.

  She wished she could believe that.

  “What would a Varyah be doing out here?” Windrunner asked.

  “Anything they wanted to,” Brinelle said. It wasn’t uncommon to hear of Varyah roaming the deep desert, either looking for Evantar or on some mysterious errand of their own. Most of the hunts the Godspeaker used to condone remained in Nevantia. There were Varyah scattered across the world, of course, but they tended to gravitate here. Their magic made them megalomaniacs, always searching for more power. And nowhere had as much ambient magic as the deep desert.

  Still, it made her uneasy knowing there was a Varyah around. Had they noticed her and her companions? Were they the reason he, she, had come here? Three people alone in the middle of the desert did make a good target.

  There was no way they could know the Varyah’s intent. Altering their plans to account for a mystery such as this would be foolish.

  “So, if there’s a Varyah around, what do we do?” Windrunner asked.

  Fi’ar’s voice was devoid of emotion. “Hurry.”

  THEY HURRIED.

  They continued their southwesterly trek across the desert, finally reaching the last of the endless sand dunes and the beginning of endless water. Windrunner stared in awe at the surging ocean, shimmering waves rolling in from the horizon that glittered in the moonlight. He’d never seen so much water. How far did it go? What was on the other side? His imagination ran wild.

  When morning came, they descended to a small harbor nestled in the shallows. There were three ships moored nearby and maybe two dozen shanties lining the docks. About a dozen people were gathered on the northern edge of town, loading cargo onto several large animals. As they drew closer, Windrunner couldn’t tear his eyes from them.

  “Watch yourself,” Brinelle told him. “Camels spit.”

  After some haggling about prices and cargos they secured passage to the Aquatic Grasslands of Syrenia on a merchant ship named the Sea Gem. They wouldn’t sail until dawn, and instead of spending what little money they had on rooms for the night, they camped along the beach a little bit south of the docks.

  Windrunner took first watch and stared out at the ocean, amazed at the beauty of so much water. After a while his thoughts wandered from the silvery waves to the darkness pressing in on his chest.

  Feeling the magic of the Varyah the other night had shown Windrunner just what his magic could do. Until now he’d only had the magic inside him hinting at what was in his future. But the power he’d felt from the other Varyah was so far beyond anything he could have imagined. It felt intense and intoxicating, the way Windrunner had felt Destroying the mazahnen, but he hadn’t liked it one bit. It felt dark and evil, the way Brinelle had described it. It felt like everything he didn’t want to become, and that frightened him. Was he destined to become like that? Brinelle seemed to think so.

  The thought sent shivers down his spine.

  He knew how lucky he was. Brinelle had been so close to killing him the night she’d found out about his magic. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d convinced her to spare him. It was a thin grace, however. One wrong move and she wouldn’t hesitate again, he was sure of that.

  And just when he’d started to think there might have been something more on the horizon …

  It was all so backwards. Windrunner wasn’t supposed to have this kind of dark power. He wasn’t supposed to have magic at all—he was an average boy from the Farmlands, where nothing as strange as magic happened. They farmed, they
had families, they died. That was all. But now Windrunner was here, struggling with a power so dark it frightened him to the core. And he wanted it. At least part of him did, or he wouldn’t keep returning to it.

  He’d told Brinelle he didn’t want to be a Varyah. And that was true. He didn’t want to become such a dark, dangerous mage. But this magic … he did want to see what he could do with it. Couldn’t he take something dark and use it for good? Or at the very least, not cause horrible damage with it?

  Perhaps it was like some of the poisonous plants back home. Eat one, and it’s goodbye cruel world. But boil it down and it becomes a powerful medicine. If Windrunner allowed this magic free reign, it would get him killed—if not in its own right, then by Brinelle’s wrath. But a taste, here and there, tempered by his self-control and used with the best of intentions in mind …

  Maybe he could find a balance that would allow him to use this magic safely.

  When the Shahadán arrived, he had to be ready. But he had no idea whether his magic could even touch the monsters. If he explored the power, would he find out? And what would he do with it if it wouldn’t? It wasn’t as if he could tear it out from inside him.

  Could he?

  He had to control it. He’d been doing it his whole life. He could continue to do so.

  He hoped.

  11

  Windrunner watched the sun rise from the deck of the Sea Gem. Fi’ar had gone below as soon as they’d boarded and hadn’t emerged, which was fine by Windrunner. He didn’t miss the constant scowling and silent disapproval.

  Brinelle stood a bit off to the side, not quite apart but not quite next to him, either. He sighed. How long would it take for her to trust him again? He was more than ready to stop catching those furtive looks, as if she was spying on him when he wasn’t looking, watching for an evil laugh or random death to come shooting from his fingertips. He missed being plain old Windrunner to her. He missed having someone he could talk to. These days what talking they did revolved around training or lectures about magic. Not-so-subtle hints warning what would happen to him if he succumbed to his Varyah power littered every conversation. Small talk was out of the question.

  At least he didn’t have to walk anymore. That was something. Then again, he learned soon enough that the constant swaying of the ship was a workout all in itself. Standing still was now a full body exercise.

  So naturally, Brinelle declared this would be the perfect time to give him proper instruction in the use of his staff.

  Chatana drosand was hard enough on solid ground. On the ever-shifting deck of the Sea Gem, it was torture. By the time Brinelle called an end to their practice Windrunner’s legs felt like jelly.

  Each day was like that—grueling practices from sun up to sun down, struggling to stay on his feet through waves and chatana practices and never-ending weariness. Windrunner was starting to think he’d never stop being tired. He was a farmer, had grown up accustomed to hard work. But this was different than baling hay or harvesting corn. This was fluid and graceful and nonstop motion. He had to keep his knees bent at just this angle, hold his staff just this way, then twist and bear down and keep his footing and hope he didn’t mess anything up.

  Sometimes he wondered if Brinelle was doing this so she could take some potshots at him for being a Varyah. She never seemed to stay below deck for long before coming up for more practice, and she seemed to take a little more pleasure in getting hits through his defenses these days. Then again, he caught her muttering about the wisdom in training a Varyah to fight as well as a knight of Evantar, too. He tried to ignore that.

  He’d prove himself to her. Somehow.

  THEY WERE SET to arrive at Syrenia within a day, and Windrunner had never been more ready to reach their destination. Sailing was fascinating for a time, but after a few days it got boring. When Brinelle wasn’t taking the opportunity to work him to the bone there was nothing he could do but stare out at the waves. After ten days or more, even that sight had become dull. Windrunner was ready for something new.

  He leaned against the railing, watching the never-changing horizon, enjoying the all-too-brief moment of respite. Brinelle would come to him soon for more practice, or Fi’ar would stomp by complaining about something. Windrunner had to take his breaks whenever he could find them.

  At first, Windrunner dismissed the flash of light as nothing of importance. Between blue water and even bluer sky, it was little more than one glint of light among many. But as it grew brighter and started changing color, Windrunner watched. It seemed familiar. He’d seen shifting, colored light like that before, when …

  Heart in his throat, he sprinted from the railing. He barreled straight into Brinelle, both of them stumbling from the impact.

  He couldn’t get the words out, so he grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him.

  Brinelle gasped. Windrunner didn’t need to point out the light—it had grown so bright it shone like a beacon. Dark, vicious-looking storm clouds had gathered over it. Even as he watched they grew bigger, like ink spreading through water. Lightning flashed.

  Even worse, they seemed to be sailing straight for it.

  “That’s a portal, isn’t it?” Windrunner asked. “And those … We’re too late.”

  Brinelle’s eyes brimmed with tears and she gripped his hand tighter. Windrunner didn’t know what to do—if he drew attention to it, would she realize she was clinging to a Varyah rather than her friend?—so he held her hand in silence and watched the storm grow.

  The captain began shouting orders, and the deck was thrust into organized chaos. Windrunner knew better than to try to help. He’d just get in the way.

  He and Brinelle stood at the railing, holding tightly to it and one another, not speaking as the storm swallowed them. Its shadow was cold as death. The warm breeze morphed into an icy gale, sharp as needles. Grey washed over the seascape until everything was dark and monotone and ominous. Huge waves clawed at the ship, as if the water itself was trying to pull them into its blackened depths.

  Fi’ar stepped up beside Windrunner. He said nothing. Just joined them in their silent vigil as they watched the Shahadán enter their world.

  Salty water sprayed the deck, sluicing off the rigging and swirling around their ankles. The wind whistled through ropes and tore at the sails. The deck pitched beneath them so much it was a struggle to stay on their feet. But none of them moved. Their eyes were glued to the glowing portal, now close enough or bright enough—he couldn’t tell which—for them to see it clearly.

  A shadow blocked the radiant light of the portal. As much as he wanted to deny it, Windrunner knew what it was.

  He couldn’t turn away. His hair was soaked, clinging to his face, his clothes drenched and heavy. His stomach flopped as the ship was tossed by the waves. But all he could do was stare until he got his first glimpse of the Shahadán.

  Four stubby, shapeless limbs drooped from its body. Its head sagged on a boneless neck. Dragging behind was a long, slender tail from which lightning fell like a shredded cloak. Windrunner shuddered, wishing he could scrub the image from his mind. It looked like some half-decayed thing dredged from the bottom of the ocean. Even from this distance, Windrunner could feel the deathly magic surrounding it. It sickened him, made his skin crawl and his stomach bubble.

  The embodiment of Destruction magic. The epitome of what Windrunner could command. The power to make people vomit at the sight of me. No thanks.

  If the Shahadán turned its eyes toward him, he would be Destroyed without a struggle. That was the power of the Shahadán. Of the destructive magic inside Windrunner. In a creature as vile as the Shahadán, it was terrifying. But in someone like Windrunner, who could use the power to make the world a better place …?

  “Lost your confidence, funny man?” Fi’ar asked. The urn warrior must have seen Windrunner’s face—he was sure it had turned green long ago. Windrunner braced for another scathing insult, but instead Fi’ar nodded. “As it should be. The Shahadán are no
t enemies to be taken lightly.”

  No, they aren’t. The power they wield … it’s enough to change the world.

  The power I can wield.

  Thunder boomed overhead, so loud it rattled Windrunner’s bones. The ship creaked and another huge wave overtook them, slamming Windrunner with icy salt water. His knuckles were white on the ship’s railing. It was the only thing holding him upright.

  The crew of the Sea Gem was scrambling around the deck, fighting against rushing water and whipping winds to keep the ship afloat. Windrunner’s heart sank—it looked like they were losing.

  He released Brinelle’s hand and slid his way across the deck to the captain.

  “You’ll want to tie yourself down to something,” the captain shouted over the wind. “Last thing you’ll want is to get swept overboard.”

  “There has to be something we can do to help,” Windrunner cried.

  “Stay out of my crew’s way.” Before Windrunner could protest, the captain began shouting more orders and ran to help some crewmembers struggling with the sails.

  Windrunner staggered back to Brinelle and Fi’ar, the ship pitching ever more rapidly. Salty water splashed over the railings and drenched everything in sight. If it weren’t for the constant lightning, Windrunner wouldn’t have been able to see a thing.

  “We’ll sink if we don’t do something soon,” Windrunner said. “Can’t you use your magic?”

  “I cannot Create calm, Windrunner. Calm is the absence of storm.”

  “Why not? Can’t you imagine calm and use your magic to make it happen?”

  Brinelle frowned. “No, I can’t. Don’t you remember my lessons? That’s not the way magic works.”

  That’s the way it should work, Windrunner thought.

  “Fine. If you can’t Create calm … I can Destroy the storm.”

  Brinelle’s head snapped toward him so quickly he was surprised she didn’t break her neck. Her eyes were narrowed, her hand already reaching for her staff.