He’d become Tsenian to change a reality he would never accept. To save Brinelle’s life.
She moved to his side, stumbling because of her weakness. He was breathing steadily. Other than his arm, he didn’t seem to have any major injuries.
She reached for her pack and pulled it toward them. The small, half-empty jar of healing salve was leaking. She cursed her fall though the ice in the cave. The water had almost surely spoiled what little remained of it. Without its help, her magic would never be strong enough to heal a broken bone.
She set his arm and slathered some on it anyway. Windrunner’s arm would remain broken until it could heal on its own, but the least she could do was try to help.
She worked to splint the arm, tearing more strips from her sishamen. It couldn’t be considered a cloak anymore—by now it was just a large piece of shredded cloth, its magic gone. She made a sling and levered his arm into it. She was glad he was already unconscious for that. The pain could have overwhelmed him had he been awake.
Brinelle sat quietly while Windrunner slept, looking over what remained of the Farmlands. Their vantage point atop the boulders gave her a good view of the collapsed land, the new hills and valleys that had been created by destroying a peaceful place. It was unrecognizable from the land they’d entered yesterday. That land had been fertile, peaceful, and comfortable. This looked like the remains of a battleground, where giants had clawed up great swaths of earth and flung it at their foes. Brinelle doubted any amount of rain or healing could ever restore it to its former beauty.
She prayed everyone had made it out before the collapse. She knew it was impossible, that far too many people had lost their lives today, but she prayed it anyway. If only for the small comfort it gave.
Such a simple act had brought such immense destruction. Her heart was heavy knowing she’d not only condoned this, but helped to bring it about.
By removing the Remnant, she and Windrunner had wiped the Farmlands off the map.
Windrunner groaned, pulling her from the thoughts. She left them behind and went to his side. He opened his eyes and seemed to take a few moments to focus. When he did, his eyes locked on hers and wouldn’t leave. He stopped breathing.
Brinelle smiled down at him. She didn’t see darkness in his honey-brown eyes. No simmering evil waiting to surface. She just saw her Windrunner.
“Good morning.”
PLEASE DON’T LET this be a dream.
He couldn’t pull his eyes away. There she was, smiling. Beautiful. Alive.
Please don’t let me wake up and find her still dead.
He tried to reach for her, but bandages and searing pain kept his arm where it was. Damn broken elbow.
“I’ve splinted your arm. You’ll have to be patient as it heals, or at least until I can determine whether the healing salve is still viable.”
“Is this real?” he asked. She smiled again, her eyes shining. He couldn’t look away.
“You tell me. After all, it seems to be your magic at work.”
Windrunner couldn’t breathe. He’d done it. He’d changed reality, brought Brinelle back from the dead … and she was still here. His magic held. Brinelle was alive.
She helped him struggle to a sitting position. He didn’t let her go when he found his balance. He held her tight, pulling her closer, and kissed her.
He’d lost her once without ever telling her. Without ever kissing her. He would not make the same mistake twice.
She stiffened at his brashness, but a moment later relaxed into his kiss. Her lips were soft and sweet, her body against his everything he’d ever wanted. He reached up and cradled her head with his good arm, letting her hair sift through his fingers.
He broke the kiss reluctantly, only because he’d felt the tears running down her cheeks.
He pulled away enough to look into her eyes, still holding her close. She watched him with a strange mixture of sadness and joy. “What is it?” he asked.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I …”
Windrunner’s heart thumped in his chest. He pulled his hand away and sat back. “Can’t love a Varyah?” He should have known. Friendship was one thing. But this … she could never give her heart to someone with Destruction magic. It didn’t matter if he had Tsenian magic now. Once a Varyah, always a Varyah. She’d said so herself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …”
“No.” Brinelle stopped him mid-sentence. “It’s not you.”
Windrunner’s heart skipped a beat. He was going to be sick with the wild swing of emotions at this rate.
“I’ll never be able to go back to Evantar now,” she said.
“Is that … okay?”
Her gaze met Windrunner’s, her silvery-grey eyes sparkling with tears. “When I left, I never thought I might not want to return. But now …” She took a few breaths. “I think it is.”
Windrunner let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He leaned in and kissed her again, gently this time. “I can’t ever lose you again, Brinelle. Especially without you knowing how much I love you.”
“Then there’s a simple solution to that,” she said. “Don’t go anywhere I can’t follow.”
Windrunner laughed. “Deal.”
He stood, using a nearby boulder to help him balance. His body ached and his broken arm stabbed sharp pain through his entire side. Leaning against the boulder with his hip, he reached down with his good arm and helped Brinelle to her feet. She didn’t put a lot of pressure on him, thankfully.
They stood together, looking over the destruction they’d caused. He doubted he’d ever get over the heartbreak of seeing his homeland destroyed. Of knowing he’d been the one to do it.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Hand in hand, they turned away from the corpse of the Farmlands.
THEY DIDN’T MAKE it far before stopping. They were both bruised and sore from the battle, and neither of them had recouped much energy. Besides, they hadn’t seen a sign of their urn warrior companion since the Shahadán was destroyed.
Windrunner had filled Brinelle in on the final details of the Shahadán’s death. He didn’t gloss over anything, no matter how much he wanted to. The shift in his magic had been eerie, but he knew Brinelle needed to know about it.
“So you really are Tsenian,” she said. She sounded awed, but not altogether surprised.
“I think so. I mean, I felt something change and my magic was different. The Shahadán essentially melted under it.”
“And how did it feel to use it?” Brinelle asked.
“I’m not sure. I was still angry and wanting to destroy the Shahadán, but …” Windrunner frowned. “I kind of felt sorry for it, too.”
Brinelle nodded. “Did Fi’ar witness this?”
“He had to have noticed it at least a little. But he was still off fighting the mazahnen.”
“I wish he was here. I would love to get his opinion of the change in your magic.”
Windrunner looked around, uneasy. “Where is he, anyway?”
Brinelle shrugged. “Do you think he went back to the portal?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like him to up and disappear without some kind of insult.”
Brinelle glanced over at him. “You’re suspicious.”
He nodded. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
It was little more than a nagging feeling, but Windrunner couldn’t shake it off. Something was wrong, and had been ever since he’d woken. A subtle change in the air, or the feel of the ambient magic around them. It felt darker than it should. Like there was extra Varyah magic close by. He’d ignored it at first, thinking it was the lingering effects of the Shahadán. But this didn’t feel right. As if it belonged to someone else.
“I think …” Windrunner looked around. “I think we need to get out of here. Quickly.”
“Why?”
“Because if I’m right, we have a Varyah on our trail.”
Brinelle stood, holding her pack close at h
and. The Remnants rested inside—their best treasure and their only weapon. “What about Fi’ar?”
Windrunner didn’t want to abandon the urn warrior, no matter how much he irked him, but the sense of approaching danger was growing by the second. “I guess we’ll have to trust he can hold his own and find us again. He’d flay us if we suggested otherwise.”
“Where will we go?” Brinelle asked.
“To the portal, for now. At least until we can figure out where our next destination is.” He glanced around, his heart pounding. “And hopefully we can lose this guy in the trees.”
Battered and exhausted as they were, they took longer than Windrunner had wanted to get out of the boulder-strewn hills. He and Brinelle took turns supporting each other. His broken arm made it hard to balance and kept him swimming in a perpetual pained daze. Using as much magic as he had was taking its toll as well. He could feel himself slipping away from lucidity for moments at a time. Just the thought of using his power again made him queasy.
He looked over at Brinelle and managed a smile. It was worth it.
The sun was setting by the time they made it to the tree line. Twilight darkness enveloped the woods, reminding Windrunner of the first time he’d entered them those months ago. He was sure it had been the portal’s magic calling to him that night, leading him to Nevantia, though he still didn’t understand why. It hadn’t been to stop the Shahadán—he’d been the one to release them that night. He’d like to think it was some great plan of the magics, to force their hand so Windrunner could heal it, but he didn’t think that likely either. The magic wasn’t exactly sentient.
Then again, he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t, either. His magic had appeared and spoken to him as if it had its own identity, and the Remnant’s magic was so powerful it felt alive if nothing else. It had seemed to act of its own volition when he’d used it to destroy the Shahadán. Windrunner wouldn’t be surprised to find it was at least a little sentient.
He turned around. The air was still thick with the Varyah’s magic, and it was getting stronger. Or Windrunner was getting more nervous. Either way, they couldn’t wait around here much longer. The darkened trees were better to meet than an angry Varyah.
“How will we find our way back to the portal from here?” Brinelle asked as they plunged into the trees. “Everything looks the same to me.”
“Follow me.” He knew it was east of here and deeper in the woods, so he headed southeast and hoped he could keep that course. Even if he couldn’t they’d find themselves at the portal anyway. He could feel it. It would draw them to it, like flies to honey.
They raced through the trees. Windrunner’s heart pounded faster than his feet. He whipped around trunks and slid in undergrowth, trying to get some distance between them and their pursuer. Brinelle followed close on his heels.
So did the Varyah.
He tried to dart between trees and change direction, hoping to lose the Varyah, but the Destruction mage was tracking them like a bloodhound. As soon as Windrunner thought they might have lost him, or gained enough ground for them to slow, a tree beside them would vanish. The flood of dark Varyah magic followed them, never slowing, never getting fainter or farther away. It was always right behind them.
The portico appeared suddenly, and Windrunner tripped on the smooth stone again. He pushed Brinelle forward and they huddled against the bowl as if it could protect them. Windrunner reached for his staff, even though it would be useless to him now. He’d never be able to swing it with any kind of force or accuracy one-armed. But what else could he do—allow the Varyah to take him without a fight?
“Fi’ar isn’t here,” Brinelle said between breaths.
Windrunner nodded. He looked around, but the urn warrior was nowhere to be seen. Where had he gone? Had he disappeared for good?
The Varyah’s magic was much stronger now. It choked the air and made Windrunner’s own magic seethe with anger. He wanted to turn around and face it, head on. But he forced the emotions away. He had neither the strength nor time for that. All his energy had gone into defeating the Shahadán and saving Brinelle. If he got into a battle with a trained, powerful Varyah right now, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
“What now?” Brinelle cried.
Windrunner turned back to the portal. It looked innocuous enough, but he knew the power it contained. It could whisk them away from here in a heartbeat.
“Into the portal,” he said. “It’s our only chance.”
She looked at him, eyes wide with fear. “Windrunner, the Godspeaker banned the use of the portals for good reason. The boundaries separating them from the Shahadán are gone. We don’t know what we would face in there. Besides, neither of us have the strength to survive the trip.”
“We won’t stand a chance against the Varyah either, Brinelle. At least this way we might be able to escape.”
“I was dead a few hours ago, and you used immense amounts of Tsenian magic to destroy a Shahadán and bring me back to life. We aren’t in any shape to risk meeting the Shahadán in their own realm.”
They spun away as sounds of footsteps approached. The Varyah was close. Too close.
“Now or never,” Windrunner said. “Fight? Or flee?”
Brinelle looked from the woods to the portal and back. She seemed near tears.
No more time. “I’m sorry, Brinelle,” he said, grabbing her arm and hauling her toward the portal. “But I’m making a decision.”
He lunged for the portal, landing them both in the stone bowl before Brinelle could argue. They lay there for a few seconds before the nausea set in. Brinelle cried out, half protest and half sheer terror, and then the woods were replaced by chaotic light and a sense of recklessly quick travel.
25
He remembered the portal being frightening and confusing. It was so much worse this time.
He’d had no concept of how much the boundaries had done to protect the traveler. The portal tunnel had felt strange and chaotic before, but there’d still been a sense of instilled order to it. Like a veneer of civilization over crude barbarianism. That was gone now, and all that was left was entropy.
The foul stench he’d come to associate with mazahnen and Shahadán permeated the air. The shifting colors were bleaker, more sporadic, as if they were avoiding any kind of order or appealing pattern. Windrunner remembered flying through the portal as if being hauled away by his belt, but this was stronger. They were moving faster and no longer in a straight line. Foul winds buffeted them to the sides, and Windrunner felt certain if they were blown off course they would never find their way back.
“Do you have a destination in mind?” Brinelle asked. She had to shout to be heard, even though they were still clinging to one another.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Windrunner said. “Last time I used this thing it kind of pulled me along without any input.”
When he’d pulled them into the portal, he hadn’t cared where they ended up. It would be far away from the Varyah, so it was good. But now … they still had a Remnant to find. If they ended up on the other end of the world, they’d never reach it in time to stop the Shahadán. And he knew they couldn’t risk a trip through here again. He could already feel the danger approaching.
I’m not sure how sentient you are, but we need your help. We have to get to the last piece of you. Take us there.
He was likely praying to a rock, but he could feel the magic churn inside the Remnants. As if they had understood.
It was the best he could do.
Dark spots filled his vision. He thought it was from the pain of his broken arm or the strain the portal was placing on his body, but then some of the spots grew nearer and took on shape. Mazahnen.
Thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands.
And those larger spots they were clustered around … Shahadán. There were so many. More than he could count.
How can we hope to win against that? I went against a single one and it almost killed me.
It did kil
l Brinelle.
This kind of force was so much more than they could ever hope to defeat. Maybe if the entire world were to fight with them. But just him, Brinelle, and the Remnants? Their allies were few and far between, and their magic nowhere near as strong as even a single Shahadán’s.
We can’t let any more of these into our world.
It was their only option. If they could keep the main Shahadán forces away, they would be useless. Then he and Brinelle might be able to win the day after all.
A surge of dark magic flooded the portal behind them. It tasted sour, like spoiled milk and bitter hatred. The Varyah had followed them in here. And he was using magic? That couldn’t be smart.
“What is he doing?” Brinelle cried. “He’ll Destroy everything!”
That’s it.
If he could close the portal after they got out, they might be safe. They could trap the Shahadán and the Varyah in this nether realm. All their enemies—or at least most of them—done away with in a single blast.
He knew better than to trust plans that sounded too good to be true. But it was the only one he could think of.
Windrunner channeled his strength, blocking out every distraction in this chaotic place. He forced away his worry, the sick feeling of dread in his stomach, the sights and foul smells of the portal. Then he reached for his magic.
It was like stretching for a branch that was just out of reach. He could sense it there, could even brush against it with his fingertips, but he couldn’t get close enough to grasp it. No matter how much he strained, he couldn’t touch it. He was too exhausted.
The Varyah didn’t seem to have that problem. He slung magic at them relentlessly, drawing the attention of every creature in sight. Mazahnen began to swarm closer to them, while the huge Shahadán moved more slowly. In moments every monster trapped in this realm would have them set in their sights.
And at this rate, it would lead them directly into Windrunner’s world.
He couldn’t let that happen. All would be lost if those monsters escaped.
“Brinelle, can you reach your magic?”
Remnant Page 26