REMNANT
BRENDA J. PIERSON
CONTENTS
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
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About the Author
BRENDA J. PIERSON
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
REMNANT
Copyright © 2015 Brenda J. Pierson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Matt Larkin
Cover by Juhi Larkin
Published by Incandescent Phoenix Books
incandescentphoenix.com
Created with Vellum
To my best friend, my sweetheart, and my PlotMaster.
I don’t know how you put up with me, but I’m so happy you do.
I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without your never-failing love and support.
Get Soul of the Guardian FREE
If you liked Remnant, you’ll love this epic fantasy. Find out how the Bok’Tarong was born.
Click the link to claim your free copy and continue the adventure:
http://incandescentphoenix.com/brendajpierson/free-offer.html
Thanks for reading,
Brenda J. Pierson
1
Windrunner headed south. It was as good a direction as any.
He tried to stay optimistic, focusing on all the dreams he was finally making reality, but melancholy settled across him like a heavy mantle. This is not the way I wanted to leave the Farmlands, he thought. I wanted to have a home to return to when I was done with my adventures.
Windrunner snorted, trying to clear the blood from his nostrils. Cracked his neck side to side. He’d ache for days at this rate. Maddox and his cronies had not been gracious in their beating.
Was it worth it? You finally got to punch Maddox, and in turn they beat you half to death. Satisfied now?
Windrunner popped his knuckles, sore and raw from connecting with Maddox’s jaw. Yes. He was.
Home was already a speck in the distance. He’d left in a hurry, anxious to be gone before Maddox could exact any kind of revenge. The Farmlands, everything he’d ever known, was behind him. Ahead there was nothing but woods. And beyond that? Windrunner had no idea.
There was no way he could go back. Maddox tyrannized every village within walking distance. Windrunner’s life had been hard enough before, when everyone had known about the antagonism between them. Few people would dare trade with him or purchase his crops for fear of Maddox’s wrath. Most of the villagers still called him “boy” and refused to treat him as an adult, sending him on menial tasks whenever they could. And because of what? A childhood rivalry that quickly became ridiculous as Maddox grew and Windrunner did not. Now it was commonplace for everyone to comment on Windrunner’s scrawny frame and meager five-foot-six height as if it was shameful. He was still a child to them, no matter what he did.
But today Windrunner’s temper had gotten the best of him—again—and he’d socked Maddox square in the jaw. He’d been so shocked Windrunner had even gotten a second punch in, straight to the gut. He’d had Maddox on his ass before his toadies hopped in. It had been glorious.
The beating that followed, not so much.
Windrunner stopped walking and looked back. He loved the Farmlands, with its rolling hills and changing colors. Nothing was better than the smell of soil after the rain, or a freshly baked meal made with ingredients he’d grown and picked himself. It was good, hard, honest work, and Windrunner was happy here.
But Maddox would force the entire Farmlands into shunning Windrunner. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. No one on Maddox’s bad side lasted a year before having to uproot their lives and start over.
Windrunner wouldn’t give Maddox the satisfaction of watching him wither like that. He was done with him and his cronies, with the Farmlands. He’d been preparing to leave anyway, to go exploring like he’d always wanted to.
We’re farmers, Tsenian, Windrunner’s mother always said when he spoke of his desire. He cringed at the memory. Why had his parents given him such a ridiculous name? At least she was the only one who called him that. Farmers aren’t bred for greatness. We’re bred for stability, for family, and for peace. Not adventure.
He’d tried to explain it to her. He didn’t want to be great. Fame and nobility held no attraction for him—but neither did mediocrity. He wanted knowledge and experience. When he looked back on his life, he didn’t want to see nothing but an endless cycle of plantings and harvests. He wanted it to be worth looking back upon.
He’d been prepared to leave for an adventure. He was getting his wish—only now, it was the beginning of a new life. He’d go out into the world and make something of himself. He’d prove to everyone he was a man worthy of respect. Then he could come back here and prove it to Maddox. With a fist to the head, maybe.
He just had to be strong and show the world—show himself—they were wrong about him.
The sun was almost touching the rocky hills to his right when he reached the boundary of the McKettrick Woods. Once inside, his decision would be final. He would no longer be leaving the Farmlands. He would have left the Farmlands.
Not like he was leaving much behind.
The trees beckoned him, and he stepped into the woods.
Windrunner felt as if he were entering a different world. The sunshine that filtered through the leaves gave off a surreal ambient light unlike anything he’d ever seen. Dead foliage covered the wet soil and crunched under his feet. The quiet sound of rustling leaves welcomed him. Even the air in this place felt different—it was cool and moist, laden with the sweet, earthy scent of rain and rot.
He walked for a time, getting accustomed to the forest. The brief moments of sunset lit the woods with light so warm and golden Windrunner felt as if he could scoop it up like honey. It faded all too quickly, and then the forest was swallowed by dusk. In the span of a few dozen heartbeats Windrunner was standing in darkness so deep he could barely see.
He looked up, hoping to gain some sense of direction from the stars, but they were blotted out by the canopy above. No matter where he looked, he saw deep shadows and looming darkness. Never before had he felt so disoriented.
He wasn’t sure if he was still going in the right direction. Then again, he didn’t have a destination in mind other than away. It didn’t matter all that much where he ended up.
Wind whistled through the leaves, and somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.
Windrunner reached for the sword on his hip. He kept forgetting it was there—he’d never worn one before. He’d hardl
y even used it. It was his father’s, a relic from a past the man refused to discuss. Windrunner had taken it, thinking some kind of weapon was better than none. Now, though, he found himself more awkward with it than comforted. He dropped his hand.
It wouldn’t be smart to leave himself exposed here tonight. He should find some kind of shelter—something to give him a modicum of protection. But where could he find that here?
He looked to his left. That way.
He didn’t know why, but he started in that direction. It felt right, like safety was calling to him.
Twigs snagged his sleeves and his feet got caught in the thick undergrowth. The wolf howled again, closer this time. He sped up as much as he dared, still heading toward the feeling of safety.
Moments felt like hours. Each breath lasted a lifetime.
Blinded by the darkness, he tripped and went sprawling. His bones hit something much harder than the soft dirt he’d been running across. He froze. His joints ached from the impact, his knees and hands scraped raw. After a moment of silence, he reached out and felt around him. Beneath the undergrowth was smooth, polished stone. He must have tripped over the edge. He rolled to the side until he felt earth under him once again.
For several heartbeats he lay still, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his hands and knees. He’d fallen onto a manmade floor. How was that possible? No one lived in the McKettrick Woods. At least, no one the people of the Farmlands had ever heard of. Had he stumbled onto some hermit’s retreat? Or had he found the hideout of someone who didn’t want to be found?
Windrunner slowed his breathing and calmed his thoughts. The canopy was a fraction thinner here, so there was just enough starlight to see by. He stood, brushing leaves and dirt off his clothes, and took a look around.
Huge pillars overgrown with vines and ivy surrounded a large slab of stone. There was no ceiling, no walls. Just the floor and pillars forming something reminiscent of a room.
In the center of the portico stood a chunk of carved rock shaped like a bowl. Its rim sat cockeyed from its base, forming a lower lip in front and a higher back. Everything was covered in a layer of dirt and plants and mushrooms, like this whole place had been forgotten centuries ago.
Windrunner approached the bowl. At its highest, the rim reached his shoulder. It ran down at an angle until it was mere inches off the ground. He traced his fingers along the edge. There were impressions carved into the stone, some sort of design along the rim. Maybe words, but it was too dark to make them out. Underneath its blanket of moss and dirt the stone was cool and smooth. It felt like glass under his touch.
He looked around again. No sign of anything or anyone. But the woods were still dark, the howls of wolves still heard somewhere in the distance. Traveling any farther in the night would be inviting trouble. He needed to find somewhere safe to pass the time until morning.
Windrunner’s hand still rested on the stone bowl. If nothing else, the sign someone had once been here comforted him. I guess this is the best I could have hoped for. Slipping the pack from his shoulders, he placed it in his lap and settled himself into the bowl. It was hollowed perfectly, as if thousands of bodies had worn the shape of a weary human into the very stone.
He began rummaging through his pack for supper when a strange sinking feeling landed in his stomach. He felt dizzy and nauseated. Maybe I’m not hungry after all.
The pillars surrounding the portico wavered, and Windrunner lurched forward in his seat. He didn’t know if he would vomit or pass out. What is going on?
His hips were jerked backward, into the stone. He had the briefest moment to watch the trees disappear, and then there was nothing but strange, shifting colors and wind rushing through his hair and clothes. He clutched his bag to keep it from being torn away.
Windrunner was traveling—fast—but he had no idea how. Or why. Just that he was being pulled backward like a rope was tied around his waist. Not even a galloping horse could move this fast. What was that stone bowl? Where was it taking him?
Minutes passed. No matter how much Windrunner struggled, he couldn’t do anything to stop his momentum. How far had he gone? There was nothing to see but the random colors, in every color imaginable, shifting and morphing like clouds. No indication of where he was, or where he would end up.
Something flit across his peripheral vision. He turned toward it, the howling wind whipping at his cloak. Several shadowy, indistinguishable shapes lingered far enough away he couldn’t make out what they were. Even backlit by the changing colors, they were little more than black spots.
A deep rumbling sound vibrated through his chest like an earthquake. The force pulling him wasn’t relenting. It might even be speeding up. He nearly lost his grip on his bag in the furious wind.
Whatever was happening, he had to stop it. At this rate who knew what would happen to him? Where would he end up? Could he even survive a landing at this speed?
His eyes watered and his ears whistled in the fierce wind. Each breath was an effort. He had to stop this while he still could. If he still could.
Wrapping his bag’s strap around one hand, he reached out with the other in search of anything to slow him down. Nothing but air.
He swam through the current, trying to direct himself to the side of this tunnel—if that’s what it was—but he made little progress. The flow of the wind was too strong. He might as well have been a leaf trying not to hit the ground.
Finally his fingers met something ethereal and somehow intangible, as if he was touching a heavy rain cloud. Was this the wall of the tunnel? Some kind of boundary to keep him traveling in the right direction? It resisted the gentle pressure of his hand, but he pressed in until it surrounded his wrist. With all the strength he could muster, he grabbed a fistful and held on for dear life.
His grip on the boundary did not slow him down. The boundary came with him.
Windrunner tried to scream as a huge tear was rent in the glowing material, but the wind grew so strong it tore the breath from his lungs. Tears streamed from his eyes as he stared past the boundary.
The ambient colors were more chaotic beyond the tear. The air leaking in was heavy and foul. Hundreds more of the shadowy shapes were surging forward, pouring through the tear Windrunner was still creating.
He released the boundary, but the damage was already done. Windrunner felt the creatures’ rough skin scrape against his as they forced their way into the corridor.
Dread filled his gut. Whatever he’d done, he knew it wasn’t good.
As suddenly as he’d been pulled into the stone, he was spat back out. The roaring wind ceased in an instant, leaving him feeling deaf and disconnected from his senses. His vision was filled with a cheery shade of forget-me-not blue—it took a moment for his brain to recognize it was the sky. It took another moment for him to sense the insistent pressure of gravity pulling at him.
He turned his face and looked down. The ground was approaching, fast.
Damn it damn it damn it.
That was all the time he had. Before his mind could stop swearing, he hit the ground with a breathtaking thud.
Windrunner lay unmoving for what seemed an eternity, his right hand still clutching the half-opened pack to his chest. He hurt so much, in so many places, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to move again. His entire back felt like one giant bruise. Every breath made his ribs ache. The hand he’d used to slow himself burned like he’d stuck it in a fire. He flexed his fingers, grateful and somewhat amazed they still worked. Even the thought of trying to stand made Windrunner dizzy and nauseated.
I think I’ll lay here for the next year or so.
He focused on the clear blue sky and brilliant sunshine.
Sunshine …
Wait. Blue sky and sunshine?
He lifted his head, raising his shoulders and propping himself up on his elbows. He had to stay there a moment until the pounding in his head subsided. Then he managed to balance himself on his knees. The effort made his entire body a
che, but he pushed that to the side when he took in his new surroundings.
The forest was gone. In its place was miles of sand—dune upon dune of dusty desert as far as he could see. Heat waves distorted the horizon and glimmered in the brilliant sunshine. He was already sweating underneath his heavy wool clothes. There was not a tree, shrub, or plant in sight.
Windrunner shaded his eyes as he turned. Behind him was another stone bowl like the one in the woods back home. Rather than being covered in soft moss and sprouting mushrooms, this one was sun-bleached and layered in thick, sandy dust. The inside was a swirling vortex of colored light. A strong breeze blew from the glowing whirlpool, flapping Windrunner’s cloak and ruffling his hair. He could still smell the forest in the wind.
As he watched, the colors became brighter and more scrambled, like they’d been on the other side of the boundary. The air grew hot and putrid. He scooted back, raising an arm to shield himself from the stench and heat. The shadowy figures he’d released swam ever closer. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest.
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