Remnant

by Brenda J. Pierson

  It was waiting for him right where it should be. He should feel guilty about this. But imagining the look on the Godspeaker’s face made Windrunner smile.

  He held his breath as he shoved his elbow through the glass. It shattered with a tinkle like ice. He reached into the case, brushing away glass to grasp the map.

  The door opened and shut behind him. Windrunner froze.

  “What are you doing?”

  Brinelle. He breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m going to find the Remnants and stop the Shahadán. The Godspeaker will never let me leave. This way no one can stop me.”

  “What if I try to stop you?”

  Windrunner turned toward her. He was used to seeing her look like a priestess, clean white linen floating around her body. Right now, she looked like a knight. Her hair was swept up in a high ponytail, the lengths trailing over a midnight blue traveling cloak. Under the cloak she wore a green tunic and brown wool trousers in the same style as the linen Evantar garments. She held her white staff in her hand, a pack full of supplies looped around the top. Thick leather boots clad her feet, making Windrunner stare—he’d never seen her wearing shoes. “What …?”

  “The only way I will not stop you from leaving,” she said, “is if I come with you.”

  “I thought you didn’t think I could get the Remnants.”

  “I don’t. But I know nothing anyone says will keep you from trying. Alone you will be killed. You are still indebted to Evantar, and I am responsible for you. Were I to let you leave, my life would be forfeit just as yours would.”

  “Where did you get all that stuff?” he asked. He could have kicked himself. She’d offered to give up her entire life at the monastery to protect him on his cavalier mission, and he was asking about her clothes.

  “I’ve been prepared to leave the monastery and hunt Varyah for years. As soon as the Godspeaker gave me leave I was ready.”

  “But he never did.”

  Anger and bitterness twisted Brinelle’s expression.

  “And that’s the other reason you’re coming. Isn’t it?” He’d asked it, but it wasn’t really a question.

  Brinelle sighed, as if unsurprised she’d been caught. “The knights of Evantar were formed with a singular purpose: to hunt Varyah and destroy them. To keep the world safe from their Destruction magic. But the Godspeaker has not allowed us to do that duty for decades now.” She lifted her eyes to Windrunner’s. The passion burning in them was almost scary. “If he will not take up that mantle, then I will. I cannot sit here and watch the order waste away from laziness. There is real danger out there. Not just the Shahadán, either. Varyah need to be stopped. If I come with you, if we find the Remnants and can stop the Shahadán, then we will have a weapon capable of eradicating every last Varyah from this world.”

  He nodded, as if he understood what she meant. Of course he didn’t, but now wasn’t the time to argue. “It’ll be dangerous.”

  “More so than you know,” she said. “The Godspeaker will not be pleased when he discovers we’ve left without his permission. He’ll send people after us. More likely than not, they will have orders to ensure we do not return.”

  “You mean he’ll send assassins after us?”

  She nodded.

  “And you still want to come with me?”

  “Someone must protect you,” she replied. Her eyes sparkled in the dim moonlight, and she managed a thin, weak smile that quickened Windrunner’s heart.

  “You look good when you smile,” he said. “You should try it more often.”

  She glanced at the map in his hands. “Is that what you came here for?”

  He nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know anything about the geography down here. I’ll need something to help me find my way.”

  “There are much easier maps to read than that one.”

  “Maybe, but knowing where the portals are—”

  Brinelle cut him off. “Windrunner …” Her eyes were locked on the map in his hand, wide with awe.

  “What?” He looked down. The map was changing, even as he watched. The ink ran and reformed, as if being directed by an invisible pen. It lasted only a few heartbeats, but when it finished Windrunner was holding a completely different map. The portals were still shown, but the focus of the map had shifted far to the west. A sketch of a round stone, swirls of ink inside it and rays of what he assumed were light radiating from it, dominated the empty space of the Nevantian desert. Scrawled across the top were words in elegant script: Greetings, Tsenian.

  Windrunner stared at the map, numb from shock. The map knew his name—his true name, the one he despised and never told anyone. How could that be possible?

  “Windrunner?” Brinelle asked. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “It … look.”

  She stepped closer to see over his shoulder. The ink was spreading again, erasing his name and scribing new words in its place: The first can be found in a distant sea stained and colored like green-leaf tea.

  “What the …?” Windrunner glanced to Brinelle, but she looked as shocked as he felt. “How did it do that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. She sounded scared, though whether that was because of what had happened or her lack of knowledge about it Windrunner couldn’t tell. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  Windrunner stared at the map. It was pointing him toward an expanse of water to the west. The Evantar monastery was crammed in the far corner of the map. Wherever this place was, it was a long way away.

  “The first. So one Remnant is there. How many are there?” he asked.

  “Three.”

  “Good. At least there aren’t a hundred. We can collect three.” He paused, reading the words again. “‘A distant sea stained and colored like green-leaf tea?’ What does that mean?”

  Brinelle stared at him for a moment. “You didn’t pay attention to my lessons very well.”

  It wasn’t a question, so Windrunner didn’t deny it.

  “There is a shoal in the western ocean where a water-grass grows beneath the surface. It makes the water appear green instead of blue.”

  They looked at each other, and Windrunner could see excitement in Brinelle’s expression. Suddenly he didn’t care how he’d made the map change—if it had even been him in the first place. He was as excited as Brinelle. They were hunting for treasure in exotic lands. This was the kind of stuff he’d dreamed about his entire life.

  “Last chance to back out,” he said.

  “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” She smiled again, and Windrunner sensed true joy in it.

  He was glad she wanted to come along—not just for the company, but for her knowledge. He’d be lost out there within moments, and he knew it. Brinelle would be invaluable as a companion.

  She led him out of the monastery. No one guarded the gates, and they slipped away into the night without anyone knowing better.

  The sand was a sea of glistening dunes, turned to shimmering platinum by the moonlight. A cool breeze blew across the desert, sending a shiver up Windrunner’s spine.

  “Here,” Brinelle said. She reached into her pack. “I brought this for you.”

  She handed him a folded cloak the same midnight blue as hers. The wool was finely spun and soft, and when he put it on it blocked nearly all of the wind’s chill. “My mom made me a similar cloak, but I’ve never had one this nice before. Where did you get it?”

  Brinelle looked down, fiddling with the edges of her cloak. “I made it.”

  “Wow,” he said. “That’s amazing.”

  She shifted her weight, still playing with the fabric around her. He could tell she was pleased.

  “I’ll treasure it. Thank you.”

  They stood outside the monastery for a moment. Windrunner looked up at the stars. He could almost recognize some of the constellations, but they looked different here than they did back home. “Uh … which way?”

  Brinelle smirked. S
he pointed to the left, gesturing Windrunner forward. “We’ll follow Evantar’s Fist as it pursues the Sinful Daughters across the sky.”

  “What?”

  She pointed to a constellation above them. Windrunner squinted. “Oh. Back home we call that Dog Chasing Giant Bone.”

  She looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Not a very poetic people, are you?”

  Windrunner laughed. “Not at all.” They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments. “So once we get to the portal, how do we tell it where we want to go? I still haven’t figured that part out. I’d hate to go through that thing and end up on the wrong side of the world.”

  Brinelle paused, missing a step and falling behind Windrunner. He turned, waiting for her. His heart thumped when he saw her dismayed expression. “What?”

  “You think we’ll be using the portals to reach the Remnants?”

  Windrunner did not like the sound of this. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

  “Windrunner, the boundary keeping the Shahadán sealed away has been torn. There is nothing holding them at bay, or keeping the corridors of the portal safe. The Godspeaker has forbidden travel through the portals, and rightly so. Trying to use them now would mean certain death.”

  He looked across the miles of desert. “So we’ll have to walk to each of the Remnants? It’ll take forever to get to this one, and it’s only the first.” As if things weren’t bad enough as it was. “How long do you think we have until the Shahadán show up?”

  “They’ll already be on the move. It could be weeks, or longer. There’s no way to tell.”

  There would be impossible to get all of the Remnants before then. They couldn’t stop the Shahadán before they entered the world. How much destruction would they cause before he and Brinelle could stand a chance at defeating them?

  Not to mention they had to do all this with a pack of the Godspeaker’s assassins on their heels.

  First things first. Get through the desert. Then worry about the rest.

  The sand was hard to navigate, shifting beneath his feet with each step. He still hadn’t forgotten how painful running through it had been when he’d first arrived. Walking would tire him out far faster than traveling on grass or dirt. Getting to the ocean at all would be a feat worth celebrating.

  “So how long will it take us to get to this green sea?”

  “A few weeks, if we maintain a good pace. And if we don’t get delayed in Ta’ranq.”

  “Ta’ranq.” Windrunner couldn’t quite get the pronunciation right. It sounded too heavy on his tongue. “What’s that?”

  “A ridge of impassable mountains stretches across the desert, blocking our path to the western ocean. The only way through is a narrow pass called Ta’ranq, where the urn warriors live.”

  “Urn warriors. That doesn’t sound good.”

  “They are a proud race, volatile, but not without reason. Since we are heading to battle, perhaps they might even offer their assistance.”

  “Why are they called urn warriors?”

  “Once the warrior has proven themselves, they are infused with the ashes of their ancestors. This gives them the skill and knowledge of those who came before.”

  “Infused. You mean they’re people filled with ash?”

  She nodded again. “Instead of blood, they have ash running through their veins.”

  Windrunner felt squeamish at the thought. “Creepy.”

  “Indeed. But they are powerful. I would not refuse their assistance should they offer it. If there’s any race who may be able to fight a Shahadán, it’s them.”

  “It sure would be nice to have someone at our backs,” Windrunner said. “Since the Godspeaker refuses.”

  Brinelle sighed, the sound filled with regret.

  They walked in silence for a while, their tracks disappearing in the wind behind them. Within moments Windrunner’s calves ached from the shifting sand, the constant up and down of traversing dune after dune. How far had Brinelle said the desert stretched? Fifty miles? Or was that to the nearest settlement—Ta’ranq—and it went beyond that? The thought of endless days traveling like this made him want to curl up and sleep for a week.

  At least once they reached the end of the desert, they’d hit the ocean. Then he could give his poor legs a break.

  They walked for an hour before the sky even started to hint at lightening. The Evantar Monastery was long hidden behind the dunes. In this much desert with nothing to guide them, hopefully whatever assassins the Godspeaker sent wouldn’t be able to find them. It’d be like finding a needle in a haystack—and Windrunner had had plenty of experience with those.

  Brinelle paused, looking at the sky and back toward the east. The sun was beginning to peek above the horizon, bringing false dawn and just enough light to see by. Windrunner stopped beside her, trying his best not to pant. It took immense effort to keep himself on his feet. His calves were burning like he’d dipped his muscles in acid. And it had only been an hour.

  “We should find somewhere to hide during the day. That way we can escape the heat and anyone trying to follow us.”

  Rest sounded like a dream come true to Windrunner. He looked over their surroundings—it was getting lighter by the moment—and saw nothing but sand. “Can you Create something for us?”

  Brinelle shook her head. “It takes immense concentration to Create something on that scale, and I would have to maintain that concentration for as long as I wanted it to remain.”

  “Then where are we going to hide in the middle of the desert?” It felt like all he’d done since he’d arrived was ask questions. He hoped Brinelle didn’t think he was simple.

  She scanned the horizon, then pointed. “There.”

  Windrunner squinted at the spot, but he couldn’t see anything. Just more sand, more dunes.

  Wait … that depression did have more shadow in it than the others. What could that be? Brinelle had said nothing grows in the deep desert.

  Almost nothing. “Is that a bloodwood grove?”

  She nodded.

  He turned, spotting several other groves scattered along the horizon. If he hadn’t been looking for them, he never would have seen them.

  Windrunner was nodding even as he spoke. “Even if the Godspeaker figured out that was our plan, they wouldn’t know which one to check. And they wouldn’t have time to check them all anyway, so they might not even try.”

  They walked toward the closest bloodwood grove, which proved to be much farther than Windrunner had thought. The sun was almost fully up by the time he started to pick out details about the grove. It looked like a mountain of knotted, washed out timber. The wood was silvery-grey and seemed devoid of leaves. If Windrunner hadn’t known better, he’d have said it was a junk heap. The thought of sheltering there made him uneasy, though he couldn’t have said why.

  Blinding light and instant heat arrived with the risen sun. Windrunner began to sweat in his wool clothes. The desert sand sparkled like millions of fallen stars. He could feel the weight of the sunshine on his back.

  Suddenly he didn’t care how uneasy that grove made him. The promise of shade was enough to make him forget his weariness and hurry forward.

  His entire house back in the Farmlands could have fit inside the grove. Each of the trees was as thick as his waist, and they stretched so high Windrunner had to crane his neck to see the tops. They twisted around each other like the roots of an ancient oak. Smooth, grey-green bark covered their limbs. Now that he was this close he could see thousands of miniscule silvery leaves fluttering along the branches.

  Windrunner’s uneasiness pounded at his subconscious, but the burning sun drove him deeper before he could think better of it.

  It was surprisingly cool beneath the bloodwoods. They grew so close together the sun couldn’t penetrate to the ground. Windrunner had to duck and crawl under and around limbs to get through. It was like trying to navigate a briar patch, minus the thorns. Thank goodness. If these things had thorns, he’d have been torn t
o shreds by now.

  The deeper he entered, the straighter the bloodwoods grew. Not that any of them were oak tree straight, but they were less circular and more rigid. Some even had sections that had grown straight for a while, though they were a few feet long at best.

  The colors were richer, too. Rather than silvery-grey all over, Windrunner could see hints of brown and green. It was nothing like what he was used to, but at least the trees near the middle were starting to look more like what a tree should look like rather than some gnarled, overgrown bush.

  “It’s the power of the desert,” Brinelle said, reading Windrunner’s interest in his expression. She stepped into the thicket behind him, her shoulders tight and eyes casting around as if watching for danger. “The sun will bleach the color from a bloodwood tree in a few years, and the wind will twist it upon itself so it can never grow straight. Those on the outside of the grove protect those on the inside. To a point.”

  At her words, something stirred within the trees. Windrunner and Brinelle both went silent. He peered into the grove, but the trees were so thick he couldn’t see more than a few yards ahead.

  One thing was certain. They were not alone.

  Windrunner tiptoed forward, cringing each time a branch creaked as he maneuvered around it. More than once his scabbard banged against a tree he’d thought he cleared. At this rate he could give up any hopes of a stealthy approach. He hoped the noise wasn’t disguising the movement of whoever—or whatever—else was in here.

  Brinelle stepped up beside him, staff at the ready. Windrunner drew his sword. He tried to stay calm as they advanced, but there were so many places an enemy could hide here—in the branches above, behind the thick trunks. Even being far enough away would be a perfect hiding place, since their vision was limited to a handful of yards in any direction.

  There were no further sounds. No indication there was anything else in the grove. Windrunner was about to say so, to call the all-clear to Brinelle, when he gagged at a putrid but familiar odor.

  There were mazahnen amongst the trees.