Remnant

by Brenda J. Pierson

“I can feel the power in it,” he said. “It’s hard to believe.”

  Brinelle nodded, her eyes locked on the stone. Windrunner handed it to her. She stared at it as if it was hypnotizing her.

  “I feel the magic too,” she said. “I can touch it …”

  Brinelle gasped as Windrunner felt another surge of Creation magic. Her eyes closed as she rode the wave of power. When she opened her eyes again, she looked dazed. Almost euphoric. “Even this one piece would be enough to overpower a Varyah, no matter how much they’ve mastered their magic. It might even be enough to destroy them all.”

  Windrunner didn’t dare breathe. He hated the way her voice was filled with vengeance and longing as she spoke of destroying the Varyah. If she turned her hatred toward him, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

  Several tense seconds passed before Brinelle’s expression changed. Confusion crept into it, along with doubt, and she glanced up at Windrunner. He tried to smile, to break the tension, but it felt awkward even to him.

  Brinelle looked back to the Remnant. Her hand lowered and she closed her eyes. Breathed deeply, the way she did when she was meditating.

  Windrunner finally started breathing, too.

  She handed the stone to him. “Keep this for now. I …” She stared at it another moment before tearing herself away. “I can’t trust myself with that much power right now.”

  Windrunner took the Remnant without a word and stashed it in his pack. “Just think—only two more to go.”

  He’d been trying for a joke, but even he could tell it sounded sad instead. Dejected. Frustrated. He let out a long, weary sigh and scrubbed his face with his hands.

  “Your magic is stirring too,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

  Windrunner nodded.

  “You must learn to control it. Otherwise …” There was a hint of menace in her tone.

  “I know,” he said, a bit more sharply than he’d intended. He saw Brinelle’s face harden, her eyes narrow. He took a deep breath. “I know.” More calmly this time. More … resigned.

  The memory of the battle made Windrunner’s skin crawl. He’d wanted to kill that assassin, and he’d been furious when Fi’ar had killed him instead. He’d been thrilled to see that man die. That shouldn’t have been his reaction. He should have been disgusted, or mournful—no matter he’d been trying to kill Windrunner. He was still a man. Not some monster to celebrate slitting its throat.

  Windrunner shook his head. No, the monster in the hold had been him.

  “Maybe it would be better if this magic just went away.”

  “It’s a part of you, Windrunner. It won’t go away.”

  “Fine. Then I won’t use it. Ever.”

  “You cannot ignore it forever.”

  He glared at her from the corner of his eye. “Watch me.”

  “That isn’t what I meant. You literally cannot ignore it forever. Holding too much magic inside you is dangerous. That’s why working large-scale magic is not often done. You must gather immense amounts of power to Create—or Destroy—large things. That much magic can consume a person. Burn them up from the inside.”

  Windrunner remembered the feeling of burning, searing magic racing through his blood. He hadn’t realized …

  “Then what am I supposed to do? Train in my magic, become a Varyah? You’d kill me faster than refusing to use the power would.”

  He turned, staring out the grimy porthole, not seeing anything. His anger was too high, too hot. He couldn’t think straight anymore. He wanted to make this stop, any way he could. If his magic were here in front of him, he’d murder it.

  Another weary sigh, another moment hiding his face in his hands.

  “I need help.”

  BRINELLE DIDN’T KNOW what to say. She wanted to help, but how? What could she offer him that would do anything but delay the inevitable? Even if she could teach him to control his magic—which she doubted—it would still be there to poison his thoughts. Being free to use it might even speed up that process.

  She stepped up beside him. It still took some effort to do so, to not shy away from his gaze or back away when he got near touching her. His magic was repellant. But she couldn’t leave Windrunner to deal with this alone.

  She had to believe there was something they could do to keep him … him.

  “I don’t want to become a Varyah,” he whispered. His voice cracked in the middle.

  They will always be Varyah.

  Brinelle closed her eyes, trying to concentrate through the doubt. “Do you know how I feel when I call upon my magic, Windrunner?” He shook his head. “I feel so powerful I could burst. As if the entire world were laid out before me, to mold as I will. I could call upon my power to do something terrible, and I would be lying if I said the temptation has not haunted me many times before.”

  “Sounds kind of familiar,” Windrunner said.

  “It’s the cost of having power—any kind of power. You feel invincible when it flows through you. You could do whatever you wish. Make anything happen. Change whatever displeases you. But we all have a responsibility to the magic, too. To use it properly, to allow things you wish were different to endure because it’s not your place to alter them. It’s a struggle we all face, no matter what kind of magic we have.”

  “But those with Creation magic aren’t feared and hunted down for having it.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.

  “Where do you think the ship is headed?” he asked. A feeble way to change the subject, but Brinelle didn’t object.

  “The Godspeaker would wish the assassins to return with news of their success as soon as possible, so I would assume we’re on our way back to Nevantia.”

  “Guess we’d better figure out where we should be going next.” He stepped away from the window, as if glad to have something—anything—to do.

  Windrunner returned to his pack. He hesitated a moment, likely when his fingers brushed the Remnant, before pulling out the map. The old parchment crinkled enough to make Brinelle cringe. “Don’t tear it,” she muttered.

  Windrunner returned to the porthole, his back to the meager opening to give them enough light to read by. Brinelle stepped close enough to see over his shoulder. She very carefully did not cringe when her shoulder brushed his.

  He seemed tense, understandably so. His hands shook as he glanced at her, uncertain, then back to the map.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ink started to shift and form new letters across the top of the map. Well met, Tsenian, it read.

  Brinelle forgot to breathe for a moment. “Why did the map call you Tsenian?”

  Windrunner groaned. He lowered the map and took a breath. “Because that’s my name.”

  Brinelle inhaled. A name. Much better than a title.

  “Great joke, huh? My parents must have thought it would be hilarious to name their son after some great, mythical mage. They would have done better to name me Varyah. That way I’d at least have had a little warning.” He sighed. “I hate that name. Always have, even before I learned what it means. I started having people call me Windrunner when I was a kid. Only my parents and some of the older folks in the Farmlands know my real name. And now you.”

  He glanced at her, as if seeking approval.

  What could she say? It wasn’t as if he’d been given a choice in the matter. So his parents had named him Tsenian. That didn’t mean anything.

  Still, his arrival at the monastery had been unusual. Remarkably so. And his magic was powerful for one so new to it.

  But to find a Tsenian? Now? The odds were incalculable.

  A glow from the map drew their attention. It was a deep blue-green, the same color as the Remnant, gathering along the edges of the parchment. Brinelle reached over Windrunner and pulled the Remnant from his pack. She held the stone over the map, as if shining its gentle light upon the page.

  The glow on the map intensified and began crawling across the script. Brinelle watch
ed, fascinated, as it congregated near the upper-left corner of the map. It shone brightly for a moment, then faded, leaving a smudge of blue ink behind.

  Brinelle lowered the Remnant and they leaned in closer. It was a long way away, far to the northwest. Brinelle scanned her memories. Had she ever studied this part of the world? Evantar rarely, if ever, ventured that far north. There was a forest south of the smudge of ink, and what looked like a great clearing of land.

  Windrunner’s hands tightened on the map. “Oh no.”

  “What is it?” Brinelle asked.

  “I know where the next piece is.” He sounded tortured, reluctant.

  “Where is it?”

  Windrunner sighed. “About half a day’s walk from my home.”

  16

  Windrunner couldn’t decide which was more stifling—the cramped room he shared with Brinelle, or the heavy sishamen he was forced to wear whenever he went above deck. Either way, he felt like he couldn’t get a clear breath. It was all oppressive, draining, frustrating. The constant effort it took to force his magic away left him with a headache. And angry. Always so angry, despite the mastery over his magic he was practicing. He’d hoped that would help calm some of his temper, not inflame it.

  The closest he was able to get to escape was in the depth of darkness, under the stars and inattentive eyes of the night watch. During those few hours when he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Then he could risk lowering the hood of his sishamen and feel the cool sea breeze, breathe without the musty cloak or stale cabin to hinder him. For those few hours, he could pretend everything was going to be all right.

  He didn’t dare admit it to Brinelle, but she’d been right. He couldn’t hold off his magic forever. Just trying to do so was making everything worse. He’d lost track of how many days he’d been at it—three? four?—but he felt even worse now than he had when he’d started. His magic’s anger raged beneath his skin at all times. He no longer trusted himself to speak. Too often he’d said things he regretted because he hadn’t stopped to control himself before opening his mouth.

  He’d always had a temper—inherited from his father—but it had never been anything like this. This didn’t even feel like him anymore. He feared it was the magic taking control now.

  Windrunner leaned against the railing and stared at the black water below. His head pounded viciously, as it had for the past few days. The fresh air was a help, though he doubted it would do much beyond clearing the stink from his nose.

  Enveloped in darkness, Windrunner breathed. Clear the mind. Relax. If there was ever a time he hoped Brinelle’s meditation techniques would help, it was now.

  He sensed more than felt the presence next to him. He didn’t look over. It was probably Brinelle, come to check up on him. She’d been watching him closely, switching between worry and looming threat depending on her mood.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, before she could ask. “I just needed some fresh air. Quiet.” He didn’t add that he’d wanted to be left alone.

  She didn’t say anything. At first the silence was welcome, but as it drew to uncomfortable lengths, Windrunner felt his frustration growing into anger. What was the point of her coming up here and then ignoring him? Was she condemning him for being a Varyah again? She should have left him be.

  He turned toward her, scathing remarks burning his tongue. The black-clad figure took a moment to acknowledge him. When it did face him, Windrunner’s blood ran cold.

  It wasn’t Brinelle next to him. A specter from a nightmare stared at him, empty expression and glowing red eyes. Even through the darkness and hood, Windrunner recognized the face. It was his.

  “What the hell?” He jumped back, reaching for his staff even though he’d left it in his cabin. “What are you?”

  “Surely you recognize me, Windrunner,” it said. He knew not to trust its sugary sweet tone. “I’m you.”

  “No.” Windrunner shook his head, backing away, but he knew his denial was empty. He could feel the same dark feelings surging from the black sishamen that he felt from the place inside him he hated to look. What else could this thing be, but the specter of his magic?

  The face looking at him—his face—smirked.

  “All right, fine. I get it. You’re my magic.”

  A smile, cold and chilling. Windrunner wondered if he ever looked like that in real life. He hoped not.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You’ve been ignoring me. I had to get your attention somehow.” The specter pouted, its face matching the jilted lover tone.

  “Great.” Windrunner sighed, trying to force down the anger. “You have my attention. What do you want?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” his magic said. The sweetness was gone from its voice, replaced by iron. “You’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “Damn right.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Watch me.”

  They glared at each other for a few heartbeats.

  “I’m a part of you,” his magic said.

  “An old lady back home had a giant wart that was part of her, too. It hurt to cut it off, but she was a lot happier once it was gone.”

  The specter didn’t seem amused. “Trying to rid yourself of me is nothing more than a slow and painful suicide. You would die without me. You had to have noticed that by now.”

  Windrunner resisted the urge to raise a hand to his aching head. Was that why he’d been feeling so weary, so pained? Was that why he was even more irritable now?

  “Ah,” the specter said, smiling. “You have noticed.”

  “It’s nothing,” Windrunner snapped.

  “I’m you, Windrunner. Remember? I know when you’re lying.”

  “So what? I would rather die free than live as a slave to you. And you’ll know that’s the truth.”

  “What about the Shahadán?”

  Windrunner started to speak, but closed his mouth without a word.

  “You’ll need me in order to defeat them.”

  “They’re the same kind of magic you are, asshole,” Windrunner said. “How is that going to help me?”

  “Your ship would have sunk without me to negate the winds. You, Brinelle, the entire crew would have died. Mission over. Shahadán win.”

  “There’ll be other ways to do things. I’ve lived without you for my entire life so far. I think I can keep it up.”

  “That may not be difficult, considering your life would be over within months. Even weeks, maybe.”

  “I’ll find a way to survive. I can’t be the first person who ever tried to get rid of their magic.”

  “No, you’re not. But you’d be the first who succeeded.”

  Windrunner took another deep breath. He hoped the people he met didn’t want to punch him as badly as he wanted to punch his magic. Well, Fi’ar did. And maybe the Godspeaker. But he hoped that was it.

  The specter took his silence as an opportunity to attack. “Don’t act rashly. Think of the power we could control together. Nothing would be out of our reach.”

  “The price is a bit too high for me. Now go.”

  “Without me, you’re nothing. Not even an average farmer like your father. Just a boy. A failure. What hope would someone as ordinary as you have of setting right the destruction you’ve put into motion?”

  “You’re not making me like you any more.”

  The specter’s eyes grew brighter, and Windrunner stumbled from the wave of scorching rage emanating from it. “You are making a deadly mistake, Tsenian Windrunner.”

  “I don’t care. Leave.”

  They stared at each other again, Windrunner’s hatred matching his magic’s anger.

  “Very well,” the specter growled. “We’ll see how long you last before you come running back to me to save your life.”

  And then it was gone.

  Windrunner stood still for a long time after that, to be sure it was gone. He breathed purposefully, trying to calm his racing heart. He unclenched his
fists one joint at a time. Then he was able to start thinking clearly again.

  He reached inside to the place his magic simmered. Rather than the red rage he normally felt there, he met with a deep emptiness—the kind that had shape, where the absence of a person left a physical hole behind. It filled Windrunner with sadness deeper than he’d expected. This was what he’d wanted, after all. Yet he did feel … incomplete now.

  The throbbing in his head was worse, too.

  He returned to staring at the black waters, breathing in the fresh air, feeling even worse than before.

  “YOU DID WHAT?”

  Brinelle couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Even when Windrunner repeated it, she couldn’t understand.

  “How could you have banished your magic? That’s impossible.”

  “That’s what it said, too.”

  Now she knew she was hearing things. “You spoke to it?”

  Windrunner sighed, one of those longsuffering expressions that signal the person is at their wit’s end. “Yes. It appeared and tried to get me to stop ignoring it. I sent it away instead. Now I’m going to bed.”

  He flopped onto the bunk, not bothering to remove his sishamen, and faced the wall.

  She continued watching him for several minutes, even though she knew he wouldn’t answer any more questions.

  She was horrified. How could she be anything but? Windrunner had decided to die. Varyah or not, that wasn’t an outcome she was willing to accept.

  That made her pause. She’d been tempted to kill him herself when she’d found out about his magic. It had taken her weeks to stop reaching for her staff whenever she thought of it. Yet now she was fighting for his life? How had Windrunner come to mean so much to her that it no longer mattered what kind of magic he had?

  It still mattered. She couldn’t deny that. His Varyah magic would separate them forever. She could still care for him, but she could never allow herself to …

  She stopped that thought before it could form. Nothing but trouble waited there. Best to not even consider it.

  Even so, she couldn’t sit back and allow Windrunner to die.

  But what could she do about it? It was his choice. Only Windrunner could fix this mess. Brinelle was helpless to do anything but stand by and watch.