Remnant

by Brenda J. Pierson

  They retreated and Windrunner stepped into the cozy farmhouse. Nothing had changed. He hadn’t been gone all that long, not even an entire season, but he still found the sameness comforting and disappointing. Some things never changed, and that included anything in the Farmlands.

  “You look exhausted, Tsenian. Are you feeling all right?” His mother reached up, combing her fingers through his hair as if he were still five years old. He shrugged away from the touch.

  “Yeah, Mom, I’m fine,” he lied. “Just tired. It’s been a long road.” No need to worry them yet.

  Windrunner reached back through the door, extending his hand to Brinelle. She’d stood back, allowing his parents time to welcome him home, and now he invited her in. “Mom, Dad, this is Brinelle.”

  As soon as Brinelle stepped into view, his mother’s expression shifted from joy to suspicion. She looked from Brinelle to Windrunner, then shared a hesitant, fearful glance with her husband. When she looked back to Brinelle, her eyes had gone hard and angry. “I don’t know what your plan is, Evantar, but you leave my son alone.” Her tone made the threat plain as day.

  “What … How did you …?”

  Brinelle ignored Windrunner’s stammering and took a tiny step forward, inclining her head to his mother. “Formerly of Evantar,” she said. “Even were I to return, the Godspeaker would not welcome me. As, I assume, you understand.”

  Windrunner’s jaw dropped. He stared at Brinelle, then turned to stare at his mother. Her mouth was drawn into a line, her entire body tense. She was watching Brinelle as if trying to decide whether she faced a danger.

  Windrunner looked to his father, hoping for some kind of explanation, but the man was leaning against a wall as if he could blend into the woodwork and disappear.

  “What’s going on here? Mom, how do you know about Evantar?” When she didn’t answer, he spun on Brinelle. “Are you saying my mom used to be Evantar? That’s ridiculous! She’s lived her entire life in the Farmlands.” He paused, his stomach sinking. He looked back to his mother. “Haven’t you?”

  She broke her gaze with Brinelle, looking at Windrunner with sadness.

  Windrunner suddenly needed to sit. He lurched toward a chair and plopped into it, his mind dizzy with realization. Is that why Brinelle’s mannerisms had seemed so natural to him? They’d reminded him of his mother? Is that why he had his magic to begin with?

  The implications piled on one another until Windrunner had to take deep, measured breaths to keep himself from passing out.

  “Livia,” his father said, “how about we get some food into these kids. I think we all have a lot of storytelling to do tonight.”

  SOMEHOW, despite everything, Windrunner still managed to enjoy his dinner. His mother’s cooking tended to do that. No amount of shock or stress or pain could prevent him from savoring each and every bite.

  It was surreal. He was making jokes about bloodwood stew and desert heat here, in his parents’ home, and having everyone laugh or nod in acknowledgment. Here he’d thought he’d been whisked away to a whole new world, something no one he knew had ever even dreamed of. Yet now he was the newbie of the group, the one who knew the least. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  The food couldn’t last forever, and eventually they were left with empty plates and nothing to fill the silence but truth. Finding out his parents already knew of Nevantia and Evantar should have made things easier, but Windrunner found it so much harder to explain things than he’d expected. And he hadn’t thought it would be easy.

  “Why don’t we start with how,” his father said. “How did you reach Nevantia, and come to find Evantar?”

  Windrunner dove into the story from the beginning, how he’d stormed out of the Farmlands and stumbled upon the portal. The story came easier the further he went, and soon he was explaining everything—the Shahadán, the Godspeaker, their quest for the Remnant. Brinelle added in details he forgot. He stumbled a bit when it came to his magic, but he told them about that, too. His parents were good listeners, interrupting only with requests for clarification.

  “So that’s it,” he said, taking a drink to wet his throat. “The second piece of the Remnant is somewhere around here. We have to find it and get to the next piece that’s hidden before the Shahadán can do any more damage to our world.”

  “And what about your magic?” his mother asked. “You said it was Destruction-based, but you didn’t mention how your training is proceeding.”

  Windrunner blinked and looked away. He’d hoped the information about the Shahadán and Remnant would capture their attention more. He should have known better.

  Seeing he wasn’t about to answer, Brinelle did it for him. “Windrunner has banished his magic.”

  He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d been expecting—angry tirades, tears, lectures—but the stunned silence that followed Brinelle’s statement was unnerving. His parents stared at him, openmouthed, as if unable to comprehend what she’d said. Windrunner shifted in his seat, fiddling with the dregs left on his plate from dinner.

  “You should be dead,” his father whispered.

  “Gee, thanks for that, Dad,” Windrunner said. He didn’t raise his eyes to look at them.

  “You know what I mean,” he replied, a hint of fatherly sternness in his voice. “You can’t live without your magic.”

  “I seem to be managing fine.”

  “No, you’re not,” Brinelle said. “We can all see that, Windrunner, so stop pretending. Whether you want to admit it or not, your magic’s absence is killing you.”

  “I would rather be dead than live as the man it was making me become.” Windrunner raised his eyes then, meeting each of their gazes so they could see his determination. “I will not allow myself to become a Varyah. Even if that means dying.”

  If he hadn’t been watching their reactions, he never would have noticed the flicker of emotion pass across his father’s face. It was small and brief, but it was unmistakable. He’d flinched.

  “Damn it,” Windrunner said, dropping the fork he’d been twirling and rubbing his aching head.

  “I’m sorry you had to learn all of this like this,” his father said.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?” Windrunner asked. His anger was rising—his anger, not his magic’s. “Or were you going to let me develop this magic on my own and never give me a choice in the matter? Were you going to wait until my anger exploded, until I did something unforgiveable, or until I was so far down the road there was no turning back?”

  His mother shook her head. “Magic, especially the kind you have …”

  “Had,” Windrunner corrected.

  “… is a heavy burden to bear. Childhood is difficult enough without struggling against powerful magic and the temptation to use it incorrectly.”

  “But you could have trained me so I didn’t use it incorrectly!”

  “You were being trained, Tsenian,” his father said. Windrunner’s tirade was cut short—his father never called him Tsenian. “The most important lessons for people like you are those that build strength, character, and intelligence. You were raised to be an independent thinker and to stand up for the things you know are right. Nothing is more important than to know who you are and what’s important to you. If you decided to study with your magic once you were grown, you would have had a strong basis on which to build your skills. No one would be able to talk you into abusing your magic.”

  “That’s great. You kept me in the dark so when I did learn about it, I’d already screwed up so badly I doubt anyone will be able to fix it.”

  “Tsenian …”

  “No,” he said, standing so fast his chair toppled over behind him. “I’m done with all of this. I don’t care anymore.”

  He didn’t stop the door from slamming behind him.

  The chill night air didn’t cool his temper. If anything, the quintessential peace of the Farmlands made it all the harder to calm down. Life was supposed to make sense here. Nothing ever changed.
You woke in the morning and knew what your day would hold. What your life would hold. It was why Windrunner had needed to leave in the first place. Coming back to find his entire life had been a lie … nothing made sense anymore.

  The light grew richer, warmer, as the sun began to set behind him. He paced across the porch for several minutes before sinking into a creaky wooden chair. It fit him exactly. He’d made it years ago with his father.

  As if called by Windrunner’s thoughts, his father came out and sat in the chair beside him, the one he’d made for himself those years ago. They didn’t say anything for a long time, just watched the vibrant green fields glow in the sunset.

  “All I wanted to do was prove I’m a man,” Windrunner said. “I thought if I left and went on some adventures, when I came back no one would care I’d gotten on Maddox’s bad side. They’d have to respect me, because my actions demanded it. Then maybe they’d accept me and I wouldn’t have to live with this shame anymore.” He sighed. “And look how well I did at that.”

  “Do you know how a boy proves he’s a man?” his father asked. “It isn’t through another man’s approval. Someone proves he’s an adult by acting like one, taking responsibility, and always striving to do the right thing. From the stories you told your mother and me, it sounds like you’ve proven yourself a couple times over by now.”

  The praise warmed Windrunner’s heart, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. He wasn’t a man. He was just trying to fix his mistakes.

  And what mistakes they were. When he stepped back and looked at the mess he was in, he didn’t see a way he could make it out. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  It wasn’t a new emotion, or even a new admission, but telling his father—the man he’d looked up to his entire life—felt like a punch to the gut. He was admitting to failure. More than he’d ever thought possible. He hadn’t failed at school, or a chore, or even a foolhardy adventure. He’d failed at life.

  “If you think you can’t, you’re about to prove yourself right.”

  Windrunner watched his father for a few moments, waiting for him to continue. But he didn’t. “This isn’t a situation I can think myself out of, Dad. A good attitude might have helped me get my chores done as a kid, but it isn’t going to save me from my magic.”

  “No? You’re so focused on your anger that’s all you can feel. As soon as it comes up you know it was inevitable. Which means next time, it is inevitable. Emotions are powerful, son, but they aren’t in control of us. We can learn to control them, and in time, that will change who we are.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of! I don’t want to become a monster because my anger runs away with me. I’ve tried to control it, but I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. You are right now.”

  Windrunner wanted to get annoyed at his father for being cryptic. And right. But he couldn’t.

  He closed his eyes and groaned.

  “Controlling your magic, and therefore your emotions, isn’t about stamping them down every time they rise. It means that when they come up, you check their motives, see if they’re appropriate. If they are, you let them out. If not, you restrain them. Not extinguish them. Precious few people can do that.” His father paused, looked down at his hands, then to Windrunner. “Your magic, by its very nature, is volatile. It isn’t going to be easily kept in check. But nothing in life is easy, son. You already know that.”

  Windrunner paused, looking at his father with new eyes. The way he spoke of Windrunner’s magic was so personal. Like it was something he’d experienced, too.

  And then it all made sense. His temper, which he’d inherited from his father. The man’s propensity to walk the fields when he got frustrated, his clear wishes to be left alone until he was no longer too angry to deal with a situation. His exaggerated calm.

  “Damn it,” Windrunner said, without venom. “It wasn’t some accident that gave me Destruction magic. It was you.”

  His father nodded.

  Windrunner looked out into the fields, his mind reeling.

  “It took a long time for me to cultivate my magic, but so far it’s taking me a lifetime to learn how to control it.” His father leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He, too, took to looking out at the fields.

  “How do you do it?” Windrunner asked.

  “Daily mistakes, as much patience as I can stomach, and a good woman by my side. Deep breathing helps. Long walks. Habits I see you’re already starting to develop.”

  Windrunner nodded absently.

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  Brinelle? Love? He looked at his father, who was watching him. He hesitated. Did he? He knew he valued Brinelle, as a friend and mentor in magic. It had killed him when Brinelle withdrew and thought he was evil. Having her back, willing to look past that and still be his friend, filled him with such joy he could burst. Even the thought of her leaving one day, not being beside him, made his heart ache.

  His father smirked and looked back out into the growing darkness. “Evantar does hard things to a woman’s mind. You’ve both got a long road ahead of you. But you stick with it and you’ll never find a better companion.” A few moments of silence. “She’s good for you, son.”

  Windrunner smiled. Maybe his dad was on to something. Imagining him and Brinelle together … well, it wasn’t exactly a difficult or painful task.

  He hesitated, casting a sidelong glance at his father. “Like Mom was for you?”

  The older man smiled, and in that moment Windrunner could see their resemblance even more strongly than usual. “Without question. If it weren’t for your mother … well, I think you know where—or what—I’d be.”

  “How … uh …”

  “How deep was I in the magic?”

  Windrunner felt the blood rush to his face. “Yeah.”

  “Deeper than you,” he said. “I was still an acolyte, but everyone said I showed great promise. I suppose that should have made me happy, but I was miserable. I hated the Varyah. Still, I used the magic for whatever I wanted, whenever I could.” He paused. “Let’s just say I wasn’t a very good person back then.”

  “So how did you meet Mom? If she was Evantar and you were an acolyte Varyah …” He paused. “Oh.”

  “Evantar was hunting Varyah at that time. We ran across knights often. Sometimes we would fight, but often we would disappear and avoid the confrontation.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you fought a knight of Evantar?”

  Windrunner’s mind flashed back to the night Brinelle had discovered his magic. He shuddered, then nodded.

  “Then you know why. We couldn’t beat them. They’re good at what they do, and Varyah aren’t trained for battle the way they are. We deceive, we Destroy. We don’t fight.” He took a breath and looked out at the green fields. “Your mother was leading a dozen or so knights on a hunt. They’d found our base, deemed it too close to the monastery for comfort, and were coming to wipe us out.”

  “How did you go from being hunted to falling in love with her?”

  “I surrendered. I didn’t want to be a Varyah anymore. There was no way I would die for them. The knights brought me back to the monastery.”

  “Where they tried to fix you by exposing you to Creation magic.”

  His father nodded. “I see you got the same treatment.”

  Windrunner shrugged. “I heard stories. I got out of there before they figured out what kind of magic I had.”

  “Good move.”

  “So that’s how you got to know Mom. She was trying to get her magic to change you.”

  “She was tasked with teaching me about Evantar. I guess they thought the more I knew of the order, the more I’d want to become one of them.”

  They both laughed.

  “I hated it,” his father said, “but at least it was better than my old training. Becoming a Varyah had lost its appeal long before that. The more I learned about Evantar, though, the more I realized they weren’t all that differe
nt. I wasn’t the most pleasant of company during that time.”

  “But Mom stuck with you anyway,” Windrunner said, his mind on Brinelle as much as his mother.

  “We spent every day together. After a while it stopped being about lessons and more about being with each other. We were both fed up with magic and their institutions. So one night we slipped out of the monastery, and we never looked back.”

  Windrunner nodded to himself. “You wanted to get far away from Nevantia, and either group, so you came here. To a place so quiet and ordinary no one would think to find anyone with magic like yours. You made yourselves average, to avoid notice. And when I was born, you tried to force me to be average, too. ‘We’re farmers, Tsenian. That’s what farmers do.’”

  “Partly,” his father said. “It’s true this place turned out to be perfect. Quiet, distant. But what made us decide to settle here was the latent magic.”

  That made Windrunner sit up. “Latent magic?”

  “What do you think called you to explore the woods the day you left? Why do you think you weren’t all that surprised when you learned about magic, or that you had it? This place is steeped in it. When your mother and I arrived here, before you were born, we knew there was something here we couldn’t ignore. Was it a trap? Something hidden, warded from accidental discovery? We didn’t know what, but we knew we couldn’t leave it alone. Someone had to watch over it, to make sure it wasn’t something that could go wrong.”

  “It’s the Remnant,” Windrunner said. His father nodded.

  “It must be. If this map of yours led you here, there’s nothing else it could be.”

  “That was dangerous,” Windrunner said. “That kind of magic meant Evantar, or the Varyah, had been here at least once. They probably came more often to check on it. If any of them had discovered you …”

  His father shrugged. “We took a risk. No one here knew our backgrounds, and we were quiet enough that no one questioned our arrival. The magic cannot be disrupted without us knowing about it, and if interventions need to be made we’re close enough to get there quickly. Magic that powerful is never something that should be left unguarded.”