Remnant

by Brenda J. Pierson

  They reached the library without incident. The wall of windows let in very little of the grey light, casting the shelves in shadow. The room felt ominous in a way it had never felt before—not even when the Godspeaker had been trying to get Windrunner executed for being a Varyah.

  Should that make him feel worse, or better? At least now there seemed to be some kind of opposition, even if it was just a feeling. That wasn’t quite as frightening as ‘too easy.’

  He turned to Brinelle. “The piece we’re looking for is tiny. When you held the two we have together, there was only a little chunk missing.” He circled his forefinger and thumb, indicating the size they were looking for. Then he looked around at the hundreds of shelves lined from floor to ceiling. “How are we going to find something that small in here?”

  “Perhaps the Remnants can help,” Brinelle said. “After all, you said they led us here in the first place.”

  She pulled the pieces from her pack, handing one to Windrunner and keeping the other for herself. They began walking along the shelves, holding the stones up like they were candles illuminating the darkness. But nothing happened. No piece of missing Creation magic was wondrously revealed.

  “Damn it,” Windrunner said. “It’s not here.”

  “Or perhaps it does not belong to you,” a man said.

  Windrunner spun around, taking a step back as Brinelle came up beside him. He handed her the Remnant he was holding and grabbed his staff. He hated releasing that magic, but right now he needed a weapon more. If only both of his arms worked right now!

  The Godspeaker stood at one end of the library, cloaked in shadow. He had to have arrived some time ago to get from the door to there without being seen. Or had he always been here, and Windrunner and Brinelle had not noticed?

  “Godspeaker,” Windrunner said. He avoided placing any kind of respect in his tone. “Why am I not surprised to find you cowering here while the rest of your knights are out for battle?”

  “The same reason I’m not surprised to find you sneaking about my library with intent to steal Evantar’s treasured belongings.”

  A tiny flash of blue light shone from the Godspeaker’s finger—the symbol of his position. The color alone would have given away its identity. The Remnant. So the Godspeaker had known it was here. Somehow that didn’t make Windrunner feel any more confident.

  “I see what you’re saying. It’s in our natures. Mine to take back what you shouldn’t be hoarding, and yours to be a coward.”

  The Godspeaker scowled. “What kind of leader would I be if I jumped into every fray that came along? If I risked my life in every battle, possibly leaving all of Evantar without a Godspeaker?”

  “I don’t know. A decent one?”

  The Godspeaker glared at Windrunner. “You have no right to judge my actions. You’re little more than an intruder who brought unfathomable danger upon us.”

  Windrunner was about to reply when Brinelle stepped forward. “A good leader is one who people would gladly follow. Who is not too self-important to do any job set before his people and who always keeps the good of the whole in mind. A good leader never sacrifices those below him to keep himself safe.”

  The Godspeaker turned his acid stare to Brinelle. “You would quote the statues of Evantar to me?”

  Brinelle assumed a pose of apology no one could have believed was sincere. “You seemed to have forgotten them, Godspeaker. I was merely reminding you.”

  Windrunner beamed behind her.

  “What would Evantar do without me to lead it? You have no idea the kind of work it takes to keep all these knights in line.”

  “Evantar has lost Godspeakers before, yet they have ever endured.”

  “They.” The Godspeaker’s eyes narrowed. “I see what’s happened. This man has corrupted you against Evantar. You have allowed this Varyah to turn you against the precepts of Evantar. Your home.”

  Brinelle glanced back at Windrunner. They exchanged an exasperated look. He could read the question in her expression: should you tell him, or should I?

  Windrunner grinned. Oh, let me. Please.

  He didn’t say anything. He reached toward his magic—it was quite a stretch to find it, with how worn out he still was—but he didn’t need much. Just a bit.

  He could already imagine the look on the Godspeaker’s face when he felt Windrunner’s Tsenian magic. The horror of admitting Windrunner, not a member of Evantar, could be Tsenian would be more than the man could handle. He’d fumble and fume and Windrunner would enjoy every single moment of it.

  He summoned his magic.

  Nothing happened.

  Windrunner was shaking from the effort. He still hadn’t recovered enough magic to make it manifest. At the worst possible time!

  The Godspeaker watched Windrunner like he was mazahn. Any moment he would leap and attack.

  Windrunner tried again. He’d never be able to convince the Godspeaker without proof. He’d think Windrunner was a lying Varyah and try to kill him again.

  Still nothing.

  “He’s a Tsenian, Godspeaker,” Brinelle said. “I’ve seen his magic. It’s real. With the power of the Remnant, he may be able to stand against the Shahadán. He may be the only one who can.”

  The Godspeaker looked at them in turn, disdain and disgust on his face. “You think I would believe such blatant lies? There are no more Tsenian.”

  “There are.”

  “Then prove it.” The Godspeaker whirled on Windrunner. “Show me this all-powerful magic you supposedly harbor.”

  I’m trying, Windrunner thought. Yet he could do nothing but stand there and sweat.

  The Godspeaker’s face scrunched up in a scowl and he snarled at Windrunner and Brinelle. “You’re trying to usurp the power of the knights of Evantar.”

  Windrunner gave up before he hurt himself and dropped his hand. “Would you listen to yourself? We’re trying to stop the Shahadán from destroying the world. You should be helping us, not standing in our way!”

  “You’re the one who brought the monsters to us to begin with.”

  “Which is why I’m trying to destroy them!” Windrunner sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “What part of this aren’t you getting? I messed up. I’m trying to fix it. I’m on your side, Godspeaker.”

  “The knights of Evantar stand alone,” the Godspeaker said, as if quoting a mantra. His spine straightened and he reached behind him, to the display of weaponry on the wall. He pulled a morning star from its hooks and brandished the spiked head. “None shall be allowed to stand between them and the darkness of the Varyah. They are the light, chosen by the magic of Creation. All who fall to darkness shall be their enemy, and shall be trampled underfoot.”

  “You have got to be kidding.”

  “We have been charged with protecting the world from Varyah and Shahadán since their inception. I will not allow the order I have maintained for decades to be superseded by an accident-prone upstart.”

  “Accident-prone upstart? Well, I guess that’s better than ‘malevolent Varyah intent on destroying us all,’” Windrunner muttered.

  Brinelle stepped forward, her staff held at ready. “You have refused to hunt Varyah for years,” she said. Her voice was hard with anger and tears. “I sent requests to you every year since I was a child to allow us to fulfill our purpose and wipe them out. You never let us. Why stand on principle now?”

  The Godspeaker motioned toward the windows and the black-and-white desert outside. “We no longer have a choice. Our time has arrived.”

  “Our time never left,” Brinelle replied.

  “Nevertheless,” the Godspeaker said, flourishing the morning star, “I cannot allow you to take possession of the Remnant. Its power is far beyond any of ours. Even that of a Tsenian.” He said that last bit teasingly, as if it were absurd to even think Windrunner had that kind of power.

  “That’s the point,” Windrunner growled.

  “Spoken like a true Varyah. Those seeds will forever
remain within you. Even if you were a true Tsenian, you would never be free of the temptation to give in to the darkness. Powerful though they may be, every Tsenian may become a Varyah at any moment. There was a reason they were feared rather than trusted.”

  “And you don’t even need Destruction magic to be a complete asshole,” he replied. “You’ve become as bad as a Varyah without even having a convenient excuse.”

  The Godspeaker shouted, his words incoherent through his rage, and attacked. Windrunner raised his staff, one-handed, and crouched to get behind the meager defense. The morning star crashed into the wood and jarred Windrunner’s entire body. The Godspeaker was larger than him and more practiced, and Windrunner only had one functional arm. This fight wouldn’t last long if he didn’t figure something out, fast.

  Of course, the Godspeaker had more than Windrunner to worry about.

  Brinelle shot forward, her staff extended to strike. He countered effortlessly, and Windrunner tried to circle around while he was distracted. There wasn’t much room to maneuver, though—the large table and curio-filled shelves left very little space for a battle. Between the spinning staff and bludgeoning morning star, Windrunner couldn’t get through.

  But there was a huge empty space to his left.

  Windrunner jumped onto the enormous table and ran forward, taking a shot at the Godspeaker’s head as he passed. The man ducked it, but the move cost him his advantage and Brinelle was able to hit him in the shoulder. The Godspeaker grunted with the impact, but the hit didn’t slow him down in the least.

  Windrunner jumped off the table and landed on the other side of the Godspeaker. The man had turned, putting his back to the shelves, and was fending off Brinelle with amazing agility. By the time Windrunner entered the battle, the Godspeaker had found another morning star to use in his offhand, seemingly from thin air. Now he had one for each of them.

  Windrunner backed away. He couldn’t keep track of the Godspeaker’s movements. Even if he’d been at full strength he couldn’t have tried to compete with that kind of skill. How was he doing this? Where had he found that second weapon?

  Oh. He hadn’t found it. He’d Created it. His fist, and the morning star held in it, glowed with the Remnant’s bluish light. No wonder the Godspeaker was always the most powerful of the Evantar priests.

  Windrunner was exhausted, physically and magically. If he tried to wade into the battle, the Godspeaker would kill him. But he couldn’t leave Brinelle to this fight alone, either. He could see she was already slowing. The Godspeaker wouldn’t take long to defeat her. Windrunner had to do something.

  But what? His arm was broken. His magic was exhausted. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t defend himself, couldn’t even summon some magic for a last-minute trick. For all the skills he’d developed on his journey here, he was helpless to stop the Godspeaker from killing them and taking the Remnants for himself. He never should have given the Remnant back to Brinelle! He hadn’t even considered it might be a more effective weapon than his staff. That mistake might end up killing him.

  He looked at the weapons on the wall. There were a few swords there, along with some other one-handed weapons. Windrunner cringed. He couldn’t go into battle with a weapon he didn’t know how to use. He’d likely make things worse rather than better.

  He needed some magic. It was the only option that gave at least a partial chance of him and Brinelle surviving this. But where would he find the energy for more magic? Brinelle had the Remnants, and she couldn’t exactly toss them to him. There had to be something.

  Again, he looked to the weapons on the wall. Several of them still seemed to glow—some white like Brinelle’s staff, others with a darker power, like his.

  Evantar weapons. Varyah weapons.

  Magic.

  Windrunner dashed to the wall, looking for anything he could hold in a single arm. Most of the weapons were far too large for him, even at full strength. A few looked big enough that only a seven-foot-tall urn warrior could have wielded them.

  His gaze was pulled down, to a pair of daggers tucked into a corner. They looked crude, but he could feel the power radiating from them. One had clean Creation magic. The other had dark Destruction magic.

  Tsenian weapons.

  Windrunner snatched the daggers. He could hold one in his broken arm easily enough, though wielding it was another story. That was fine, though. He didn’t need the blade. Just the magic inside it.

  Power surged through him as he drew on the magic in the daggers. Instantly he felt better, more aware, more awake. The pain faded to a nuisance. His fatigue was wiped away.

  Windrunner focused on the Godspeaker, on the magical morning star, and willed it away.

  The Godspeaker’s magic was strong, resisting the pull of Windrunner’s Destruction far better than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t sure his power of Destruction would be able to overcome the intense Creation magic of the Godspeaker and the piece of Remnant.

  You can’t Destroy that. You have to use Tsenian magic.

  Windrunner heard the voice, his own yet not his own. Like words from a storyteller that ring so true he felt he had lived them.

  It was as if these daggers, with their paired magic, knew how it was supposed to work. Windrunner guessed they did.

  But what is Tsenian magic? I don’t understand.

  He’d used the Tsenian magic against the Shahadán on pure instinct, when he’d been touching the Remnant. He’d hoped he could replicate it, but now that he tried he found he didn’t know how.

  Creation magic makes things. Destruction magic unmakes them. So what does Tsenian magic do?

  What could he ask his Tsenian magic to do? Overpower the Godspeaker’s magic, shut it down? No. Brute force was the way of the Varyah. Tsenian wouldn’t be like that.

  He thought back on Brinelle’s lessons on magic. I cannot create calm, she’d said. Calm is the absence of storm.

  Windrunner remembered wondering why that was so. Why couldn’t she Create calm? It wasn’t such a hard concept to grasp.

  Windrunner knew he could do it. He’d imagined Brinelle alive and made that happen. Had it been because he’d Destroyed death, or Created life?

  Both.

  Windrunner’s mind reeled. That’s what it was to be Tsenian. To not be bound by the rules of Creation and Destruction, but to use both forces together. It wasn’t a battle of opposites. It was finding the balance of things, using both light and dark in order to make things right.

  I can Create order by Destroying chaos.

  I can Create peace by Destroying war.

  I Create Destruction.

  I Destroy Creation.

  His reserve of Tsenian magic glowed brighter, filling him with warmth. He knew what he had to do.

  The Godspeaker had forced Brinelle to the far end of the room. Several large bruises were already starting to form on her arms and legs, and a gash across her cheekbone trickled blood. She must have had enough magic for a few of her Creation shields, though he knew she was exhausted enough she couldn’t have made many. Windrunner was surprised she was still on her feet. If any of those strikes had broken bones …

  He refused to think about it. He needed to stop the Godspeaker now, before his hesitation cost Brinelle even further.

  Windrunner pulled power from the daggers. The Tsenian magic leapt at his call. He focused it on the Creation-made morning star. Create Destruction to Destroy the Creation.

  It disappeared between one blink and the next.

  The Godspeaker fumbled, off balance from losing a weapon. Brinelle struck, using his distraction to get a solid hit against his ribs. The Godspeaker hunched with pain, but he still swung his real morning star with frightening strength.

  Windrunner Destroyed that Creation, too.

  The Godspeaker stumbled forward, the weapon he was expecting to strike with gone. Brinelle’s staff met his face instead. His neck snapped backward, and Brinelle followed through with a smack to his sternum and another to the side of his ne
ck. The Godspeaker fell like a sack of potatoes.

  Windrunner came around the table. Brinelle had the butt of her staff against the Godspeaker’s throat. She was panting, favoring her left side, but her eyes shone fierce and determined.

  Windrunner knelt beside the Godspeaker’s prone form. The man groaned, but didn’t try to keep fighting. If he wasn’t unconscious, he’d be wishing he were after hits like that. Windrunner knew from experience.

  The Remnant glinted on the Godspeaker’s finger, no larger than a walnut. Huge for a ring, but so small for a weapon to defeat the Shahadán. It glowed fiercely, streaks of red and gold overlaying the blue. Windrunner plucked it off the man’s hand.

  The Godspeaker grunted again, and Windrunner caught the hint of words. He leaned closer to the man’s face. Between the beating he’d taken, Brinelle’s staff ready to crush his throat, and Windrunner’s magic, he wasn’t much of a threat anymore.

  “You think you’re doing the world a favor,” the man wheezed, “but you’ll be as much of a plague upon it as the Shahadán are. There’s a reason the Tsenian were wiped out.”

  Windrunner scowled. “You know, I almost wish you were a Varyah. Then I’d have an excuse to kill you. But there’s no capital punishment for being a bastard. Lucky for you.” He paused, then leaned even closer. He could feel the man’s labored breath on his face, could see the bloodshot eyes trying to focus on him. “I’m going to prove you wrong, Godspeaker.”

  Windrunner stood, leaving the Godspeaker to his injuries and the unconsciousness that would come soon enough. He looked at Brinelle. She glared down at the Godspeaker, as if tempted to put just a little more pressure on the staff.

  He waited.

  Brinelle shook her head, pulling the staff away, and stepped over the Godspeaker’s prone body. She didn’t look back as she followed Windrunner out of the library.

  27

  T he door to the library was still in sight when they stopped. They had no idea where to go from here.

  Windrunner slumped against one of the bloodwood-paneled walls, sliding down it to sit on the ground. Brinelle followed a moment later, though without the slouching and melodrama.