Remnant

by Brenda J. Pierson

  She took the two pieces of Remnant from her pack and held them together. Windrunner broke the last bit off the Godspeaker’s ring and fit it into the hole. Perfect.

  “So we have the entire Remnant now,” he said. For some reason, he couldn’t seem to get too excited about that. They’d need to access the whole magic of the Remnant in order to fight the Shahadán remaining in the world, but they couldn’t do that with it in pieces. He had a feeling they couldn’t glue the stone back together and call it good. “Now what?”

  Brinelle shrugged.

  Windrunner dropped his pack and pulled out the map. He didn’t know what else to do. Maybe staring at it would give him some answers.

  It seemed static, as if it didn’t care they’d gotten this far. It had led them to each of the pieces. Why wouldn’t it tell him what to do with them now?

  He started to fold it up and put it away when Brinelle reached over and held the Remnants’ glow to the page. The blue light shone on the black ink, glittering as if it was still wet.

  The map starting reforming, all the ink pooling in the center. It churned for a moment, as if stirred by the Remnants’ magic. It spread across the entire page, covering it in black. A few lines remained clear, outlined in the negative image.

  Three in hand, find the place beneath the home of peace and grace.

  Windrunner read it several times, to make sure nothing changed. Then the ink sank into the page and disappeared. Seconds after receiving the message, Windrunner held nothing but a blank sheet of ancient parchment.

  He turned it over, to make sure nothing had appeared on the other side. It was as if nothing had been written on it in the first place.

  “Well. I guess we know our next step,” Windrunner said. “Find the home of peace and grace. What does that mean?”

  A slow smile spread across Brinelle’s face. She looked at Windrunner, her eyes sparkling. “I think we both know where that leads us.”

  Windrunner blinked. “We do?”

  She nodded. “Follow me.”

  Brinelle stood and led him down the halls, turning corners and passing doors without hesitation. Windrunner felt like he should remember this path. It felt familiar, somehow, as if he had followed Brinelle this way many times before …

  He’d just figured it out when the large oak doors came into view down the corridor.

  Of course. The Sanctuary of Memory. How many hours had they hidden from Evantar among the trees? They’d found solace there when the entire world had been angry and ugly. If anyplace could be called ‘the home of peace and grace,’ this would be it.

  Windrunner breathed deeply as they pulled open the doors. The cool, moist air was as soothing and comforting as ever. There was no color in the leaves, thanks to the Shahadán, but it was still a refuge.

  “All right. ‘The place beneath the home of peace and grace.’ So there’s, what, catacombs beneath us?”

  This time Brinelle shrugged. “I suppose there must be. But I’ve never heard about them.”

  “Guess that means you don’t know how to get down there, then.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  They were running out of time, and Windrunner knew they should hurry. Split up, search furiously. Waste no time. But he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Brinelle’s hand, or resist the urge to stroll through the trees and enjoy the Sanctuary. For at least a few moments, he wanted to enjoy the peace of this place, one of his favorite in the world. With his favorite person in the world.

  They made a circuit around the Sanctuary, but Windrunner didn’t see any kind of trap doors or hidden passageways. Just peaceful trees and cool, fresh air.

  As they strolled, the grey light started growing even darker. Flashes of lightning lit the glass ceiling above.

  Shahadán.

  Idyllic walk or no, it was time to find this hidden place. They had to have a complete Remnant ready to face the Shahadán when they arrived.

  Another circuit. Still nothing.

  He was starting to get nervous. What if this wasn’t the place? They didn’t have the strength or power to face another Shahadán. Windrunner had defeated the one more by sheer willpower than anything. They finally had allies—even now, the urn warriors and Evantar knights were likely battling the incoming Shahadán—but it wouldn’t be enough. He didn’t have the energy to defeat one again, and he wasn’t about to have Brinelle die again to give him the motivation. Besides, if something were to happen to her, he doubted he could bring her back a second time.

  He was fretting now more than searching, but he couldn’t calm his thoughts and focus. So much was coming down to this. If they failed now, none of their successes would mean anything.

  Brinelle stopped beside him. “Windrunner,” she said, not taking her eyes off a spot before her, “no hill without treasure.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve heard that,” he said. “But what does it have to do with anything?”

  “We’ve been following clues to each of the Remnants. What if this is yet another clue? One that would be hidden in the folklore of my people so any who got this far could continue forward, but those outside Evantar would be lost?”

  “Like they’re checking to make sure we have the right magic before letting us get the Remnants.”

  “Yes.” She turned back to the spot she’d been watching and pointed. A stand of beech trees ringed a small hillock—the only one in the entire Sanctuary. Windrunner remembered it from his second day in the monastery, when he and Brinelle had contemplated hiding amongst the trees until this was all over. That sounded like a brilliant idea now. “What if it was meant to be taken literally? There is no hill without treasure beneath.”

  “Brinelle, you’re brilliant!”

  The beeches grew so close together Windrunner and Brinelle had to squeeze between them. The leaves whispered above as they jostled between the trunks. With their white bark and silvery-green leaves, it was easy to forget the entire world had been drained of color.

  Then again, thousands of black spots on the trunks couldn’t let him forget they were running out of time. He felt like the very trees were watching them.

  At the top of the hillock was a tiny clearing, so small they stood shoulder-to-shoulder and filled the entire space. There was nothing around and nothing above. Beneath the home of peace and grace. Windrunner looked down.

  He knelt and shifted some of the soft, moist earth with his fingers. There had to be something down there.

  Windrunner dug until his fingers hit stone. He grinned. “No hill without treasure, indeed.”

  He cleared the roots and soil away, growing ever more excited, until he’d uncovered a trap door. He struggled to pull it open—it was heavier than it looked—and revealed a tunnel going straight down. A ladder that looked none too trustworthy clung to one side.

  “And yet again, our hunt takes us underground.” Windrunner turned back to Brinelle. “Will you be all right with that?”

  She took a deep breath, but met his eyes. “I will.”

  Windrunner smiled and gave her a quick kiss. “This time, I believe you.”

  He went down the tunnel first. If that ladder broke, or something unpleasant waited below, he didn’t want Brinelle to be the first to meet it.

  The ladder creaked and moaned under his weight, but held. The tunnel wasn’t quite as deep as he’d feared, though in truth his imagination had been conjuring bottomless pits and hundred-foot falls. After thirty or so feet, he reached solid ground.

  He couldn’t see anything, but he could sense he was in a long corridor. The air was dry and stale but didn’t smell of anything particularly ominous. It was about as benign as a hidden chamber beneath a monastery could be.

  “It looks safe,” Windrunner called up.

  Moments later Brinelle stepped off the ladder beside him and summoned her belantra naan. Smooth stone rose on three sides, shaped by men. The corridor ran along in front of them, straight as an arrow. Even with the light of Brinelle’s fire, Windr
unner couldn’t see an end to it.

  “All right then. Let’s head down the creepy underground hallway.”

  Windrunner advanced down the corridor. He couldn’t tell what was making him uneasy, but he expected an ambush at any moment. Sure, the dust down here was thick and undisturbed, and that trapdoor hadn’t been opened in decades at least, but Windrunner couldn’t put his mind at ease. Something was down here, or would be.

  A few small, roughly hewn passages shot off the main corridor, but they never seemed to go far before ending. Neither he nor Brinelle bothered with these. They stuck to the main path until they reached a door of solid stone.

  Windrunner braced himself to push against the door, but it swung open at the slightest touch. It made no noise.

  “Something is not right down here.” Even though he’d whispered the words, they echoed back to him from the newly opened chamber.

  He looked to Brinelle. The fire in her palm cast flickering shadows across her face, and he could tell she was as disturbed as he was.

  Staves at the ready, they entered the chamber.

  Brinelle’s belantra naan illuminated a small room. Windrunner had expected a grand chamber like the one under the Farmlands, but this wasn’t much larger than the room he’d been granted during his stay here.

  It was empty except for a stone altar against the back wall. It was smaller than the one underneath the Farmlands, but far more elaborate—more like the ones he’d seen around the monastery upstairs. Carved marble, sculpted in smooth, wavy patterns reminiscent of wind and grace and magic. There was an aura about it, but whether it was magical or psychological he couldn’t tell.

  “This is an altar of Creation,” Brinelle said. Her voice sounded reverent. “What is it doing down here?”

  “More importantly, what are we supposed to do with it?” Windrunner asked.

  Brinelle paused, then slipped her pack from her shoulders. She took out the pieces of Remnant, one at a time, and placed them on the altar. “We’re supposed to Create a whole Remnant.”

  Windrunner exhaled and stared at the Remnants on the altar. How could they Create a whole Remnant? He had a feeling fixing the stone would be the least of their problems. He could do that without a problem … if he had any magic left.

  He stretched his power, just to see. There was a tiny flicker. Enough to make the stone whole, at least? He could try. Maybe they’d get lucky and that would solve everything.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead as he summoned his magic. He could feel it straining to form inside him, as if trying to suck water from an already dry cup. He managed to gather a few drops, not enough for any sizeable magic. But the Remnant was small. All three pieces together would be as big as a cantaloupe. That wouldn’t take much magic to fix.

  Even so, it was nearly more than he had.

  Windrunner slumped as the stone fused together. At least he’d gotten it to do that much. He could tell it wasn’t enough, though. The magic hadn’t been made whole.

  What could it hurt? Windrunner willed his Tsenian magic at the Remnant. Destroy the separation, Create a whole magic.

  He met with the magical version of a brick wall.

  The stone was whole, but the magic inside it was still splintered. Worse, it resisted Windrunner’s power. He could touch it, could even tap into it a little—enough to give him a bit of energy and a little relief from the pain of his broken arm—but it refused to listen to him. His power slid off the Remnant as if it was untouchable.

  This was Creation magic. Even the faintest touch of Destruction magic made it shy away. It was as if Destruction, or even Tsenian, magic evaporated when it met the Remnant’s power. There was too much Creation here for anything else to survive.

  No. This needed pure Creation magic. The Remnant’s power would answer to that alone.

  “I can’t do this,” Windrunner said. He stepped back and looked at Brinelle. “This one’s all you.”

  BRINELLE’S HEART RACED. She knew how powerful the Remnants were. Just the one piece had been so potent it had overwhelmed her when she first touched it. She’d been afraid of its strength, and rightly so.

  Now she had to pit her own power against that of the Remnant’s. Pure, unadulterated Creation magic against what little Brinelle had been able to cultivate. She was powerful for a knight of Evantar, but compared to the vast stores in that stone she was a child meddling with forces far beyond her ken.

  Why did this test have to be so different? Why couldn’t this have been a test of determination—are you so desperate to have the power you’re willing to destroy an entire culture? They’d finally found a piece that didn’t require a heavy price in the one place she wouldn’t have minded destroying.

  No, she was faced with a direct challenge from the Remnant itself. This was a test of her ability. Did she have the magic and discipline to use the Remnant? Was she a master of Creation magic, that she could bend the very source of the power to her will?

  In all honesty, she didn’t think she was.

  But she didn’t have a choice. She had to try it. Otherwise all was lost.

  She stepped up, taking in the altar before her. She’d always loved the way the stone was shaped. It gave her such a sense of peace.

  Kneeling before the altar now, however, she had no such feeling. Her hands shook and her stomach tied itself in knots.

  Brinelle closed her eyes. Lamenting this fate would not make her task any easier. Focus. Calm. These would help her use her magic well.

  She would welcome all the help she could get.

  Brinelle took a moment to summon her magic, gathering as much of it as she could and holding it ready. It hurt to carry that much. Magic was meant to be used, not held inside a person until it consumed them.

  She let the warmth build, falling into the meditative trance used for the most powerful workings. She’d only done this a few times in the past—this kind of magic was frowned upon and only done with the approval and direct supervision of the Godspeaker.

  Let him try to stop her now.

  She stretched her magic forward and touched the Remnant. Even having experienced it before, she was overwhelmed by the sheer power inside the stone. It hit her like a sandstorm—enveloping, stinging, drowning her. Her own meager power was nothing compared to this. How could she force this kind of magic to her will?

  She took some of the magic in, sipping at the great well of power. She mingled the Remnant’s magic with her own, fueling her reserves. Giving her strength and energy for the battle.

  In her mind, she kept the picture of a whole Remnant clear. Nothing was allowed to cloud that vision.

  What she was doing was dangerously close to Tsenian magic. She wasn’t Creating a whole stone—she was trying to Create a whole magic. The very concept was against her training. Their kind of magic couldn’t touch the ethereal. What could be more ethereal than magic itself?

  She focused her power into a sharp, undeniable spear. The Remnant had no choice but to follow her command. It would become whole.

  Its resistance was incredible. She felt as if she were pushing against the walls of the monastery, expecting them to fall. She may as well have tried to use the kind of magic Windrunner used. It would have been equally effective.

  Brinelle could feel the strain on her magic, like she was expending her very life-force. She was trembling from head to toe, sweat beading on her forehead.

  The Remnant still hadn’t given any ground. It was no closer to becoming whole.

  Don’t you want to become whole?

  The Remnants’ magic stopped struggling against her for a heartbeat. Brinelle’s stomach fluttered. Had she gotten through?

  Perhaps that was the key. She wasn’t supposed to force the Remnant’s magic together. She was supposed to use it to mend itself.

  Brinelle shifted her focus, cradling the Remnant’s magic and coaxing it together with her own. She imagined it molding together like clay, becoming one cohesive unit. The magic seemed eager to follow her lea
d now, and she drank from its strength to fuel her efforts.

  Although easier, there was still a lot of work to be done. The Remnant’s magic was massive, overpowering, and somewhat unruly. She had to take great care to mold it together, to ensure there were no seams left where it could split apart again. All the while she focused her entire will on wholeness, Creating a single magic where only fragments remained.

  Her own power was limited, and she was using it to work with a source of magic so vast it might as well be endless. She wasn’t even sure how she was doing it, or how she hadn’t run out of energy long ago. Her entire body was shaking from the effort.

  The Remnant’s power fused with a sound like a thunderclap. Magic flashed and seared her mind, so powerful she had a moment of awe before she felt herself swoon.

  28

  Windrunner caught Brinelle with his good arm just before her head would have hit the ground.

  She was breathing steadily, unconscious but seemingly fine. She didn’t have any injuries, at least. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  The Remnant rested on the altar, complete. It glowed brilliantly, red and gold streaks blazing across the blue-green surface. The power radiating from it was breathtaking.

  If Windrunner had doubted its magic would be strong enough to defeat the Shahadán, he didn’t now. This stone held more power than a dozen Shahadán.

  Footsteps sounded behind them. Brinelle stirred at the sound, and Windrunner helped her sit against the altar. She was groggy, but coming around. He snatched the Remnant and cradled it in the crook of his broken arm before turning to face the doorway. He held his staff before him in his good hand, one end resting against the ground. He looked like an old man fending off thieves with his walking stick, but it was better than nothing.

  A constellation of orange tattoos came into view before the rest of Fi’ar did. In the light of the Remnant, his skin looked so black it was almost blue.

  The sight of their ally arriving should have filled Windrunner with relief. But it didn’t. He was on edge, suspicious before the urn warrior even opened his mouth.