The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  Nicholai also wondered how many other things they neglected to mention to him before his father signed him up for this position. He contemplated seeking council from Edvard, but the two weren't close. The last time Nicholai saw his father was at the decennial anniversary, his induction day to take over the Southeastern division. It was hard to believe he maintained Southeastern's time for almost ten years. The next decennial would be upon them in a handful of months. It would be the first time he ventured to the central point of separation for each division as a Time Father instead of an inductee. Though the meetings were traditionally reserved for nominating potential new Time Fathers in the event someone lived in failing health or wished to retire, he could still discuss things with his father then.

  It remained the only place on earth where each superior traveled to be within talking distance of every Time Father, and remain within his own division. It took a great deal of planning to arrange, and being the typical term a Time Father served was upwards of fifty years, the meetings weren't a frequent occurrence. Nicholai preferred it that way. He already knew enough about the other Time Fathers based on statistic reports and the occasional biography.

  Nicholai cleared his mind of such things. It was with fortune he had several tasks today that would keep him busy. At the end of the day, he had to have a very difficult discussion with Malcolm and Lilac Finn.

  Chapter Three

  There was no sound more beautiful than anchors dropping into the waters below. The chain’s rattling clamored with an intensity that almost matched the ship’s captain. Kazuaki stood at the bow and watched his small band of men and women prepare to disembark. Energy ran high since announcing the discovery of Mimir’s hiding place. After everyone finished readying the ship and themselves, the captain prepared himself to tell half the crew they needed to stay behind. It was an unenviable position, but Captain Kazuaki Hidataka was a leader before everything else. There was no way, not even for a moment, he would leave his beloved ship unattended.

  “Everything is set, Captain,” a voice called from below deck. Elowyn Saveign, the only other female member of Kazuaki’s crew, signaled to her superior. She ran her hands through her short, black hair to remove any sweat that formed on her forehead. “The ship is stationary and supplies are bagged,” she added. Though she was a petite thing, Elowyn’s voice carried tempered violence befitting her character. She was a small hurricane, the right balance of intelligence and muscle Kazuaki required of his team.

  “Everyone gather ‘round!” The captain’s words bellowed like a cannon, summoning the entire band of ten to the forefront, including the excitable mutt belonging to Granite. The dog yipped and wagged his tail, but quieted when the behemoth that was Granite laid a huge yet gentle hand on the canine’s head. Kazuaki put his hands behind his back and stood tall, counting to be sure everyone was present before he continued.

  “The first band of us will start our course to track Mimir. Five of you will stay here with the ship. I will return for you once we find the little bastard and take you to him after so you might get your go with him too.”

  The crew exchanged uncomfortable glances. His orders came as no shock; they knew Kazuaki never left his ship in a vulnerable state. They waited for a long time, ever since they joined Kazuaki’s crew and learned of Mimir and the supernatural spoils he afforded to those who found him. The last seven days had been unending torture waiting to dock. They all wanted to be the first to leave.

  Kazuaki continued, “Bermuda, Elowyn, Brack, Revi, Granite, you’ll all come with me. Bartholomew, Iani, Rennington, Penn, Jirin, you’ll all watch the ship until we return.” Though every instinct in him thought it would be better to leave the trustworthy quartermaster, Bermuda, on the ship, he couldn’t do it. The two searched for Mimir for years. Even though time wore away most of the weaknesses held by Kazuaki Hidataka, Bermuda remained the chink in his armor. He couldn’t deny himself her company.

  Bartholomew was a close second in rank of those he most trusted. The scholar served as a fine guardian for his beloved ship in the rare event something went wrong. “Ready yourselves, we head out soon,” Kazuaki added, stepping down the set of stairs that led to the main deck.

  “Belay that!” A disgruntled Jirin stepped in Kazuaki’s path. He shot his arm out to stop the captain from walking farther.

  With a speed that matched lightning, Kazuaki caught Jirin’s forearm in a vice-like grip. Jirin had only been a crew member for the last month, a hasty replacement for a good man who died in one of their supply trips to the mainland. It was difficult to keep everyone out of harm’s way. Their activities were illegal, stealing supplies and plundering various parts of Panagea in their search for legendary treasure. This often solicited backlash from the footmen on Panagea’s divisions. In the event someone was captured, their choices were a cell or a bullet. Anyone under Kazuaki’s employment earned the latter. The militia knew the captain’s tactics. If one of his men were thrown in a cell, come firestorm or high water, he would get them out. It became much easier for the footmen to put them down.

  Jirin’s tenacious spirit earned him a spot on the ship, but he suffered from being a loose cannon. Kazuaki did not shy away from scooping up Panagea’s castaways; his entire crew was composed of those shunned by the divisions. But while there was room for Jirin’s temper in Panagea, there was no room for it on Kazuaki’s ship. The dog barked as the tension grew. “Disapproval, Jirin?” The captain lowered his voice, eyes locked with his challenger as he tightened his hold.

  Jirin scowled. He tried to jerk his arm away with no success. His fingertips tingled from lack of blood flow, but in his discomfort, he still hissed, “We’ve already been waiting too long! We deserve this!”

  His words fell over Kazuaki with no effect. “I’ll tell you what you deserve, mate,” he withdrew his machete from his hip and rested it on the underside of Jirin’s arm. He tapped it on the man’s exposed skin. It was easy to do physical damage, but that was not his intention. Jirin’s efforts to pull his arm away became more panicked. Kazuaki knew he caused him mental anguish.

  “C-Captain,” Jirin’s attempt to avoid showing fear fell flat. But even in his apprehension, he remained angry. “This is shit, I ain’t waiting here like a feckin’ idiot while you go off getting the rewards for yourselves.”

  Kazuaki arched a brow. He experienced his fair share of disobedience, but this was years ago, long before he had made a name for himself. Now whispers of the great Captain Kazuaki Hidataka were enough to put a man or woman in his or her place. Jirin’s tenacity won him no favors. Kazuaki applied more pressure with the machete. Jirin’s skin split where it met the blade. “You’ll wait,” he ordered as a small trickle of blood snuck out from Jirin’s fresh wound, “or you’ll wait armless.”

  Silence fell over the crew during the showdown, save for the barking of Granite’s dog. Nobody stood up for Jirin. Not only was it unwise to cross the captain, but Jirin was not well-liked. It was a long process for newbies to gain acceptance from the crew after the death of a trusted friend and he did not put much effort into gaining their respect. Jirin gritted his teeth together, knowing the captain would cut his arm off without a second thought if he delayed him from leaving much longer. “I’ll wait,” he muttered through a clenched jaw.

  Kazuaki stared at Jirin, long enough to allow him to wonder if he submitted in time to keep his limb. After a suitable amount of tension passed, he let the man’s arm fall back to his side. The flesh wound, though not deep, would scar. It would serve as a reminder to stay in his place. “Move out,” Kazuaki shouted, looking to those he assigned to take the first trip.

  The five men left behind watched the first team depart. There was a stillness to the crew. Discovering the location of Mimir’s well still settled over them. Jirin showed less captivation, rubbing at his wound with little thought to the bacteria that might live on his fingertips. Though the cut bled, the injury to his ego was far more severe.

  “Do you think he’ll d
o it?” Rennington asked out loud, staring off in the direction the captain took the others. “Do away with eternal life, I mean?”

  “Not sure why anyone would,” Penn replied, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun with his hand. “Who the feck wouldn’t want to live forever?”

  All the men who served under him grew up with the tales of Kazuaki Hidataka’s exploits. Though the captain never came out and announced his condition to the crew, his immortality was implied. Not only had his stories floated around in the minds of their great-great-grandparents, but they’d all witnessed him suffer several injuries that would kill a normal man. Death did not come to him. Whispers of his desire to end his contract with immortality filtered through the ship’s walls over the years, but none of the men thought he’d find himself in a situation where he could end it. But here, with Mimir ... anything was possible.

  “If he’s stupid enough to give up immortality, then he deserves to die if you ask me,” Jirin seethed, still fiddling with his injury.

  “Bite your tongue,” Bartholomew scowled. The scholar glared at Jirin with equal parts hostility and restraint. “Your opinion is as worthless as your temper, Jirin. If another unflattering word about the captain escapes those lips of yours, I’ll cut out that insolent tongue and use it to scrub the shit off the deck.”

  Iani and Rennington snickered, not even trying to stifle their amusement. It was not uncommon to haze a newer member until he fell into submission—sometimes it happened quicker than others. Poor Jirin took a long time. He was a great fighter, but his off-putting personality threw up roadblocks for him. He struggled with earning the crew members' acceptance, but their acceptance didn’t seem important to him.

  Jirin scoffed and flipped Bartholomew off before skulking away, uninterested in remaining the topic of their harassment. Iani and Rennington Platts still chuckled amongst themselves, finding great humor in how Bartholomew dealt with Jirin. As a learned man of philosophy, it was out of character to see him engaged in verbal attacks. It made the sight of it much more enjoyable when it occurred.

  Penn still stared off in the direction where the others disappeared, uninterested in Jirin’s dramatic display. “The man’s a feckin’ legend. Can you imagine a world without Kazuaki Hidataka?” he asked, focused on the strange topic of a man wanting to rid himself of immortality.

  Bartholomew followed Penn’s gaze. He held great respect for the captain: the legend and the actual man, as the two suffered from obvious differences. “While I suspect the divisions might delight in his absence,” he said, crossing his arms, “I’d hate to imagine a world without him.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Their descent into the barren wasteland was quiet. Wildlife was nonexistent in this day and age. Not even the comforting chirps of birds existed. Kazuaki reflected on adventures past where the sounds of nature joined him. It used to be a nice reminder he wasn’t alone. He didn’t need such luxuries anymore. Time beat the need out of him.

  “Pretty ballsy, aye?” Bermuda approached Kazuaki and joined him at his side. She motioned back toward the ship with her head. “Surprised you let him keep the arm.”

  “Yes,” Kazuaki replied, stopping to remove an aging book from an old leather pouch at his side. “I’m surprised too,” he added, opening the journal and skimming through its interior. He was too eager to get to Mimir; in any other circumstance, Jirin would have been down one arm.

  Bermuda waited while the captain studied the journal’s contents. She glanced over her shoulder to Elowyn, Brack, Revi, and Granite, to be sure they kept pace. Granite’s dog ran circles around him while he took measured steps forward. Bermuda smirked. The two were a comical contrast to one another: the silent, stoic giant and his lanky, high-energy dog. Though it was a pain in the ass to make sure they had extra supplies for the mutt, he remained a welcomed addition on the ship. Granite, too, was helpful to have around, and one did not get Granite without the dog.

  Revi also kept pace with the others. Much like Granite, he did not carry much of an expression on his face. Bermuda approved of Kazuaki's team picks. Revi was an asset. He loathed himself so much that he did not value his own life. It was a depressing assessment, but it made him a fearless fighter. He was a madman with a gun and a sword in his hand. Aside from Kazuaki, Bermuda lived in certainty Revi had slaughtered more assailants than any other crewmen on the ship. It was easy to battle when one did not fear death.

  With Granite and Revi in check, Bermuda shifted her gaze to Elowyn. They formed a natural bond, being the only two women to set foot on Kazuaki’s ship, except for the trollops Brack snuck on board when he could afford their company. Bermuda appreciated Elowyn’s tenacity, and both united over their shared contempt for the Northern division’s military.

  “What’ll be your request, Elowyn?” Bermuda asked, making small talk to pass the time.

  The lithe woman gazed toward Bermuda with a look of absence. She pursed her lips together in thought. “You know, I’ve had years to decide. There are so many things ... I can honestly say I don’t know what I’ll ask the little bugger for when we find him.”

  Silence stemmed from Granite and Revi as they walked alongside the two women. Bermuda thought there was strategy involved with Kazuaki’s choices and it became increasingly obvious with the minutes of stillness that rolled by. He chose those who kept their mouths shut. Silence was a better environment in which to concentrate.

  “Here we are,” Kazuaki said from the front of the pack. His eyes flicked down to the page in the journal. Bermuda peered over his shoulder, skimming the words as the captain read to himself, “T’was the two hundred thirty-second day of travel that I first laid eyes on the well through the trees. I kneweth first-hand t’was an enchanted thing. The aura that sprung forth from those bricks, unnatural and alluring ... it called to me.”

  “Ominous,” Bermuda muttered, looking over at Kazuaki as he cradled the book. “One problem, Captain. There are no trees here.” There hadn’t been any trees, anywhere, for as far back as she remembered.

  “We’re still close to the coast,” Kazuaki said, kicking at the sand beneath his boots. “We’ll climb that hill there,” he instructed, motioning to a steep incline ahead. “A lot of time passed since the author penned these words. If we’re lucky, all the fungi died the same time the trees did. That would slow the decomposition.” He closed the book and started for the incline. “If nothing else, we should be able to find indicators to where trees once were.”

  The team followed Kazuaki to the slope. It was steep. At the top of the slope, a wall of rocks awaited them, a straight formation the height of two grown men. Revi dug his boots into the crumbling rubble that made up the wall and hoisted his body up without hesitation. He was in good shape and made short work of it, finding stable rocks that held his weight as he climbed. As soon as he reached the top, he pulled himself up and back onto solid ground.

  “Revi,” Granite’s baritone voice sounded from below.

  Revi stuck his head over the ledge, looking down at Granite.

  Granite stooped down and grabbed his dog. He looked back up at Revi and without warning said, “Catch.” He hurled the dog upward with his incredible strength. It was just low enough that a panicked Revi reached forward and seized the wiggling animal. He collapsed backward with the mutt, who then pinned him to the ground. The beast wagged its tail and licked his face.

  “Damn, Granite!” Revi pushed the jovial dog off him and wiped at his saliva-covered face. He glared at the mutt’s owner, who pulled his body up and over the ledge. “A little more of a warning next time would be great, eh?”

  Granite ignored Revi, looming down to stare at Elowyn and Bermuda as they climbed. “Need an assist?” he offered, though he knew full well they did not require his help.

  Bermuda and Elowyn exchanged glances, shrugged as best as they could while clinging to the ledge, and looked up at Granite. “I’ll take a free ride,” Elowyn said, extending her arm up over her head.

  Granit
e reached down and grasped a single hand from each woman. He lifted their small bodies with little effort and sat them on the ground above. By then, Kazuaki made it to the top, and already trekked forward.

  Bermuda gazed at the back of the captain; he stopped in his tracks about thirty feet ahead. His long jacket blew around his legs with the strong coastal wind. “Captain?”

  Kazuaki stood, staring forward as his team joined him to see what captured his attention. When they reached his side, they saw more barren land. Large stones and pebbles surrounded the area. Too much time passed to leave much evidence of tree trunks, but black, gnarled roots sprang forth from the cracking earth. They looked ethereal, like supernatural fingers reaching out of their dried-up graves. The chilling presence of the roots was not as eerie as the out-of-place structure sitting in the middle of the wasteland. Smack dab in the outstretched realm of nothingness sat a decrepit, rundown well.

  “Is ... that it?” Elowyn asked, unimpressed. The well looked unnatural in its habitat; it wasn’t at all what anybody expected. An inanimate object surrounded by oblivion—it looked more like an abandoned piece of junk than the homestead of the lesser god, Mimir.

  Kazuaki narrowed his eyes and started toward the well. He was not ready to give up the dream. In his many experiences, chasing legends and myths was never a guarantee. Some turned out to be nothing more than fairy tales, written for the entertainment of a storyteller’s audience. But most, enough, were true accounts. Even if they were embellished over time, a shred of truth always remained. The journal that led him here painted a strong picture of its author. Kazuaki took the writer for a man of genuine curiosity: a treasure hunter whose voyage was financed by wealthy acquaintances. He checked his sources. The financiers proved to be real people, long dead. He felt in his soul that this was an authentic account. Time had a way of changing a landscape, but he did not believe it would change the outcome he had hunted for so long.