The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  The shackles rattled in the alley as they fell to the ground. They landed beside the footman Iani shot in the forehead. He fired another round at one of the other two militiamen, but they were quick on their feet and dodged his aggressive advances. Both teams had the darkness to contend with. Only the dim light of the main road lanterns offered help in seeing their opponents. The two remaining footmen scattered, one took shelter behind a large metal dumpster while the other propped his dead comrade up to use as a human shield.

  “You could’ve killed me!” Rennington backed away from the corpse Iani left behind. It was a close shot and his little brother wasn’t exactly an expert marksman. He had luck on his side to pull off that hit.

  “We all gotta die of something,” Iani fired rounds into the metal dumpster. His words were callous. Rage consumed him. He was overwhelmed with the insult that these men would dare harm his sibling. Nobody spilled the blood of a Platts brother and lived to tell the tale.

  Iani was so focused on the footman behind the dumpster that his consideration for the rest of his surroundings abandoned him. Rennington caught the weak shimmer of lantern light as it reflected off the metal barrel of the second footman’s gun. He seized his little brother. The adrenaline coursing through him allowed him enough strength to push Iani’s body behind his own as the gun went off.

  Two shots and one brutal punch was enough to bring Rennington Platts to his knees. He wasn’t even sure where the second bullet had struck him, but his body felt the effects of his injuries.

  “Renn!” Iani panicked and fired round after round at the man who brought his brother down. Soon the only sound in the alley was the mocking click, click, click of an empty chamber. Iani cursed and dropped his weapon, falling to the ground and grasping his brother by the shoulders to keep him upright.

  “I knew it,” the footman who shot Rennington smirked, satisfied with the sound of Iani’s empty weapon. In any other circumstance, he would’ve gunned them both down then and there. But the name Rennington shouted earlier during his initial assault, and the name Iani uttered, rang a bell in his brain. “Rennington and Iani Platts. Jernal, these are the feckin’ deserters!” he called to his comrade.

  Jernal emerged from behind the bullet-riddled dumpster, weapon still drawn in the event they continued to put up resistance. “No kidding,” he sneered, a grin spreading across his face. It had been many years since the two brothers deserted the Southern division’s army, but they remained a common subject amongst the men in its military. There was no greater act of treason than to abandon their posts. “Darjal would very much like to make an example of you two.”

  Nicholai’s moral compass spun. He watched the two footmen force Rennington to his feet despite his injuries. He couldn't hold himself up. Each time he collapsed back to the ground, they raised a knee to his stomach or pistol-whipped his skull. Iani looked like a demon as they laid into his brother. The footmen had to let Rennington fall to the ground, as it took both men to subdue the fiery Iani and his insurmountable fury. After a relentless struggle, they restrained him.

  “I see a promotion coming our way,” Jernal said to his partner, his voice coated with pride. “But I’m mostly curious to see what Darjal will do when he sees these two.” The men walked Rennington and Iani out of the alley, heading toward the confinement center. They’d detain the outlaws there until they could send word to Darjal in the next town over.

  Nicholai did not have to wonder what Darjal would do to a military deserter. He only met the other Time Fathers face-to-face once, during their ten-year meeting at Panagea’s center, but he took it upon himself to become familiar with the type of men they were through biographies and the public statistics of their divisions. Darjal Wessex was an unforgiving sort. He believed in old-world punishment as brutal as it was effective. While his tactics were off-putting to most, Darjal had no qualms in his unrelenting behavior. He stood behind the claim that he was to be revered as a god by his people. An omnipotent being couldn’t commit murder, only cleanse the world of sinners. It was a dangerous thought process Nicholai never agreed with, but the Time Fathers allowed him to have his delusions. Until this moment, he never assumed it would be an issue he’d have to deal with.

  Deserters. If they were guilty of their crime, rules dictated they should accept the consequences. More critical still, they killed two men. It went against everything Nicholai believed in, but something called to him to help. As if driven by a supernatural force, he creaked open the hidden grate and pulled his thinning, hungry body from the darkness of the catacombs. A majority of him already regretted his actions. But the one part of him that did not was the one that resonated the loudest: Lilac would have done it. He saw the sadness in her eyes when he announced to Rodgie he could not help his daughter. Ever the voice for the underdog, she would have freed these men or died trying.

  Nicholai bent down near the body of a fallen soldier. He cringed in the darkness, a squeamish feeling rising inside of him as he rolled the body over to grab the weapon hiding underneath it. The skin was still warm. He pulled his hood back up to conceal himself. Nicholai saw dead bodies before, but he never watched a man get murdered before his eyes. It was ... unsettling. More so because he harbored a suspicion he’d see a lot more in his future. A man on the run from the seven most powerful leaders in Panagea would see rivers of blood before he reached his goal ... if he reached it at all.

  The Time Father gripped the gun in his hand. It felt awkward. Though Nicholai held experience in all things mechanical, the gun was never one of his favorite machines. There were many other more useful things metal could create. Without further stalling, he quickened his pace, exiting the alley and following the blood trail Rennington left behind.

  Soon he walked behind the two footmen. He wasn’t without fear. He knew this was the most foolish thing a man in hiding could do. But a man in love was a fool, and knowing Lilac would want it was all the fuel he needed. “Release the men,” he instructed, pulling back on the revolver’s hammer.

  The soldiers did not have much time to react. They each had secured their weapons back to their sides, as they needed their arms to carry the injured Rennington and did not want to risk a boisterous Iani stealing them. The looks on their faces were equal parts confusion and surprise. “The thief,” Jernal whispered, recalling the original suspect of their chase. He narrowed his eyes. The man looked familiar, but he could not place him. “You’re affiliated with these rats?”

  “No questions, gentlemen. Just release them.”

  They had little choice as they stared down the barrel of the pilfered revolver. They could drop the two men and draw their guns, but one or both would be shot in the time it took to do so, and releasing Iani was a gamble in and of itself. Even handcuffed, the man was a cannonball. The two footmen hesitated before releasing Iani and Rennington. Iani tried to catch his brother as he fell to the ground, but there was little he could do while restrained.

  “Keep your hands high, gentlemen,” Nicholai continued his calm but forceful orders, “and point me toward the keys which unlock these shackles.”

  Jernal clenched his teeth as frustration boiled inside him. “There,” he motioned to the set which dangled around his waist.

  Nicholai frowned. He did not want to get that close to the footmen. That was a pair of dice he had no intention of rolling. But he also didn’t want to encourage any of them to lower their hands. With no other choice, he said, “Unbind these men ... very, very slowly.”

  Jernal’s mind raced. Nicholai saw it in his eyes. He calculated the risk of whether he should make a move. He determined it too dangerous to chance. Acting on instruction, he stuck the skeleton key into Rennington’s cuffs first. The heavy chains rattled as Jernal pulled them away from the wounded man’s wrists. Iani stuck his wrists out; it was the first time since Nicholai saw him restrained that he did not try to unhinge himself. Jernal unlocked his restraints next, and before they even fell to the ground Iani reached out to his older brother.


  “Make no mention of this to Darjal,” Nicholai backed farther away from the two footmen. “He would not be pleased with your failure.”

  Jernal scowled along with his partner. Refusing to turn his back on the two men, Nicholai walked backward, gun still drawn. Rennington grimaced as Iani adjusted him over his shoulder. He was difficult to hold. Rennington had five inches in height and fifty pounds of muscle on his little brother. “Who the feck are you?” Iani backed away in the same direction. Though the Platts brothers did not enjoy being the subjects of rescue missions, Iani’s ego was not so big that he would walk away from their biggest chance of survival.

  “Does it matter?” Nicholai replied without taking his eyes off Jernal.

  Iani arched a brow, looking back at the situation the stranger freed them from. “S’pose not.”

  Nicholai’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Jernal, though he suspected the hood obscured his face. “Now, turn around and run. Send condolences to the families of the men you lost tonight.” Though he tried to sound direct, his last sentence appeared sincere.

  Regardless of the man’s awkward request, the soldiers nodded. “Right,” Jernal said, backing away. Neither felt brave, or stupid enough to turn their backs on a man with a gun. They continued taking backward steps until enough of a distance separated them that Jernal’s partner felt comfortable turning around and running. Jernal could not help but loiter and tried to study the cloaked man’s face. He knew him from somewhere. It vexed him.

  “What are you waiting for?” Iani muttered, eyeballing Nicholai with a judgmental stare. “Shoot him.”

  “I’m not going to shoot him,” Nicholai spat back. Though his response was instinctual, as he never intended to take another man’s life, he regretted saying it. Jernal’s keen insight sensed his weakness, and he withdrew his weapon.

  “Run!” Nicholai shouted, grabbing Rennington’s other arm and hauling the body off with Iani.

  The youngest Platts brother looked delirious as the two men carried Rennington back toward the alley. One of Jernal’s bullets whizzed past his head as he yelled, “What in the—feckin’ shoot him, mate!”

  Nicholai did not respond. He focused on moving Rennington and not getting shot. Iani cursed and reached over to rip the gun out of Nicholai’s hands. He spun on his heels, leaving the entire weight of Rennington for Nicholai to deal with as he fired round after round back toward Jernal. It bought Nicholai enough time to return to the darkened alley between the church and the repair shop. The ominous chords of choir voices reverberated through the large building’s walls as he set Rennington down and opened the hidden grate once more.

  It was difficult stuffing a grown man’s body in a small hole. Rennington scowled at Nicholai’s forceful touch. “I can do it, mate, gods be damned,” he muttered through a clenched jaw, painfully shifting his body and sliding into the hole. Though he wriggled in, he still could not find the strength to stand, and collapsed once his feet hit the ground of the catacombs below.

  Nicholai waited for Iani to emerge around the corner. The sound of bullets being exchanged made it seem like hours, but it had been mere seconds. Iani rounded the corner, eyes falling on Nicholai as he motioned to the secret grate. “Charming disappearing act,” Iani said, running and sliding into the grate with a grace Nicholai did not know the wild young man possessed. The Time Father followed, sealing the grate after him with haste. He did not know if Iani was followed by Jernal, but he did not want to take any chances by dawdling.

  “So this is how you pulled off that little vanishing performance earlier,” Rennington murmured from his place on the ground. He seethed and tightened his grip on his arm where the first bullet entered. The second hole appeared to be around his hip.

  “Too right, the feck is this place?” Iani whispered, trying to keep his voice down.

  The haunting crescendos of the church choir echoed through the catacombs. Nicholai knelt next to Rennington. It was impossible to see his injuries in the darkness. “These catacombs run to the coast,” he said, ignoring Iani’s question. “We’ll need to find some light if we’ve any chance at all of getting those bullet fragments out.”

  “You some sort of doctor?” Rennington asked, trying to maintain his composure in his current state.

  Nicholai paused. “No. To be honest, I don’t even know how to get bullet fragments out of a man’s body.”

  Rennington cursed and looked at his brother. “If these run all the way to the coast, we can get back to the cockboat and—”

  “I’ll get you back to Elowyn,” Iani finished, bending down to help his brother by pulling him to his feet. “Just try not to die between now and then.”

  Rennington muttered something under his breath. Nicholai flanked the injured man’s opposite side and helped him move. As they crept farther into the belly of the catacombs, Iani spoke to break the silence, “And to whom do the Platts brothers owe a debt of gratitude?” he asked. His voice was agitated, but the sentiment behind his statement was sincere.

  Nicholai frowned in the darkness. He wasn’t sure who he could trust. He was a well-known character in all the eight cardinal directions. Giving out his name while he remained on the run would not be the wisest decision. Then again, neither was exposing himself to save the lives of two strangers. “Nico,” he replied, bridging the gap between their current spot and the coast with each passing step. “Just Nico.”

  Chapter Six

  Darkness bowed out. It’s time ended, and it offered the lead role to light. It crept into eyesight with a slow linger, an expected crescendo of glory that tucked the blacks and indigos of the sea and sky away. The blinding colors of fire spread across the horizon. It was poetry in motion, the way the sun climbed and cast its net of rays over the rippling waves of the water. A new dawn was one of the world’s natural wonders, a reliable and beautiful thing one counted on every day. The sun always rose.

  The beauty was lost on Kazuaki. He stared at the day with detachment. The ship anchored in the harbor as far from the prying eyes of land dwellers as they could muster. Rennington and Iani’s cockboat was nowhere in sight. Kazuaki’s eye squinted as he caught a bright ripple of light off a wave. Turning his back to the climbing sun, he leaned against the quarterdeck, reaching up to touch the bandage wrapped around the hole where his other eye used to live.

  Years. Several long years passed since he traded it to Mimir. He felt the thin sheet of metal underneath the synthetic leather cover strapped to his head. The captain remembered the pain of cauterizing the protective piece of titanium to his face like it was yesterday. But it was a necessity. He did not want to take any chances. Not with Mimir’s little “gift”. Not until he made it up to Bermuda.

  “They should’ve been here by now.”

  Kazuaki perked at the sound of her voice. Though it held no emotion, her pitch still had a way of rousing him from his deepest thoughts. As Bermuda approached, the captain cleared his throat. “I’m sure they’ll be here in a moment’s notice,” he said. “Best prepare for departure. Make sure all hands are on deck. The outgoing tide is favorable, as is the wind. Should be an easy exit, given Rennington and Iani arrive on time.”

  “Too right, Captain,” Bermuda nodded and turned on her heels to instruct the rest of the crew. Kazuaki’s stare couldn’t help but fall to her missing hand as she walked away. The guilt only attacked him at the forefront for a second before he buried it deep within his subconscious, but it lingered like a dull toothache.

  Her handicap did not slow her down. She was as useful as she was before. With her heart freed from the burden of mourning, Bermuda channeled her focus into becoming a better fighter, a more skillful deckhand. Perhaps she was a better quartermaster in her current state than she was before. But she was no longer Bermuda.

  Kazuaki gazed into the farthest reaches of the world and found nothing as valuable to him. She was a flawless creature, a woman of passion and wit. Though the oppressive thumb of Panagea's patriarchal society crushed mo
st women into submission, Bermuda spat in the face of any man who stifled her. She was a breath of fresh air in his stagnant lungs. She always was, from the moment he saw her punch a man square in the jaw for grabbing her ass in a pub. Kazuaki berated himself often; he took this perfectly imperfect thing and led her straight to the creature who took away everything she was. Mimir did not just take her hand, or her heart. He took her whole self, and left a hollow, robotic shell in her place.

  Kazuaki knew his thought process was selfish. Bermuda got everything she wanted in that trade. But he could not walk into the nightmare that was his afterlife without knowing he righted his egregious error. He could not rest until every cell that made up her body no longer suffered from the touch of that conniving demon. Matters of the heart, while all-consuming and gut-wrenching, were mandatory steps on the path of being human. He robbed her of that. She robbed herself of that. Had she given herself more time, he knew she could’ve overcome it. Bermuda could overcome anything.

  The captain’s eardrums honed in on the sound of far off rowing. The splashes of the oars sinking into the water and propelling the small craft forward were subtle, but distinct. He spied the approaching cockboat, but bristled with caution when he saw not two, but three bodies inside it. Though it was hard to tell from the distance, one seemed hunched over. Wounded, he guessed. Had it become necessary for the Platts brothers to take a prisoner? The captain clenched his jaw and headed to the main deck. Bartholomew, Penn, Granite, and his dog were already there, preparing the vessel for departure.

  “Looks like we have a visitor, boys,” Kazuaki announced to the men as they scurried about. “Let’s be sure we treat our ‘guest’ with behavior most becoming of gentlemen, aye?”

  Penn smirked at the captain’s sarcasm as he approached the foremast. “None more gentlemanly than us, Captain.”