His people lived in contentedness then. Before Nicholai’s betrayal.
The eldest Time Father watched from his perch as the small shape of a footman forced a rioter into submission below. It looked as though a group of people tried to pull a brass statue of Avital York from its pedestal outside his mansion. It was hard to see from the distance that separated them and the failing sharpness of his aging eyes, but he remained content to know everything was under control. Mass groups formed and fell outside his mansion’s walls more than once since the public questioned the disappearances of their more educated laborers.
“All in good time,” Avital told himself before he disappeared back into the pristine haven of his home. A stark contrast to the world that awaited him outside, he slipped into his chair, a cane assisted him in his movements as he lowered down onto the soft cushion. The Eastern Time Father reached up, pulled his hat from his head and removed the breathing device that hid beneath it. He placed it over his face and took a deep inhale, feeling the comforting expanse of oxygen in his lungs through the weaves of tubes and purifiers attached to his hat.
Once satisfied with the oxygen he consumed, Avital’s trembling hands pulled the Chronometer from his pocket. His face reflected in the glass that shimmered atop the metal clock. His ears perked as they heard a large thud and a short rumble. He guessed the people brought the statue down though he did not get up to verify it. Their little victories meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. He wound the crown of the Chronometer, insuring time ran in his realm for another day, as it always did.
“Yes,” he said to himself, slipping the Chronometer back into his pocket. “All in good time ...”
✽ ✽ ✽
Edvard Addihein’s mental condition deteriorated more with each passing day Nicholai remained unfound. Every letter that arrived in the post stressed his heart. Each second that ticked by until his uneasy fingers pried the parcel open was a second that separated him from the news of his son’s assassination. Though every letter he received and opened so far failed to bear that news, each additional letter that followed soon became that doomed note in his mind.
He stared at the wax stamped letter in his hands for a long time before he convinced himself to open it. Edvard’s eyes hesitated before they focused, the words appeared blurry until the message took shape: just another follow up of other divisions’ goings-on. They were all the same. Chaos, questions, and uprisings in the more conflicted divisions.
It seemed Southern and Eastern experienced the most brutal of public outcries. They tried to keep it from the citizens in the beginning, but the growing passage of time made them impatient. Avital and Darjal paid no need to their peoples’ distress and carried on with their efforts to construct the ship and stock it with supplies. Edvard knew it was only a matter of time. Carlo and Vadim would soon follow suit. Patience wore thin regarding Nicholai's capture and the restoration of Southeastern's time.
Vocal disapproval from the public was not the only thing that kept him up at night. The state of Panagea was dreadful and became sorrier with each additional earthquake, sinkhole, wildfire, and volcano eruption. The number of lives lost due to the natural disasters in all of Panagea encroached upon a million in the months since Nicholai abandoned Southeastern.
While most of his people weren’t as violent as those in Southern and Eastern, his ability to quell their growing concerns fell short. Edvard maxed out his resources as far as sending aid to the townships most ravaged by the tragedies. The short supply of medics forced most towns to organize crash courses in basic first aid, but even if all the people in Western knew how to clean and bandage a wound, medical supplies still dwindled. There were too many wounded to keep up with production, and it only got harder to transport supplies with roads being ripped up and destroyed by Panagea’s shows of protest.
Panagea suffered the occasional disaster before, and even though the frequency of those events increased with each passing year, Nicholai’s sin in Southeastern unleashed a new quickness on the crumbling world. Edvard closed his eyes and placed the letter on the table near a pile of others.
The mounting pressure for Edvard to prove his alliance with the Time Fathers grew tiresome. Nightmares plagued him in the evenings and the nightmares of reality afflicted him in his waking state. He was tired. So tired.
“What have you done, Nicholai?” he asked himself, his voice graveled and fatigued. The man rubbed at his eyes and leaned back on a wall for support. How his son fell so far was beyond Edvard. It put him in mind of Enita for a brief moment. Edvard sighed. He wondered what Nicholai was doing. Did Kazuaki treat him well? Had he found the Earth Mother? If he had, did he discover the truth of the past Time Fathers? If so, how did that affect how he saw Edvard and the other Time Fathers?
The Western Time Father felt the weight of every night he didn’t sleep. On typical days, he busied himself with the duties required in his division, but thoughts of his son plagued him often. If Edvard thought any less of his son for stopping time in Southeastern, he suspected his son thought the same of him, if he discovered the secrets of the Earth Mother and his title.
The whole ordeal confused Edvard Addihein. A man navigated by his inner sense of what was right, in this case, he found his moral compass struggled with where its true north pointed. It spun round and round in an endless circle as justification and rationalization tried to break their way to the surface of his internal debate. Logic and emotion battled in long stretches and he was no closer to arriving at what was ‘right’ than he had been when he first heard of Nicholai’s betrayal.
“Mr. Addihein,” a voice called out from the entrance to the Time Father’s sanctuary. “There’s a Mr. Olebbows here to see you, a representative from Western’s town of Dygier. He has concerns he’d like to discuss with you. He didn’t make an appointment; should I send him away?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Edvard said as he adjusted his vest and hat. “I’ll make time for him.”
The footman nodded and turned to show Edvard where he could find the delegate. The Western Time Father followed, grateful to have something else to put his focus on. A town representative, regardless of how agitated, was a much kinder alternative than his thoughts as of late.
✽ ✽ ✽
A flicker of light from a kerosene lamp cast dancing shadows over Aggi Normandy’s face. He sat and poured over the countless documents that covered his tabletop. He assembled them into piles: accounts of how many people died due to the disasters versus how many perished during the construction of Darjal’s ship. How many towns suffered catastrophic structural damages—how many people remained homeless. Another pile contained information he gathered about Southeastern during Nicholai’s reign, assessments of the peoples’ morale, references made to Nicholai’s successes and failures—it was a short pile. Most of the Southeastern Time Father’s documents remained stuck in Southeastern. From what Aggi pieced together, the people enjoyed Nicholai’s rule. He couldn’t imagine what made the man doom all those people to their current fate.
The state of Northeastern reflected that of Western: controlled chaos. The people of the Northeastern division respected Aggi Normandy and trusted he would not lead them astray, but with fewer resources available to showcase his support, some people distrusted his ability to maintain their safety. His primary focus remained on his people. It always had been. That reason alone ignited his decision to challenge Nordjan at his border. Having witnessed the negative influence the Northern Time Father birthed in his division, Aggi wanted nothing more than to shut it down before Nordjan tried to push his questionable tactics on Northeastern. Aggi would not allow his people to suffer the same conditions as those in the Northern division.
They put up a valiant fight. Though they were unsuccessful in changing Nordjan’s mind, they kept his influence contained within his borders. Aggi lamented the lives lost and did not consider it a victory for anyone. The Northeastern Time Father suffered a huge blow of confidence by the sce
nario’s outcome: his penchant for ruling was far different from those of the other Time Fathers. All he did, he suspected, was buy himself more time before Nordjan tried to exert his control outside his division again. He suspected that was why he took such a vested interest in Nicholai. Now the Northern Time Father remained the least of his troubles.
Aggi wished he knew what Nicholai’s end game was. No other Time Father in history betrayed their cause to this level. Time stopped before—but never for this long. Even seasoned men panicked, unaware of the full extent of damage a division frozen in time for this long created. Though Aggi did not know Nicholai well, the more he learned about his ruling tactics, the more he thought the man aligned with his own ideals. But stopping time ... that was something Aggi never would have done.
The man frowned. His inability to piece the puzzle together increased his frustration. Something was missing from the equation. He could not put his finger on it, but he intended to find the missing piece ... hopefully, before they found Nicholai. It was getting harder to keep the peace.
✽ ✽ ✽
Much like the panic in the divisions across Panagea, Nordjan’s annoyance grew. He considered himself a fair man. He kept his mind open to new ways of benefitting his division and Panagea since the day he accepted the responsibility of guiding Northern to greatness. But things progressed outside his realm of control; Nordjan was neither accustomed to it, nor appreciative of the challenge.
He never thought Nicholai would have separated himself from Panagea for so long. He surfaced on no shore, no division. His lingering absence caused Nordjan to conclude Kazuaki sailed to that little island which contained the Earth Mother. Nicholai either accompanied him by choice or by force, but regardless of the semantics, each action the Time Father committed spat in the face of everything those before him built. He would not allow things to return to their previous state.
Nordjan was not a stupid man. He predicted this chaos would break out amongst the people if things drudged on as long as they did. He tried to avoid it coming to the public’s attention for as long as he could, but Avital and Darjal’s brazen disinterest in hiding their efforts spoiled any chance. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t interfere without consequences.
After his attempt to infiltrate Northeastern and enforce his ways of ruling on them, all the Time Fathers decided each division would operate to maintain peace amongst the individual rulers. Bitter acceptance tainted Nordjan's memory of the event. He understood keeping the peace amongst the rulers was necessary, but had a hard time accepting his superior ideas and practices went unutilized by the other divisions. If only they listened, they would see for themselves.
Winter covered the Northern division but the seasons were irrelevant. A thick blanket of snow always covered his division. Though he stood indoors, Nordjan’s breath clouded around his face. The cold of his division penetrated even the strongest wall. The man-made a mental note to have someone fetch more coal for the stove. With enough fuel, he could banish the cold for a short while. If only he could banish his thoughts of crippling resentment.
Nordjan poured a lot of himself into Nicholai when the Time Father took up control of Southeastern. More than Nicholai’s father, Nordjan guided him and hoped he came to see the perks of Nordjan’s ruling methods. But Nicholai was slow to adopt Nordjan’s ideals and Nordjan was not a patient man. It was his impatience that caused the rift with Northeastern. He couldn’t influence Nicholai to conform to his ways of ruling and thought a more forceful approach would prove effective. But Nordjan couldn’t force his ideas on others in another border war; he lost a lot of men to Aggi Normandy, and even though it was years ago, gaining recruits proved difficult. Men weren’t eager to sign up when Nordjan showcased his desire to solicit war. With Nicholai’s actions, having to dispatch men across Southeastern’s border, he did not have soldiers to spare. He considered it his biggest blunder as a ruler, only accomplishing unease among his people and a constant stiffness between Northern and Northeastern, but he didn’t wish to dwell on the poor results.
The waiting game was the most vexing part. Not one person knew where Nicholai might surface when he returned to Panagea. They all had their speculations, but speculations were all they had, and anything not rooted in logic was a waste of supplies and energy. It was with some luck the next decennial gathering of the Time Fathers approached. They would be one man short, but the remaining divisions needed to choose a new successor when Nicholai’s inevitable death occurred.
Nordjan harbored disappointment that his attempt to mold Nicholai failed. Despite their obvious differences, he had high hopes for the boy. If only he channeled the energy he put into helping people in the short-term and applied it to long-term solutions. But Nicholai always struggled with pulling the trigger on things that required any amount of discomfort to his people. He had the ability to be a great ruler. Nordjan saw it. But he doomed himself in his failure to make unpopular decisions, regardless of how necessary.
The Northern Time Father frowned. It didn’t matter now. Nicholai was not long for the world, and Nordjan did not allow himself to experience any remorse at that fact. Regardless of how much he invested in him, he couldn’t mourn a man as traitorous as Nicholai Addihein. He tried not to dwell on it and thought instead about who would be the next successor to the Southeastern division. Each Time Father would nominate a potential candidate at the decennial and Nordjan wanted to make the best choice: once Nicholai was dead, they’d have a lot of work ahead of them to clean up Panagea, and he needed someone who could do it with the greatest amount of efficiency.
Chapter Fifteen
The island served as a wonderful home during their stay, more accommodating than Panagea had ever been to the outcasts. The food filled their stomachs, clean water replenished their bodies, and the remoteness made the land a haven to careen the ship. They repaired the dry rot, pried off the barnacles, and tarred the exterior with the last of the supplies the ship held in its storage. The undertaking stretched out over several days, but Kazuaki Hidataka’s ship returned to its glory days.
It was unfortunate all good things ended. The time to bid the island farewell had come. At Umbriel’s insistence, they prepared to return to Panagea. They needed to make haste. The land ran on borrowed time.
The crew hauled in as many fresh fruits and vegetables as they could, informed by Umbriel to take as many as would fit in the ship—there was no risk of the food rotting with her ability to regenerate the harvest’s freshness. Vegetables and fruits weren’t the only delicacies they took from her island; to everyone’s excitement, fresh meats stocked the galley. Penn delighted at having found a way out of barnacle removal; he kept busy breaking animals down and prepping them in salts for travel.
Kazuaki stood beside Umbriel as he watched Granite load the last of the supplies onto the cockboat. Everyone else waited back on the ship, ready to depart. The captain placed his boot in the small boat, one foot still planted on the watery shores. He offered a hand to Umbriel to help her into the vessel, but as he looked to the Earth Mother, she held an uncharacteristic look of sadness on her face. “Umbriel?” he asked, concerned, “everything all right?”
She stared out onto the land she called home for the last several centuries. Though the Time Fathers of the past fashioned it to be her incarceration, Umbriel never saw the landmass as a cell. She cared for it in much the same way her companions cared for Panagea lifetimes ago. It provided for her, kept her safe, and nourished her. She returned the favor. The island became more than a lump of grass, trees, and rocks. In her isolation, it became a sentient friend. “Forgive me, Kazuaki,” she replied as the gentle wind blew her hair around her face. “I’m just ... going to miss this place.”
The captain frowned and let his arm drop. He couldn’t relate. The last island he fell on almost killed him until he ate that mermaid, and he did not remember having a ceremonious departure from his home town. When he left, he never knew it would be for the last time. Even if he had kno
wn, he held no bond with it. Though he always fancied the idea, Kazuaki called no place home. “Umbriel, I cannot claim to understand the sadness of leaving a place behind,” he looked back out toward his ship. “But I can speak for the thrill of finding a new place to rest your feet in every corner of the world. No matter where you land, you’re within the walls of where you belong. The world is full of new places waiting to give you that same feeling.”
The woman turned around. Her eyes fell on him with an admitted look of surprise. Her sadness shifted to a soft optimism, and she smiled. “Thank you, Kazuaki.” She held out her hand and allowed him to help her into the boat. She stole one final glimpse of her island and sighed. “I’m ready.”
The captain smiled as she sat on the wobbling wood of the cockboat. Granite looked to Kazuaki to see if he had any additional commands he wanted to be carried out before departing, but the captain shook his head and motioned forward. Though she appeared comforted, Kazuaki couldn’t help but notice Umbriel stared at her island the entire time the cockboat rolled toward the ship. As she separated from her element, soon he’d be back in his.
Kazuaki did not burden the crew with any knowledge of his plans while they stayed on Umbriel’s island. The benefit of a worry-free environment on land was something they hadn’t enjoyed for a long time, and aside from gathering supplies and careening the ship, he wanted them to be free from any additional concerns. It was the closest they ever got to paradise; it didn’t seem fair to deprive them of the opportunity. The cockboat reached the ship and the three individuals exited to join the others. Granite hoisted the cockboat back into place and Kazuaki called everyone’s attention to the main deck. The time to tell them had come.
“Comrades!” he shouted, his hands behind his back as he paced the deck, making eye contact with every person who fell into line. “We’ve enjoyed a rejuvenating stay under Umbriel’s gracious hosting, but the time to take leave is now. This may come across as unorthodox, but we will not be hunting any myths. We will not be tracking down any legends, and we will not be plundering for any treasures,” he explained, gauging the looks of confusion on his crew’s faces. He tried to think of what to say to them all week. He still wasn’t sure he was prepared to say the right thing, but that never stopped Kazuaki before. “I realize there is no way to say this without coming across as dramatic,” he admitted as he stopped to stand at the center of the line. He straightened his posture, appearing as serious as he ever had before. “We’re going to Panagea. We’re going to save the world.”
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 23