Revi flashed another suave grin to dissuade additional skepticism from growing. “You must forgive our naivety in the matter. We were so busy fleeing Southwestern we barely paid mind to its politics as of late.”
“Ah,” the peddler accepted the answer with a nod. “Well, I’m afraid you won’t find happy-ever-after here, stranger. Southern has really fallen from grace in the last month.”
A low rumble sounded beneath their feet. Revi and Elowyn both held their arms out at their sides to steady themselves. The peddler appeared unaffected as he returned the garments he pulled out earlier to their places. The thunderous rolling felt strange on the bottoms of their boots. Vibration from below rattled up through their ankles and into their legs. It only lasted ten seconds, but it was enough to startle the man and woman.
The peddler gazed upon them, confused. “You two still haven’t gotten used to it yet, aye?”
Not wanting to appear out of the loop, Revi collected himself and flashed a contrived smile. “Not yet.”
“At least that was a little one,” the peddler muttered. He placed his palms on the top of his stand and leaned forward. “Is there anything else I can do for you two?”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” Revi slicked his hands through his hair. “I’d like to protect my dear, frail wife from the dangerous of your slums—” He winced as Elowyn pinched him again. “Could you please let us know which areas we’re to avoid?”
“Of course.” The peddler held his arm up and pointed behind him. “It pains me to admit it's not far from the market. It starts about a mile or two outside the market’s edge and declines from there. You’ll know you’re close when you smell it. Lots of hungry, angry people out there. Watch your wallets and watch your lives, ‘cause they’ll take both in seconds.”
Revi nodded and slipped another coin out of his satchel before he pushed it toward the peddler. “Thanks for the tip,” he turned his attention to Elowyn. “Shall we?”
The woman agreed and walked alongside Revi as they headed back to the abandoned industrial plant. The peddler accepted the coin graciously and stuffed it into his pockets. He waved his hand in the air after them. “Thank you both!” he shouted with a smile. “Be careful out there!”
✽ ✽ ✽
“You’re doing great, Nico.”
Umbriel’s encouragement was the only thing getting the Time Father through the difficult task. It was one thing to say he would channel focus, but another to figure out what that meant. He sighed, disappointed he achieved nothing resembling success in the hours he sat with Umbriel in the dingy factory. “That’s kind of you to say,” Nicholai said, dropping his arms, “but I can’t help but feel I’m not making much progress.”
“You’ve barely given yourself any time,” she said. “Masters aren't made in a day.”
“I’d settle for a novice.” Though his words were depressing, they weren’t incorrect. The seedlings looked no different now than they had when Umbriel birthed them hours ago.
Kazuaki watched from a corner of the wide-open room. Several crew members passed the time playing simple dice games. Iani, however, caved under the pressures of boredom. “I thought the revolution would have been a bit more exciting,” he muttered as he sat next to Bartholomew, who was nose deep in a book.
“I could lend you some reading material,” the scholar offered, peering at the younger Platts brother from behind his eyewear.
Iani’s expression flattened. “I’d rather die of boredom.”
“That would certainly make things quieter,” Bartholomew mumbled as he directed his attention back to the pages of his text.
“It’s only been a few hours,” Kazuaki cast disdainful stares at those who voiced their complaints. “You’ve spent much longer stretches at sea doing nothing than you’ve spent in here.”
“It’s the walls,” Iani looked up at the tall metal container they dwelled within. Though they crumbled, and several large, open gaps let daylight filter through the holes in the ceiling, it was much more of a claustrophobic prison than the ship had ever been.
At that moment, the screeching doors of the building’s entrance gave way to Elowyn and Revi. The group sat up, excited to hear whatever news they came to share. It would be a pleasant distraction from the overwhelming silence they’d lived in. Kazuaki crossed the distance, leaving Umbriel and Nicholai to their studies. “What’s the good word?”
“The good word,” Elowyn started, “is that most of the footmen were dispatched to patrol Southeastern’s borders. That’s the word on the street, at least. Darjal has made no formal announcements, but it makes sense they’d send their armies there to wait for Nico in case he returned.”
Kazuaki nodded, though the way she’d said it left him to believe there was a ‘bad’ word to follow the ‘good’ word. “I like the sound of that,” he admitted with cautious optimism. Fewer footmen meant less resistance.
“Right,” Revi’s expression showed what the captain suspected: there was bad news. “They also constructed a ship, Captain. I fear our days of being the only souls commanding the seas has ended. I suspect that’s also were a lot of Southern’s footmen have gone.”
Kazuaki frowned. “A desperate attempt from a desperate man,” he muttered, his voice grave. Darjal must have grown impatient to commission a vessel. He felt limited apprehension for the state of Penn and his ship, but he remained calm. “They don’t know we’re here,” he said, trying to reassure himself as much as the crew. “The ocean is a big place. There’s no way they’ll find Penn unless they’re tipped off.” He should be safe. For now.
Bermuda grimaced. The news unsettled her. “Why now would they craft a sea vessel?” she wondered out loud. “We’ve angered them in the past, but none of the Time Fathers tried to hunt us by sea before. It was never worth it.”
Kazuaki lowered his voice. “I'm guessing it is not us they are hunting.” He motioned discreetly in Nicholai’s direction. “They saw him with us when we destroyed the catacombs. I’m sure they surmised he was in our company. I’m certain they’d shed no tears at our deaths or capture, but I believe Nico is the true object of their efforts.”
“It’s strange to think about, that they would hunt him so aggressively,” Rennington said as he stared in the Time Father’s direction. “The man wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Bartholomew interjected. “He left an entire division frozen in time. He may not have killed them, but he’s certainly denying those millions of people their right to live.”
“Did anyone ever figure out why he did it?” Elowyn asked.
They all turned to look at Nicholai, who still struggled to isolate the seedlings’ time and expedite their growth. In the time they came to know him, damning an entire division of people to a cruel fate seemed like the last thing he’d do. But everyone on the ship made questionable decisions in their day, and it stopped none of them from accepting one another along with their faults.
“Gods damn it all!” Nicholai shouted in frustration, pressing a clenched fist into the rocky earth.
Umbriel laid a gentle hand on Nicholai’s shoulder. Her voice was soft as she leaned in closer. “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself, Nico.”
The Time Father tightened his jaw. “It’s hard not to when so many lives depend on my success.”
“Use that,” Umbriel said. “My A’ronn told me you had to give of yourself to make it work. It came so naturally to him, to give to other people. That’s what made it easier to give his years to the object of his focus. You are cut from the same giving cloth as A’ronn, Nico, you’re just overthinking it. You have already mastered the hardest part: benevolence. Now you need to channel it.”
Nicholai inhaled and sighed. “I’ll try again.” He held his hands over the plants and closed his eyes. He thought of Lilac. Of Southeastern. His face shifted to one of disappointment, but at that moment he felt a soft squeeze from Umbriel that redirected his focus. Though it pained him to stop thinking about L
ilac, he cleared her from his thoughts and refilled his brain with the people of Panagea. He thought of all the men and women he ever stopped to help. All those who ever helped him. He thought of his mother, Enita, the one who birthed his bleeding heart. He smiled at the memory. She rarely entered his thoughts since she passed away when he was a boy, but he couldn’t help but think of how good she would have been at this. He whispered a silent prayer to any god who listened
“Nico,” Umbriel whispered. “Open your eyes.”
The Time Father opened his closed lids and stared down at the seedlings. They doubled in size. He looked dumbfounded and turned to the Earth Mother with cautious optimism. “Was that ... was that me?”
She smiled and nodded her head excitedly. “You did it.”
“I did it,” he repeated, his face etched into a look of awe.
The group did not have much time to revel in their enthusiasm. The familiar creak of the steel doors filled the hollow room. Kazuaki drew his weapons, dual pistols in both hands. The crew followed his example, the slick sound of unsheathed blades and cocking guns filled the air as they struck offensive stances, positioning themselves between the door and the Time Father and Earth Mother.
Kazuaki growled. He stared at the silhouettes of the five bodies that lingered in the doorway. Granite’s dog barked, the fur on its back standing on end, but even with the loud, echoing sound, the captain’s harsh voice penetrated it all. “Who goes there?”
Chapter Nineteen
No fear presented itself in the five figures who entered the building. The group of men fanned out, outnumbered but unintimidated. Some held knives, others machetes, while one possessed a firearm. The unnamed individual with the gun stepped forward to defend his four companions. He fixed his aim on Kazuaki, the clear leader of the group.
The leader drew back the hammer on his pistol. “Surrender your money and your possessions and nobody has to die.”
Kazuaki’s face blossomed into a slow grin. He cracked his neck twice and squared his shoulders. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
A sudden bout of nerves crept into the attacker. Kazuaki’s response was not one he received often. “Have it your way,” he muttered after he recovered from his initial surprise. “Get ‘em, boys.”
Though they were far away from the impending fight, Nicholai placed himself in front of Umbriel, a human shield should the situation arise. Though he did not condone the violence, it was mesmerizing watching Kazuaki and his crew engage. He witnessed Rennington and Iani’s skill in Avadon and Kazuaki’s abilities in the catacombs, but this was something different. Like a choreographed dance with bloodshed, they fought.
Bermuda leaped forward with unmatched grace. She slid low to the ground, avoiding a knife swing. The blade of her dirk slipped into her opponent’s calf. He fell to his knees with a scream.
With matched speed and poise, Elowyn’s blade found another in a clash. She snarled at the man. Her arms possessed as much strength as his as the power behind their blades battled.
The leader seemed surprised. One of his men fell to his knees in the blink of an eye. Panic pulled the trigger, and he fired a bullet at Kazuaki. The captain’s quick reaction mocked the bullet; it only grazed his arm. He advanced. He craved information more than a quick kill and dropped to the floor, sweeping his opponent's leg. As the man staggered to catch his balance, Kazuaki stood. He caught him by the throat with one hand. The fear in his eyes fed the captain’s ego. He tried to lift his gun again, but the captain wrapped his free hand around the frame and shoved it aside.
It became clear the fighters possessed no training. Kazuaki and his crew were experts in hand-to-hand combat, but securing victory was too easy. “Retreat!” the stranger choked out under Kazuaki’s grip.
The remaining men obeyed. But before they reached the door, Granite positioned himself before them and slammed the heavy steel shut. His dog barked, running circles around the group with no sense of direction.
“Tell me,” Kazuaki pulled the man closer. His voice cut through the beast’s chronic yipping and the injured assailant’s screaming, “how terrible are your lives that you would throw them away today?”
The man’s face turned purple from the lack of oxygen. Kazuaki loitered. He did not take joy in killing untrained assailants. Easy tasks failed to provide a rewarding feeling. But he waited. The stranger tried to speak, but could not with Kazuaki’s fingers digging into his fleshy throat.
The others dropped their weapons and held up their hands in a universal signal of surrender. One tried to apply pressure to the calf wound belonging to the screaming man. “We’ll leave,” the uninjured man declared and motioned to his leader. "Please. Spare him.”
Nicholai stood and walked over to the man Kazuaki held captive in his grip. He neared unconsciousness with each passing second. “Kazuaki,” Nicholai looked at the captain. “He’s done. Let him go.”
The captain frowned. He was not keen on taking orders from the Time Father but dropped the man to the floor. He planned on letting him live. His death denied the captain the information he wanted.
Nicholai knelt beside the man after he crumpled to the floor. His eyes grew panicked as he tried to suck in air around him, but the thinning oxygen coupled with the trauma Kazuaki caused to his neck made it difficult. When the fear became clear, Nicholai removed his oxygen syringe and held it up, a silent request to see if the suffering man wanted it.
After a few hurried nods from the stranger, Nicholai jammed the needle into his flesh. With the medicine flowing through his veins, his breathing steadied, though damage to the skin remained around his throat. The captain’s grip possessed a crushing weight, and this instance was no exception. “Are you all right?” Nicholai asked.
“He asks them if they’re all right,” Kazuaki muttered, disgusted. He stepped away and shook his head. Nicholai was the only man in the world who looked an attacker in the eye and offered him a lifeline.
The man nodded again, waiting before he trusted himself to speak. His throat felt as though a steam car ran it over. One other piped up, talking for him instead, “We’ll leave, just please spare our lives. We only wanted the money to feed our families.”
“The sob story of a lifetime,” Kazuaki replied. Bitterness exuded from him as he crossed his arms. The captain was unmoved, but he recognized the man’s words held a truthfulness. These weren’t soldiers or assassins. They were simple civilians who found pointy objects and a gun and tried to be heroes. “How did you find us?” he loomed over the collective to establish his dominance.
“We followed the husband and wife,” one confessed, motioning to Revi and Elowyn. “They bought that pricey surcoat in the market. We figured them good for some money.”
Revi narrowed his eyes, disappointed he hadn’t realized they followed him. The smog was so thick, it was hard to see three feet in front of him, let alone see anyone who may have had a wandering eye. Elowyn stared at the man who engaged in the battle with her, her eyes on the machete he dropped to the floor. It wasn’t the standard falchion issued to Southern footmen, but she had to ask. “Do you report to Darjal or the military?”
“Feck’s sake, no,” he stiffened as she loomed near him, her weapon still steady in her hand. He wasn’t sure if she associated herself with the Southern Time Father, but he could not hide his disdain. He would rather die than pretend to honor that man. “Darjal is the one who doomed us to the gods-damned slums,” he scowled. “I’d gladly roll over and die hungry if it meant he’d die too.”
“Well then,” Kazuaki bent down to retrieve the guns he dropped earlier and put them back where they belonged, “it seems we’re bound by a common thread.” Though his words were comforting to the assailants, his tone still held an authoritative horror to it.
Bermuda looked down at the man whose leg she’d ripped open. She was not sorry for what she’d done. He invited it. But she couldn’t help but cringe at the sounds of agony he made. “Elowyn can probably help with that,” she mutte
red as she looked at the medic. “I mean ... if you want to.”
“Here’s the thing, gentlemen,” Kazuaki knelt to look the leader in the eyes, “How am I to know that I can let you walk out that door without giving away our position?”
The stranger met Kazuaki’s stare and wrinkled his nose. “What’s so critical about your position?” he asked. “You’re in an abandoned factory, this isn’t exactly a feckin’—” he paused, looking passed the captain’s shoulders to rest his eyes on Umbriel. A mixed look of confusion and surprise spread across his face. “What are those?” he asked, fixated on the plants.
Umbriel stood, looking down at the plants as she placed her hands on her thighs. “Those are seedlings,” she explained. “I’m sure you don’t remember a time when she was in her most beautiful state, but with enough of these plants, we can drain this toxicity that has befallen Panagea and restore her to her former grandeur.”
The man stood, still out of breath. Though he was in no position to have a temper, he said, “You all must be out of our damn minds.”
“I’d watch that mouth of yours,” Kazuaki stated. “Or your throat won’t be the only thing burning.”
The leader pursed his lips and nodded. “Look, I can’t promise to understand what you’re doing here, but if what you say is true and you are enemies of Darjal, we’re gathering a resistance in the slums. It’s nothing great, just more civilians like us,” he explained, a hand over his chest as he tried to catch his breath. “My name is Emont. You lot seem like skilled fighters. Though you ripped Jodathyn’s leg half open, we’d love to let bygones be bygones if you wish to join the movement.”
Bermuda made a face. Seething sounds of pain from Jodathyn accosted her ears as he clutched his bleeding leg. “You may not want to speak for him,” she said. “He still seems pretty pissed.”
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 30