But the voices of those who witnessed the daily horrors of Panagea’s state rejoiced. And those voices were the majority. Only a few lived in denial, sheltered from the bucking world’s brutality. Unfortunately, they were also the most influential. It earned Nicholai several assassination attempts. With Kazuaki Hidataka and the crew still living in Southeastern territory, none of the attempts were successful, but still, he worried.
His concern for Nicholai replaced his previous concerns for Western. What was once a daily routine of sending aid to ravaged lands and finding suitable shelter for those whose homes disintegrated from the disasters slowed. Months passed since Edvard heard any word about a natural disaster. Panagea responded well to nature's introduction again. The ecosystems appeared to soothe the crumbling land. No longer did whole chunks of earth break off into the sea. Though the terrain was healing, it still showcased its scars. The split that cut through the world center remained the most devastating. A huge canyon that sliced through the land, it took many homes and even more lives, forever a marker of what occurred at the last decennial.
Rebuilding in all the divisions took time. Resources were hard to come by. It was clear several territories blossomed sooner than others. Bartholomew of Southern put great effort into turning his division into a learned land. Scholars and eager young minds flocked to the Southern division’s learning institution to gain skills beyond general labor. Bartholomew promised one institution would become many as soon as they rebuilt the rest of Southern, and insured the safety of the people.
Emont of Southwestern fared well. Though he did not have a strong political background, he harbored a natural resolve to be sure his people lived well. Once a castaway himself, much of his efforts poured into humanitarianism. Southwestern sprawled out with farmland as he encouraged others to grow edible foods and medicines, in the hopes his people never went hungry or lingered in sickness again.
The biggest change Edvard, and many other Time Fathers needed to get used to, however, was Elowyn of Eastern. Never did a woman take up a position of power. Confusion existed as to her title, but after initial hesitation, she and the rest of Panagea settled on Time Mother. A handful of revolts followed. Some men were not ready to admit women harbored leadership potential. Eastern's footmen handled their outbursts humanely. Though Elowyn stood as a firm leader, she remained fair. She always let the voices of her people rise, even when the words were less than flattering.
Eastern still suffered from the aftermath of its many facilities. The air surrounding it stayed thick with pollutants and chemicals that plagued the constituents. But Elowyn’s medical degree benefitted the failing health of Eastern’s people. Several new hospitals had been established in the six short months she ruled her division. She threw an invisible net over the whole of Panagea, summoning its most talented doctors to flock to her cities with offers they couldn’t refuse. There weren’t many, as the medical profession remained undervalued, but Elowyn Saveign worked without rest to change that.
Watching the people take piles of rubble and turn them into something better was incredible. It seemed more of Panagea was salvageable than Edvard first thought. He looked down at the letter he held in his hands. With any luck, his blossoming relationship with Nicholai would be as salvageable as the whole of Panagea. Edvard sighed once more. So long as his son never found out the truth about his mother, Enita, he hoped they could mend those fences again.
✽ ✽ ✽
“Come now, I’ve something to show you.”
Umbriel led Malcolm Finn toward his modest backyard. With one hand guiding his and another covering his eyes, she ushered the man outside.
Malcolm chuckled, trying not to stumble in his current state. “I haven’t seen you this excited since you first laid eyes on the greenhouse.”
“Yes, well,” Umbriel smiled as she positioned him in the right spot, “I think you’ll find this surprise quite special.”
Malcolm caught its scent before she removed her hand. His eyes welled up beneath her palm. When Umbriel unveiled her gift, he nodded, raising his hands to his face to cover his mouth. The fragrant blossoms were unmistakable. Though fifty years passed since he last inhaled the once extinct shrub’s distinguishable scent, the brain never forgot. Scent remained the strongest tie linked to memory. “Umbriel ... it’s perfect.”
The delicate purple splashes of tiny flowers greeted him. The lilac bush waved in a soft breeze. Malcolm reached out with a tender hand, touching the tips of the buds yet to spring to life. A tear slid down his cheek. “She would have loved it.”
Umbriel smiled again, her hands behind her back. “It’s the least I could do. You and Nicholai have been most accommodating while we rebuild Southeastern’s ecosystems.”
Malcolm tore his gaze away from the bush to face the Earth Mother. “You two have started something incredible,” he said, wiping an impending tear from his eye. “Lilac would have absolutely adored you, my dear.”
A blush swept across the woman’s cheeks. “I suspect I would have adored her as well. I’ll see you tomorrow, Malcolm. I assured Nicholai I would handle some responses to the letters he’s gotten ...”
“Ah,” Malcolm nodded in understanding. “Off to visit her grave again, is he?”
“Third time so far this week,” Umbriel replied with a gentleness. “But a healing heart takes time.”
“Indeed, it does,” Malcolm said as he turned to face his lilac bush again. “This will certainly help mine. Thank you, Umbriel. Take care. I’ll see you on the morrow.”
The Earth Mother bowed out of respect and sauntered away from Malcolm Finn’s greenhouse, back toward Nicholai’s homestead. She took up residence in his modest home though he made sure she maintained utmost privacy. It was an arrangement of convenience. Often, the pair went out to reforest different parts of Southeastern. She planted the seeds, he expedited the growth, she replenished his life. There were long nights spent away from Nicholai’s home in Nenada. It was a tandem effort that only made her feelings for Nicholai flourish, but she possessed enough respect to keep her heart in check. She had hundreds of years to come to terms with losing the love of her life. Nicholai only had six short months.
The Earth Mother’s feet carried her to the Addihein homestead. She seized the overwhelming amount of letters from the satchel left on the porch. A series of penned words flooded Nicholai’s doorstep since word spread and the revolution ended. Most of the letters exuded gratitude. Others were death threats. They answered as many as they could, sure to address any concerns Panagea’s citizens held.
Just as Umbriel sat down and spilled the satchel’s contents onto the tabletop, she heard a knock. With a curious tilt of her head, Umbriel abandoned her task and swept over to the entryway, opening the door.
A young woman stood before her, barely an adult. She looked to be a strong thing. Short, unkempt hair the color of rust framed her thin face. She looked the part of a traveler who came a long way; her clothes were old and showed clear evidence of repairs. Her skin went unwashed, but her eyes shined with eagerness at Umbriel’s appearance.
“Pardon me, miss,” the youth adjusted the traveling pack she held over her shoulder, “I’m looking for the Southeastern Time Father. Is this his residence?”
“It is,” Umbriel replied with a smile. “He’s out at the moment but should be back in about an hour. You’re more than welcome to rest here while you wait for his return.” The Earth Mother stepped aside, allowing the teenager to enter.
Cautious steps carried her forward, and she loitered awkwardly in the hall. “I appreciate your kind gesture, ma’am, thank you.”
“Of course,” Umbriel disappeared into the kitchen to fetch food. Her visitor appeared as though she needed a good meal. “May I ask what your business is with Nicholai?”
The young woman cleared her throat. “Well, I’d like to ask him about the revolution. I understand he had some help in the matter.”
“Oh, very much so,” Umbriel placed sliced apples o
n a plate and returned to her guest. “It was a grand effort on everyone’s part. Help came from all around us.”
“So I’ve heard,” the girl replied. She accepted an offered apple slice and took a bite.
Though she tried to restrain herself, Umbriel saw she inhaled the food with expedience. “Have as many as you’d like,” she said, setting the plate down on a table beside her visitor. “Can I ask your name, young lady?”
She swallowed the apple and grabbed another. With her mouth half full, she nodded, trying to finish the bite before she spoke again. “Avigail,” she replied. “Avigail Houton.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Nordjan paced his grand room with impatience. It took weeks to find the right man for this job. When he heard that Jernal survived the slaughter at sea on Darjal’s ironclad, he knew he was the soldier for the task. Darjal spoke of him well. Prying the man away from his family and escorting him to Northern territory was a feat. Jernal put up a small resistance, contemplating retirement from the militia, but Nordjan was desperate. He made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
The door creaked open, and a footman stuck his head inside. “Jernal is here to see you, sir.”
Nordjan sat up straighter. “Send him in.”
Panagea’s finest soldier slipped through the towering doors and into Nordjan’s presence. He did not seem eager to be there, but he put on an obedient face. “You wished to see me, my Lord.”
“You can drop the semantics, Jernal. My ego is not as large as the late Darjal Wessex. Call me Nordjan.”
The footman’s shoulders eased, but only a little. “Can I inquire what this is about, Nordjan? I’ve only gotten several months with my family since ... since the decennial,” he forced himself to say, unsure how else to describe the end of the revolution. “I would very much like to get back to them if we’re through with the war.”
His words were bold, but Nordjan resisted putting on a show of irritation. “The war is far from over, Jernal,” he murmured, pacing before the soldier. “I’m afraid it’s just beginning.”
Jernal arched a brow. He held fast to the secret that he was pleased things ended. Restoration efforts dominated the last six months. He did not have to worry about the deaths of men under his command anymore. He did not have to send letters to spouses and children detailing their husbands’ and fathers’ funerals. “I don’t follow,” he admitted.
“That damnable Kazuaki Hidataka eliminated every assassin I’ve sent to Southeastern,” Nordjan confessed. “So long as that immortal is in his back pocket, he’s untouchable.”
“Yes,” Jernal remembered Kazuaki Hidataka’s power well. Darjal lied to him. His immortality was not the fabrication the late Time Father claimed. He still counted his blessings Nicholai instructed the captain to leave him on the ironclad that fateful day. “I’m well aware of his ... abilities,” he added.
Nordjan bristled. “As word spreads of their uprising, more tales come to light about the company he keeps. Biographers and wordsmiths from across Panagea flocked to Southeastern. They’ve pulled details of those peoples’ lives from the darkest crevices of the earth. An obscure rumor has surfaced about our legendary captain, Jernal ...”
The soldier narrowed his eyes. Dealing with Nordjan was unfamiliar to him. Hope existed he led with a different perspective than the late Darjal Wessex, but Jernal realized the two were more similar than he thought. He suspected he knew where Nordjan headed with his monologue. “With all due respect, sir, I have a hard time putting lives on the line for rumors. Especially when that rumor involves a cutthroat immortal.”
“Yes, an immortal,” Nordjan laced his hands together behind his back. “But an immortal whose soul belongs to the lesser god, Mimir.”
Jernal blinked. Not only did Nordjan show a similarity to Darjal in his quest for revenge, but he also showed a similarity in his level of insanity. “The lesser god, Mimir, is a fairytale, sir.”
“No, no,” Nordjan corrected him, craning his neck to look up at his ceiling. “As the old world returns, so will its gods. I tried to stop it, but the life that breathes into Panagea will soon ignite them, as well. My fight to save Panagea continues, but if they’re coming, I will use them to my benefit. I dedicated the last several months trying to find that well, Jernal. I hired historians, poets, analysts, anyone who could decipher the texts of old that have long hidden from the public eye. There are several places I narrowed it down to. You will lead a band of men there ... and you will free Mimir from his prison.”
The man’s plan lived in insanity. Jernal looked down and clenched his jaw. No matter how crazy he thought Nordjan, as long as he donned the uniform, he remained duty-bound to follow his orders. “And what if I do manage to find Mimir and free him? What then?”
Nordjan scowled. It was small but present. “I’m just trying to do the right thing, Jernal. We’ll let him claim what is rightfully his.”
✽ ✽ ✽
“Almost there,” Kazuaki said. What remained of his crew followed close behind him as he approached the large storage building.
Revi, Brack, Granite, Bermuda, Penn, and the mongrel stopped near Kazuaki’s side as they gazed up at the tall facility with questioning eyes. The captain appeared eager to show them whatever prize hid inside. A huge build-up existed over the last several months. Kazuaki seemed to know something they didn’t, but the time flew by. Many things occurred which made the wait quick to pass.
Elowyn took up the leadership of Eastern. Bartholomew thrived as Southern’s Time Father. Rennington issued his retirement from hunting legends and took up his old title as a soldier to Southern now that it operated under a man worth fighting for. His farewell held a heaviness, but he said Iani’s ghost called to him, pushing him to finish what they started together in Southern many years ago: protecting the land they called home. The crew missed him with a fierceness but they delighted that he remained close to Bartholomew as he climbed his way up to becoming an immaculate division leader.
Though their small group felt smaller, Bermuda did not feel the absence as much as she thought. They found their homes. For that, she felt grateful. It felt like less of a loss and more of a victory.
Kazuaki turned to face them all with a smirk. “Ready?”
Without waiting for a response, he opened the door. The team entered. The stunning sight of the airship filled their vision. It looked reminiscent of Kazuaki’s ship, but it was outfitted with everything it needed to conquer the skies instead of the seas.
“She’s a beauty, Cappy,” Brack said with a grin.
“Like the phoenix that rises from the ash,” Revi added, smirking. The men all walked over to the airship to admire it closer.
Kazuaki directed his words to Bermuda though he did not turn to look at her. “I got a real taste for it, flying that machine into Panagea’s center. Nico hired some of the best engineers he could find. He told me the most talented went to restructuring Southeastern, but the leftovers were still capable.”
She smirked at his joke though truth lived in his statement. No longer did Nicholai blindly favor those he preferred. He blossomed into a fair leader and took the collective’s well-being into his thoughts first. She suspected that was why Kazuaki’s surprise took so long to unveil itself: repairing homes and businesses were far more vital than crafting the airship. “It’s amazing, Kazuaki. Truly.”
He turned to face her. The closeness of her body reminded him of their time spent in Aggi Normandy’s residence. He thought of that moment a lot. Much more than he should have allowed himself to. They never discussed that day. Perhaps it was for the best.
The strong possibility existed that he might never fall victim to Mimir’s well. Without the ability to cleanse his soul, Kazuaki’s tainted existence remained too much for Mimir to pull into his underworld. He felt he returned to square one: an immortal man in love with an earthly woman. A woman he loved too much to allow himself to have. “Bartholomew sent me a letter,” he said, tearing himself away from his torturou
s thoughts. “He says his libraries grow by the day. He’s taken on a lot of old texts, unearthed from many of Darjal’s churches.”
“Oh?” She arched a curious brow. She, too, noticed his proximity. Though Bermuda never discussed it, she did not forget the moment they shared in Northeastern, where only a sliver of air separated their lips. The memory made her stomach rise, but a pang of guilt in her chest always stopped her. It was hard to lose her heart to the captain when it remained haunted by Ty. “Anything of interest?” she asked, trying as Kazuaki did to redirect her mind’s focus.
“A few.” He faced the airship again. “I know Nicholai isn’t out of harm’s way, but I feel his footmen can protect him and Umbriel during our departure.” He peered at her from the corner of his eye and his face shifted into a confident smirk. “How about it, Bermuda? Can you promise me the excitement of one more adventure?”
The quartermaster matched his grin. “Promise?” She nodded. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
✽ ✽ ✽
For an intimate cemetery, it looked like a beautiful thing. In the stillness of a freshly grown forest on the outskirts of Nenada, Nicholai stared at the ornate statue that served as Lilac’s headstone. She rested alone out here, but he did not consider her afterlife an isolated one. Life surrounded her. It just happened to be the life of plants, flowers, and trees.
He came here often. She called to him like a siren from beyond the grave. Though many months separated him from her when he tried to find her salvation, she still felt like part of his existence. Right until the moment he restarted Southeastern. Since then, Lilac felt far away. Untouchable. And she was.
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 48