The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  Nicholai spotted a vine of buds that tried to crawl up Lilac’s statue. He lifted his hand out before him. A metal creation restored his severed forearm, his steel fingers stretched as he gave time to the vine. He watched as it slithered up the marble and embraced it, twisting and curling until it engulfed it in its touch. Delicate white flowers opened in seconds and gave light to the statue. He lowered his mechanical arm back to his side. He missed her.

  “Mr. Addihein?”

  Nicholai spun around, not at all surprised to see young Evvy standing behind him. She followed him out here often. Rodgie’s daughter stood short at the tender age of eight and approached him with tiny steps.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Evvy,” Nicholai issued the child a quick bow. “How are you today?”

  “Um, I’m good,” she started, always skittish in her conversations, though she shared many with the Southeastern Time Father. “I wanted to tell you that my papa sends his sincerest apologies.”

  Nicholai nodded. It was the same speech Evvy gave him every time she followed him into the forest. After Nicholai gave her the black lung treatment he secured from Aggi, the little girl responded well. While Rodgie went to Nenada’s jail for his crimes against Lilac, Evvy fell into the capable hands of her aunt and uncle. She visited her father in jail often, and every time, he sent her off to Nicholai with the same message. He mourned for what he’d done. “I know he does, Evvy. Thank you.”

  “Do you think he’ll get out of jail soon?” she asked, the picture of innocence as the sunlight from the treetops filtered over her face.

  Nicholai clenched his jaw. He remained slow to forgive Rodgie for what he’d done. Unlike Umbriel and her limitless heart, he just wasn’t there yet. But he did not wish to sully the little girl’s ideal of her father. “Evvy, when we do something wrong, we have to accept the consequences of our actions. It’s what saves us from making the same mistakes twice. But no cage can keep his love from you, no matter how long he’s there. If there’s one thing I know about your father, it’s that he would do anything for you.”

  Evvy nodded and lowered her eyes to the grass. Nicholai gave her the same answer every time. “Thank you, Mr. Addihein.” She turned around and headed back to her homestead, vanishing from his sight as soon as she appeared.

  Nicholai watched her go. His heart went out to her, but he could do nothing for Rodgie. He made his bed. The Southeastern Time Father redirected his attention back to Lilac’s grave. It would be her home forever. Just as Rodgie’s cell would be his.

  He closed his eyes and tried to let the negative thoughts melt away from him. Some deep breaths in this peaceful place helped. Nicholai opened his eyes again, staring at the marble statue. Bright, colorful flowers flanked it on all sides. Much more fitting than the metal abominations she put in that vase at their bedside. Not unlike the flowers, Panagea blossomed. Lilac's vision of utopia.

  A bird chirped from overhead. Nicholai looked up. It was the first sign of wildlife he witnessed since their reforestation efforts began. The winged creature landed on a branch, sounded several cheerful tweets, then spread its wings and flew away. A genuine smile spread across Nicholai’s face for the first time since he restarted Southeastern. The flowers. The trees. The birds.

  Lilac would have loved it.

  THE GODS WHO HARVESTED MEN

  Book Two of the Panagea Tales

  McKenzie Austin

  The Gods Who Harvested Men by McKenzie Austin. Published by KDP.

  www.treethatgrewthroughiron.com

  © 2018 McKenzie Austin

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact McKenzie Austin.

  Edited by Andrea Raymaker

  Cover by Consuelo Parra of C.P Book Covers

  Model: Mjranum-stock.deviantart

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-692-18211-6

  Chapter One

  He clutched the bag in his hands. His tight grip reflected every accumulated ounce of anxiety that weaved through his veins over the last year.

  “This will work,” Jodathyn announced, feeling only a mild sting of foolishness for declaring his hopes out loud to himself, and nobody else. The lack of strength in his words betrayed his doubt. But it needed to work.

  His life depended on it. The lives of his family members depended on it.

  Humans lacked patience. The virtue flew through their skins and straight out the other side, unabsorbed. Machines built that ideology, manufacturing goods at an unprecedented rate. It birthed expectations that crushed mankind’s tolerance for waiting. The flaw infected every person, some more than others. Jodathyn was no different.

  The man stared at the parcel of land dedicated to his gardening efforts. The crisp chill of morning surrounded him. He wore his frustration on his face. Only small sprouts poked their heads through the dark soil. They mocked him with their slow growth.

  He should have celebrated the moment. A year ago, no exposed earth existed. Growing food was unheard of. Panagea’s citizens relied on industry to produce their nourishment for them. The efforts of Nicholai, Umbriel, Kazuaki, and their crew changed many things in all the continent’s divisions. Others did not share Jodathyn’s irritation in the leisure their plants took to flourish because most of them did not know any better.

  But Jodathyn witnessed Umbriel’s abilities in Avadon’s slums. He saw her raise seeds to inches in seconds. With Nicholai’s help, the plants reached maturity and fruited in less than a minute. It took six months and several attempts for him to get as far as the Earth Mother and Southeastern Time Father did. He lost many weeks in Southern’s restoration efforts, but still, he thought he’d be further along by now.

  Weeks ago he sent a letter to Nicholai and Umbriel in their home town of Nenada. He begged for them to make a short trip to Avadon. Jodathyn knew Nicholai could not leave Southeastern for more than twenty-four hours without the risk of rendering his division’s time still, but with the emerging popularity of flying machines spreading through more divisions than just Northern, he hoped the Time Father might make an appearance.

  The letter remained unanswered.

  Jodathyn’s grip tightened on the bag he held. With a deep breath, he opened it, removing the object inside.

  The old leather cover of the book yielded under the pressure of his fingers. He wouldn’t fail at this. A new wave of interest in fresh, organic crops flooded the marketplaces of Southern. Home-grown food fetched a high price. The lust for currency fueled him. After all of the time his family spent in the slums, he had a lot to make up for. They deserved to taste a small sliver of luxury for the shit storm they endured last year.

  The man tipped the book open into his hands, and he skimmed the pages again as he walked. An identifiable limp in his leg remained: a gift from Bermuda when she shredded his calf with her blade. It existed as a constant reminder of when he needed to steal for food. If the pages in this book proved to be his salvation, those days were long behind him.

  Bartholomew Gray opened up many doors for the Southern division’s people. He led with an honest sincerity the citizens were unaccustomed to. The Southern Time Father shared his open penchant for science, but he did not condemn those who still prayed to Darjal Wessex.

  The late Southern Time Father conditioned many to believe omnipotent blood flowed through his veins. He ruled for almost forty years. Though some rejoiced at the oppressor’s death, it wasn’t easy convincing everyone that their entire lives were built on a lie.

  After Bartholomew drudged all the old books sealed in the catacombs of churches throughout Southern, he put them in the public library. The construction was a grand undertaking, housing an impressive collection of the written word dating as far back as language itself. It was there Jodathyn found his potential salvation. A last-ditch effort to ensure his family’s future.

  Jodathyn was accustomed to prayer. He spent his entire life in Southern, w
here every man, woman, and child was forced to attend a daily service honoring Darjal Wessex. Despite Darjal’s constant efforts to convince everyone he was a god, a large part of Jodathyn’s mind never took him for one. But constant exposure to an idea made it easier for the potential to creep into a man’s subconscious. For this reason, he did not find it strange to appeal to gods and goddesses.

  The ancient books in Southern’s library detailed the lives of many. There had to be some truth to their existence. Whether or not it was accurate, Jodathyn lived in anxiety for quick results. He was willing to try just about anything.

  The father’s eyes flicked down to the fragile pages. He shielded them with his hand, fearful a strong wind might blow them straight from the decaying spine. The chapter about Havidite, Goddess of Harvest, stared back at him. Her favor was promised for a small sacrifice, with a preference for blood.

  It did not come across as macabre to Jodathyn. The text illuminated the goddess’s predilection for an equal exchange. Not unlike food, blood was a life-giving substance. The offering of one equated to the other.

  He bent at his knees and, with gentle hands, placed the book on the dirt surrounding his feet. He then removed the blade from his boot.

  Now was the time. The bite of pre-dawn fell over his shoulders from the sky. While his wife and children slumbered, safe from witnessing the ridiculous scene of a desperate man, Jodathyn placed the cool steel against his palm. He survived a deep puncture wound to his calf. He could survive this.

  “Havidite, hear my prayer,” he whispered to the wind, too insecure to speak his words at full volume. “I offer thee an exchange. Life for life. Please, take watch over this harvest and lend your grace to it.”

  The dagger’s edge split his skin and a red river grew in his palm. Jodathyn tightened his fingers together to summon more blood forth before he reached out and gave it to the earth. It seeped into the black soil. Its new home. Then, he waited.

  Eager eyes scanned his seedlings. Their sudden movement excited him, but after a moment, he realized it was caused by nothing more than a breeze. He studied them, scrutinized their every appearance, down to the beads of dew that rested on their tiny leaves.

  Minutes passed.

  He knelt in the soil until the pins and needles of stagnancy stabbed at his ankles. Nothing changed.

  It was either too good to be true, or it needed time. The higher the sun rose into the morning sky, the more doubtful he grew. The more paranoid he felt that his family would find him pleading for help from fairytales.

  Jodathyn rose to his feet and attempted to return blood flow to his sleeping legs. His gaze fell to the deep cut in his hand. A scar lived in his future. A reminder of his ridiculous efforts to summon a goddess.

  He turned to head back to his homestead. His children would wake soon. He did not need them to see their father standing like a fool in a small field, begging for plants to grow.

  Another gust of wind blew his hair. He stopped. A strange feeling cemented his legs from moving farther, joined by an abnormal surge in his stomach. Compelled by an unseen force, Jodathyn spun on his heels to face the garden again.

  A woman stood barefoot in the soil. Dark hair flowed around her in waves, cascading down between her shoulder blades. His heart jumped. He wasn’t sure why, but he dropped to his knees again, and bent over in submission. “Goddess Havidite.” His body trembled as he breathed her name. “You’re here.”

  “I am.” She stepped toward him, leaving no footprints in the soft ground as she crossed the distance. She showed care not to step on the small seedlings, and once she stood before Jodathyn, she placed gentle hands on his shoulders and raised him back to stand. “It’s been a long, long time since a man has uttered my name. Longer still since one has gifted me his blood.”

  “Y-yes,” Jodathyn stuttered, swept up by the surreal condition of his environment. “Havidite, I require your gifts. My harvest, I wish it to grow stronger, fuller. Panagea’s soil remains depleted from hundreds of years’ worth of neglect. My plants are slow to grow. Please, take pity on my garden. I offer life for life.”

  The ethereal woman tilted her head, slow in her movements as she studied his face. Her lips split into a smile and she reached out to caress his cheek. “Jodathyn, your sacrifice is most appreciated. I will help you.”

  Relief exploded from inside him. Jodathyn exhaled and nodded. “Thank you, thank you,” he repeated, bringing his palms together in gratitude. “You have no idea what this means to me, to my family.”

  Havidite beamed. “It is my pleasure to help those who know my name.” She turned, graceful as she held out her hand. Jodathyn’s seedlings rose an inch in height before she dropped her arm and returned her attention to the man. “May the gods be with you always.”

  Jodathyn watched, slack-jawed, as she started to walk away. “Wait!” he shouted, taking several daring steps toward her. His shoulders squared and he gripped his still-bleeding palm. “I ... I am grateful, goddess, but I had hoped ... I had hoped, perhaps, you would help them develop more.”

  Havidite stopped and glanced over her shoulder, her expression curious. “Oh, Jodathyn, I would gladly assist you in this endeavor.” She turned, resting her chin in her hand. “But you see, a goddess can only give as much as she gets. Your offering, while appreciated, was very small.”

  She mesmerized him. Her words spilled out of her mouth like a smooth cream. Jodathyn recalled Umbriel possessing a similar effect, but Havidite ... she held it on a grand scale. The goddess’s presence summoned such a large amount of calm, he did not even find alarm in her unfortunate message. “You require more?”

  The goddess only smiled.

  “I see.” His eyes fell to the ground. Jodathyn studied his seedlings. The need to bring in more money screamed louder. Those memories of his family in the slums seemed accentuated in his mind. He recalled every injustice they had suffered in that place.

  They deserved better.

  “How much more?” he asked.

  Havidite purred. Her hand swept up her cheek and into her perfect, silken hair. She combed her fingers through the strands and said, “How much is your family’s security worth?”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The goddess’ss words held an irrefutable ocean of sense. It went without saying that they would; she was a supernatural creature filled with the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes. Jodathyn swallowed. “It’s ... worth everything to me.”

  “You’re a loving man, Jodathyn,” Havidite glowed as she praised him. “I suspected it might be.”

  Jodathyn’s eyes found hers. The goddess’s irises were stunning. Opalescent and spiked with countless shades of vintage color. They possessed a comforting softness and confidence he couldn’t deny. She would save his family. He knew it. He felt it in his bones. In the molecules of his organs. All it required was a bigger sacrifice.

  Jodathyn loved his family. He’d do anything for them. The logic was undeniable.

  “Jodathyn. You know what you have to do.”

  The way she spoke his name ignited him. A velvet attraction lingered in her voice. She wanted what was best for him. For his wife and children. It lured him to her. Mankind praised gods and goddesses for their efforts for countless years. It all made sense to him now. They only wished to give the best of themselves to their admirers.

  “Are you scared?” she whispered as he walked toward her, stopping inches from her body.

  Jodathyn gripped his dagger in his hand. He didn’t even feel the sting from the slit he made in his skin earlier. He kept his eyes on hers, the all-encompassing orbs of poise and comfort. The tip of the blade touched the soft skin under his jaw as he smiled. “No,” he replied, his words absent of any distress. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

  Havidite’s lips curled into a smile. She watched the measured trickle of red appear below his chin, to which she gave an approving nod. “Good man.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Jodathyn’s
eldest daughter was the first to rise. Idie’s small feet flew from the warmth of her blankets and she rushed to the door. She loved checking the mail. More than that, she loved the attention that delivering good news brought. Idie wanted to be the first one to deliver any good news, should the Southeastern Time Father have written a reply. She lived for the thrill of seeing joy on Jodathyn’s face.

  Eager fingers rifled through the post. When she spotted an envelope bearing the wax seal of the Southeastern division’s insignia, her heart soared. Excitement propelled her to tear the letter open and her young eyes scanned the contents with expedience.

  The elegance of the writing told Idie it was penned by the Earth Mother, herself. Idie squealed, delighted. The contents dictated that she and Nicholai would be honored to take a day and visit Jodathyn’s small garden to help however they could.

  Idie ran to find her mother in the kitchen. She was preparing breakfast; her actions showed familiarity as she heated the manufactured foods they bought from the market earlier. Though their taste buds craved the deliciousness of the whole foods that spiked in popularity, the cost remained too high for them to enjoy it regularly.

  “Momma! The Earth Mother and Southeastern Time Father finally replied!” She waved the letter in her mother’s face. “Where’s Daddy? I want to tell him!”

  Tabitha’s eyes widened as she reached over to skim the letter. She felt relief in her heart. “He’ll be very pleased to hear that,” she said with a smile. “He’s been worrying himself sick over the harvest for months.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Idie bounced up and down on her toes, too impatient to wait any longer to deliver the good news.

  “I suspect he’s in the same place he always is.” Tabitha smirked, and she nodded her head toward the back door. “Probably out in the garden again. Why don’t you go check? I’m sure it’ll be a huge weight off his shoulders once you give him that letter.”

  Idie screeched with joy and rushed outside. The door slammed open and closed with the force of her excitement. Though her legs were little, they carried her forward at a speed unmatched by many other children.