The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  She came to a sudden halt when she saw the garden.

  Seedlings that once existed in a small state were now huge. Squash sprawled forth from countless vines, luscious and plump as they rested in the soil. Fat, red tomatoes reached for the sky, so large that it seemed a miracle the stalk held them up at all. The garden prospered overnight in a way Idie never witnessed.

  The child spied her father’s clothing hidden in the mountain of thriving vegetables. He laid in the earth, unmoving.

  “Daddy!” Her innocent brain deemed him asleep as she smiled and walked closer. Her father existed as a hard worker, obsessed with his plants. He must have overworked himself to grow them like this. Obviously, his exhaustion made him lower his body, and rest in the company of his beloved harvest. “The Earth Mother and Southeastern Time Father wrote you back, daddy!”

  He did not move. Idie made a face. She’d have to shake him awake. The little girl edged closer and knelt. She shook his arm before she caught sight of the crimson liquid spilling from his throat. It stained his skin as it slithered down his body and into the dirt. Idie stepped back. Her eyes fell on the dagger, still coated with her father’s blood.

  The color drained from the small child’s face. A low-hanging tomato crushed under the weight of her foot as she stumbled back. The letter fell to the ground, landing in the wetness of the flattened fruit.

  Wind howled through the stalks of Jodathyn’s garden. It was joined by an ear-piercing shriek from Idie as she called for her mother.

  Chapter Two

  Visiting Lilac’s grave left Nicholai with more of a yearning than peace. Each time his eyes fell on the flower-covered stone slab that bore her name, he felt hollow. A man with more common sense would stop putting himself in situations that did more harm than good. But Nicholai was content to trade his common sense away for a false feeling of being near her. Even if it left him worse for the wear.

  Lilac called to him. From the other world, she sang like a siren that offered promises of serenity. But the promises were always empty. Still, he returned, each day hoping the destitute feeling might be replaced with acceptance.

  The Southeastern Time Father emerged from the forest that contained Lilac’s final resting place, heading back to the home he shared with Umbriel. The Earth Mother was a refreshing companion to have around. Her supernatural aura eased his tension. Though whispers filtered through Southeastern about the unnatural relationship the two shared, they fell on deaf ears.

  Vicious rumors aside, a pang of guilt came with being the guardian of Southeastern. It held much of its structure, the only division in all of Panagea that did not wear the scars of the past disasters on its surface. As Nicholai wove through his untouched town, he couldn’t help but think of the other divisions that failed to hold their forms.

  Nobody would have known it to look at him. Nicholai did not project the failure he knew in his life. He did not wish to pass it on to his people. Each day, he displayed nothing but his standard, unassailable humanity. He wore it in his eyes and his movements. He wanted the citizens to see him as someone they could trust. Especially after his previous actions betrayed them so terribly.

  “Morning, Mr. Addihein.”

  Nicholai lifted his eyes from the ground and spied one of Nenada’s residents: Rhirvin Kelum, the machinist who had perfected his mechanical forearm. He issued a smile and a formal tip of his hat. “And a good morning to you as well, Mr. Kelum.”

  Rhirvin grinned, a picture-perfect gentleman, though covered in grease. “How’s the arm holding up?”

  Nicholai lifted his hand and flexed the fingers, each steel digit bending with ease. He rotated the wrist for good measure to showcase he still held a full range of motion. “Never better, Rhirvin. Thank you. Your mastery knows no bounds.”

  “Ah, stop,” Rhirvin waved a hand, “I couldn’t have done it without your prototype. Stellar idea for prosthetics, Mr. Addihein. It’s both fortunate and unfortunate that business has been so well if you know what I mean.”

  Nicholai nodded. He knew what he meant. The natural disasters of Panagea’s past, coupled with the small-scale uprisings that occurred throughout the divisions, and all the footmen who suffered in the one-day war at Panagea’s center, birthed a high demand for prosthetic limbs. Talented machinists answered the call, fashioning arms and legs from various metals.

  For now, they were mostly aesthetic. Elowyn of Eastern propelled medical sciences further than they’d ever been before, but the Earth Mother’s supernatural abilities were still the only way to connect a person’s nervous system with the faux-limbs.

  Some traveled to see her. If Umbriel was present, she provided the service at no cost. But reforestation efforts made her a fluid creature; she did not dwell in one place for very long. The best time for citizens to catch her was when political obligations kept Nicholai from their nature developments.

  The woman possessed a boundless heart that Nicholai admired. His own bleeding heart had been tempered after Lilac’s passing. He hoped to believe in mankind’s goodness again one day, as strongly as Umbriel did.

  “How is your new project coming along?” Nicholai asked, content to make small talk.

  Rhirvin winced. “It’s ... progressing. It’s like nothing I tried to build before so,” he laughed, “there are some issues I need to work out. But it’ll get there.”

  “Good to hear it.” The Southeastern Time Father mustered a smile. “Well ... keep up the good work, my friend.”

  Rhirvin nodded, a grin on his face. “Most assuredly, Mr. Addihein. You have yourself a good day.”

  Nicholai swept through Nenada, his hands in his pockets. The familiar rattling of industry flourishing around him quieted the demons in his brain. They didn’t bother him often. Mostly after he left Lilac’s grave. They whispered of mankind’s foulness into his mind’s ear, reminding him how men like Rodgie existed to steal women’s lives for personal gain. That there were plenty of other men like him out there.

  The demons never won. Nicholai starved them of success. They lingered dangerously close to the line of victory some days. The Time Father had to ward off assassination attempts and received death threats from Panagea’s society of elites for his efforts to redirect the world. But no matter how hard they fought, their battles always fell a little short of his humanity.

  His house came into view, as it had countless times before when he returned from the forest. This time was different. Nicholai stopped. He stared at Umbriel from across the distance, sitting on the bench outside their home with an unidentified figure. His pulse quickened. For a moment, the scene took him back to Lilac sitting on that same bench with Rodgie. It made his feet move faster.

  “What’s going on?” Nicholai narrowed his eyes and met Umbriel with a sense of urgency. When his eyes fell to the young teenager who sat beside her, a wave of embarrassment washed over him. A girl, or a woman, but barely—she looked harmless as she stared up at him from behind her freckled face.

  “Nicholai,” Umbriel stood, tilting her head to the side. His aura of anxiousness accosted her, but a quick touch from the woman brought him a sense of peace. “This is Avigail.”

  The Southeastern Time Father rubbed the back of his neck, letting his sheepish feelings vacate his body. “Many apologies for any standoffishness I may have projected, Miss Avigail,” he reached out a hand and smiled, “though the day has barely begun, it’s been a long one, I’m afraid.”

  Avigail jumped to her feet. She looked star-struck. The woman stared at Nicholai’s hand as if it were made of diamonds.

  The Time Father blinked. He looked down at the mechanical hand, oftentimes forgetting it could be an off-putting image to those unaccustomed to seeing metal where skin should be. He grinned and tucked it behind his back, offering her the other. “It seems I must ask for your forgiveness twice. First impressions and I, we don’t get along so well.”

  Avigail released an awkward laughed and shook her head. “No, it’s, please—um ...” She grabbe
d his hand and shook it, blushing, “it’s just ... you’re, I’ve never met a Time Father before, and you’re ... different than I was expecting, I guess.”

  Nicholai straightened his posture and a small laugh escaped him after they shook. “Dare I ask what you were expecting?”

  Avigail hitched a shoulder, her cheeks still blossomed in redness. “An old person.”

  Umbriel and Nicholai exchanged glances with one another. The Earth Mother raised a hand to her lips in an attempt to stifle her giggles. Nicholai smirked, nervous, and tried to brush it off. “What can I help you with today, Miss Avigail?”

  “Nicholai,” Umbriel interrupted, placing a soft hand on his arm, “it seems the focus of Avigail’s quest here isn’t you, but rather someone you know. Can I ask, do you know where Kazuaki has gone off to?”

  Nicholai arched a brow. “He said he was taking the airship out for a voyage. They’re chasing after some legend they read about in one of their books. An enchanted sword, or a dagger, or ... something,” he trailed off. “I’m sorry, Umbriel, whenever Kazuaki gets on a tangent about weaponry, I tend to tune him out. I told him we wouldn’t need any extra protection since we’re headed to Southern to assist Jodathyn with his crops.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell. “Do you know when he’s set to return?”

  Nicholai shrugged. “I told him to expect us to be absent for at least a week. I thought we’d coast through Southeastern for a few days and reforest more plots before we arrived at Southern’s edge. It’ll take less than a day to help Jodathyn; we’ll be back in Southeastern’s borders by nightfall, then another couple days back.” The man grew skeptical. “Why?”

  Umbriel looked to Avigail once and returned her gaze to Nicholai. Before she opened her mouth to speak, Avigail interrupted.

  “I’m looking for Revi Houton. My father.”

  Nicholai whipped his head toward her. His stomach twisted at her confession. That one of Revi’s children sought him out after a decade of abandonment caught him off guard. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered as he shifted his eyes to the young woman, trying to recover from his shock. “I have no doubt he’ll be ecstatic to see you, Avigail—” Nicholai hoped. Her presence would no doubt stir up many emotions in the man. “I’m afraid it’s going to be about a week before he returns, but—”

  “I waited ten years,” she admitted, apathetic. “Another seven days won’t kill me.”

  “Right.” Nicholai moved his eyes to Umbriel. Uncertainty rested inside the cobalt spheres. “We’re set to leave tomorrow morning. I suppose Malcolm could watch her?”

  Avigail laughed with fragments of pride. “I’m eighteen years old. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  Nicholai crossed his arms as he thought. “I didn’t mean to imply that, but ... let’s just say our efforts in rerouting Panagea have earned us some enemies. It would be better if you had a set of eyes on you while you wait for your father to return.”

  A slow smile bloomed on Avigail’s face. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I could go with you to Southern,” she offered, as her foot twisted in the dirt beneath her. “What better set of eyes to watch over me than the hero of Panagea?”

  Nicholai arched a brow as an uncomfortable expression claimed his face. “I ... don’t ...”

  Umbriel giggled once more into her hand, unable to quiet her amusement. When she composed herself, she found Nicholai’s attention. “She really should accompany us, Nicholai. If anything were to happen to her while we were gone, Revi would be devastated.”

  The Southeastern Time Father felt his shoulders tense. “I could hire some footmen to stay with her here—”

  “Nicholai,” Umbriel tilted her head and tried to issue a confident smile, “Revi is our friend.”

  The man stared into her persistent eyes for a long time until he drew in a relenting breath. “Okay. You’re right. She should come with us.”

  Avigail grinned and jumped up, excited. “Just tell me when. I’m already set. You won’t regret this, Nicholai. Can I call you Nicholai? Do you prefer Mr. Addihein? I—”

  “Nicholai is fine,” he offered with a forced smile. He extended his arm toward his dwelling. “Well, Avigail ... make yourself at home. We’ll head out tomorrow at dawn.”

  The young woman scarcely contained her enthusiasm. She dashed into the house after a quick ‘thank you’, thrilled to explore the home of a Time Father.

  “You’re doing right by Revi,” Umbriel said, staring into the open door Avigail entered. “He’ll appreciate knowing she’s in good hands until he returns.”

  “Yes,” Nicholai sighed, his gaze also fixed on the door. “I suppose if we survived the wrath of footmen and natural disasters, we can survive a hormonal teenager.”

  Umbriel pinched her lips together to hold in more laughter. She turned to face Nicholai, planted her hands on his shoulders, and said, “Gods-speed.” She patted his arm twice and turned around, following Avigail into the house.

  Nicholai cleared his throat and adjusted his hat. One week. That wasn’t so long. He did want to keep Avigail safe. For Revi. “Gods-speed, indeed,” he repeated, shaking his head before he entered his homestead.

  Chapter Three

  Insects never used to be a concern. The irritating creatures landed on Jernal’s ears, flitting their disgusting wings against the tender cartilage. A small, but incessant noise buzzed from the bugs, and though the pests were insignificant in size, the sound that emanated from them was hard to ignore.

  Jernal swatted at them as he trudged through yet another island Nordjan suspected to be Mimir’s home. The behavior became instinctual. This was the third island that he and his team had scoured since leaving the Northern division in a flying machine fit to carry them all.

  The Northern Time Father employed many individuals thought to possess the knowledge that would expose the secrets of Mimir’s hiding place. Nordjan wanted Kazuaki Hidataka out of the picture. With the cutthroat immortal gone, Nicholai Addihein would be a raw nerve, easy to pluck from Panagea’s infected jaw. Mimir was the key to the captain’s fate. The lesser god had dibs on Kazuaki’s soul. Nordjan wanted that debt to be paid. And Nordjan was the one who paid Jernal.

  The soldier started to think it wasn’t enough for the nightmares he endured.

  Every suggestion ended the same as it began: empty of anything resembling worth. Despite Nordjan’s ramblings that old world gods and goddesses would resurface in droves due to Nicholai’s negligence at Panagea’s center, Mimir was difficult to find.

  The endeavor wouldn’t have been as suffocating if Jernal had been able to handpick his crew. As a man of the Southern division, he had served dutifully under the late Darjal Wessex for his entire adult life. He bonded with the men in its military. He guided them. Led them. He clawed his way to the top of the military hierarchy. But when Bartholomew Gray laid claim over the Chronometer and initiated a new rule over Southern, Nordjan made Jernal an offer he couldn’t refuse; he begrudgingly abandoned the division he knew. Dipping his toe in the Northern military’s pool of soldiers became something he regretted more and more each day.

  The men were lawless. The chain of command meant little to them. Regardless of Jernal’s superior rank, he did not hold the respect of most Northern soldiers. They had their own ideas of what made a man worthy, what made him someone they would follow into the mouth of the Underworld.

  Jernal did not fit the bill.

  Darjal had grown Southern into a religious-driven division. He painted himself as a god, resurrected churches that backed his egotistical system, and force-fed his ideologies so consistently to his constituents, that they genuinely came to believe he was a god in his forty-year rule. Mothers and fathers passed those beliefs down to their children, who in turn passed them down to theirs. Despite the man’s death, enough people remained in Southern to carry on his legacy.

  Northern was not a religious-driven division. On the contrary, Northern thrived on hard work and sacrifice. It believed in result
s birthed from the hands of the men and women who dwelled in the wintery world rather than Time Fathers who painted themselves to be gods. They relied on themselves. Anyone who failed to do so fell under the judgmental stares of those who fueled themselves on Northern pride.

  Jernal’s falchion cut down another branch that hindered him. The metal had become dull from weeks of shredding anything that stood in his way. He wanted to finish this task. He wanted to be free of these irksome men under his command. With Nordjan’s lust for correcting Nicholai’s egregious error satisfied, Jernal could return to his wife and kids and put this nauseating mess behind him.

  “Jernal,” a footman behind him snickered as he ducked to avoid a low branch, “you know what might help us out? If you pray to Darjal Wessex to guide us.”

  A second footman snorted. His boots crunched the dead leaves beneath his feet. “Braser’s right. Your god solves everything for you, doesn’t he?”

  Jernal scowled from his position in front. “The only thing I’m praying for right now is silence.”

  “Is it working?” Braser smirked. With a heap of sarcasm, he added, “I heard it’s an incredibly effective tactic to getting what you want.”

  Jernal stopped. He turned around to eye the two men behind him. The greatest shame of his nightmarish situation was that these two were his preferred options. The men left behind to guard the airship showcased even more obstinate behavior than Braser and Yaurel. “I know of only one tactic more effective,” he murmured, his grip on his falchion’s handle tightening. “It’s a pity my honor prevents me from executing it.”

  “Oh,” Yaurel grinned, holding up his hands in feigned fear. “I believe our commander is threatening us, Braser.”

  “Most unbecoming,” Braser mused, mimicking Yaurel as he, too, held up his hands. “I thought you Southern boys were more hospitable than all that.”