Jernal closed his eyes and drew in a tired breath. He exhaled after repeating a calming mantra in his mind. It was a wonder how Northern won the short battle with Northeastern. These men weren’t soldiers; they were jokes. Poor excuses for organized combatants.
After summoning additional control over his growing rage, Jernal turned on his heels and continued. What they lacked in duty he made up for tenfold. His mission remained: find Mimir and free him from the well. Having lived as a soldier his entire life, Jernal had endured worse things than the insubordination of Yaurel and Braser.
The quiet only soothed him for a moment before the two started up again. “Dear Darjal Wessex, great god of Southern,” Braser placed his hands together in mock prayer, “please hear my plea. Bless Commander Jernal with the foresight to find Mimir, and also the knowledge that he lacks the basic skills necessary to be an adequate man in charge.”
“—and,” Yaurel continued, “send us some gods-damned food. We’re feckin’ hungry. Glory to the all-powerful god.”
Jernal’s blood boiled. Months of unsuccessful hunts ravaged every last shred of restraint he harbored. He spun on his heels and swung his arm out, the pointed tip of his metal blade stopping inches from Braser’s throat. “Listen here, you cock-eyed sons of bitches—”
The soldiers’ expressions shifted. Faces that once portrayed conceited arrogance twisted to unimaginable shock. Jernal sneered. His blade remained unmoving. The men said nothing, only stared beyond him, brought to wordlessness through what Jernal imagined was his surprising show of aggression. “Tread lightly.” He slowly lowered his falchion. “Next time, I may not be able to calculate the distance at which you stand. Your throat may not be so lucky a second time.”
Braser and Yaurel looked as though they were trying to speak. Their jaws moved, but the only things that escaped their mouths were tightened squeaks of words unspoken. Satisfied, Jernal turned, ready to begin the mission again with fresh authority. He staggered back when his eyes fell on the unexpected figure before him.
It couldn’t be. Impossibility confronted him. Jernal’s tongue dried inside his mouth as he stared at the man who appeared out of thin air. Down to every last wrinkle, he knew that face. Necessity urged him to speak. He needed to know if he’d gone mad. “D ... Darjal?” he uttered. “Is that you?”
The grandiose figure narrowed his eyes. “I prefer Lord Wessex, Jernal. I should have thought you, of all people, would remember that.”
His voice boomed with a paranormal force. Jernal felt his heart thundering inside him. He knew the man’s face, he served him long enough to never forget it. And the voice ... Darjal’s unmistakable voice. “How is this possible?” he asked, feeling the uncertainty of Yaurel and Braser emanating from behind him.
Darjal scowled. “Southern prayer has birthed me anew. Nicholai Addihein has no idea what he invited back into Panagea.” He looked to Yaurel and Braser, those who summoned him with their mock prayer. His eyes shined when he witnessed the terror that gripped them.
Darjal returned his focus to the commander. “The lesser gods rise, Jernal. And as I understand it from this senseless man’s prayer, you are currently seeking one. Should you lend me your prayer,” he started, a maniacal grin spreading across his face, “I do believe I could help you with that.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Kazuaki never suspected that any form of air travel would replace the thrill of the sea. He was right. The ocean still gripped his heart. Saltwater coursed through his veins like a renewable resource, embedding into his organs. He remembered each wave that rocked his lost ship like it was yesterday.
But air travel ... air travel was a different breed of excitement.
Each cloud he gutted gave way to a new lust for commanding the skies. He gripped the wheel of the airship, similar enough under his calloused hands to remind him of his sunken vessel. His hair tossed in the strong winds, and whipped behind him, exposing the half-mask he still wore over his face. A gaping hole where an eye should have been was an unsightly thing. Kazuaki was not a vain man, but since it served as a horrid reminder of his encounter with Mimir, he preferred the company of the patch.
Panagea sprawled with its man-made structures from the tip of Eastern’s coast, all the way to Western’s edge. From the top of Northern’s land and down to the Southern division, there was no mass untouched by industrial or residential influences. More earth gave way to forests as Nicholai’s and Umbriel’s efforts grew, but Panagea as a whole remained claimed by people. Claimed, at least, in all the habitable areas.
As the airship climbed higher into the sky, the oxygen thinned. It was a familiar feeling. The once treeless Panagea often gripped the starved lungs of its inhabitants and squeezed. Thinning air remained a concern, but the slow growth of the forests steadied the deprivation. It was mankind’s familiarity with oxygen-depleted environments that gave the captain and his crew all the equipment they needed.
Brack appeared behind the captain, an oxygen mask pulled down over his face. He spread his arms out at his sides as he laughed through the screaming winds. Though the mask muffled his words, his exuberance carried them through. “Oi, Cappy! We almost there? It’s been too long, my palms are burnin’ for some exploits!”
Kazuaki guessed that wasn’t the only burning body part the Rabbit possessed. He bit his tongue, as their exploits with Nicholai earned Rabbit a legendary tale to share with any maiden who would listen. “Nearly there, Rabbit. Alert the others.”
“Right-o!” Brack grinned. Though his facemask shielded his jubilant expression, Kazuaki saw it in his eyes. He departed, leaving the captain at the airship’s wheel.
Kazuaki turned back to the sea of mist stretched out before him. The mountain’s peak came into view. Their destination. A piece of land that lingered so high in the atmosphere that it lived in purity, untouched by mankind’s hands. The piece of land that contained Brufesphe, the sword forged by a mortal blacksmith long dead, and blessed by the lesser god Olnos, to whom the blacksmith prayed.
Brufesphe. The focal point of their expedition.
The captain ripped the legend from one of the many books which had surfaced from Darjal’s underground libraries. A sword with the power to cut through anything in one swing. It was unheard of for a common man to forge anything worth discussion, but Olnos, the God of Metal, took to the blacksmith’s craftsmanship. In exchange for his praise, he blessed the sword with its unmatched ability.
Or so the myth went. Kazuaki knew a margin of error existed in all tales passed down from the mouths of men.
Rough hands guided the airship downward. A jaggedness infected the mountainside; finding a suitable landing spot proved difficult. Kazuaki felt the burn of oxygen withdrawal claim his lungs, but the immortal was too stubborn to attach his breathing apparatus. The lack of oxygen was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t as if it could kill him.
“Easy does it, Captain,” Bermuda’s voice sounded from behind him, distant beneath her mask. She smirked from behind it, shifting her eyes from the approaching terrain up to Kazuaki. “One-eyed men can’t exactly boast about their immaculate depth perception.”
Kazuaki matched her devilish grin, but he said nothing as he jerked the airship’s wheel. The quartermaster stumbled on her feet from the sudden action and gripped the captain’s arm to steady herself. “What I lack in depth perception, I make up for in sure-footedness,” Kazuaki retorted.
Bermuda scowled, though a playfulness lingered in her faux irritation. The woman mastered planting her feet firm to the boards of Kazuaki’s old sea vessel, but she had not yet adapted to the airship’s unpredictable ebbs and flows. “Hardy har-har,” she muttered, her fingers still clutched to his forearm.
The longer the pressure of her touch lived on his arm, the more he questioned his spirited decision to buck her feet. Despite his best efforts, her proximity still lit him on fire in the most inebriating way. Kazuaki drank in the feeling of her hand on him. Savored it. Then distanced himself from it before he s
urrendered his sanity.
“There’s a clearing,” he announced, focusing on the whirring of the propellers as he brought the ship down.
Bermuda followed his gaze to the opening. It looked questionable, but it was their best shot on the vertical peak. She was slow to ease her grip on the captain’s arm. It reminded her of what it felt like when they shared a dance in Aggi Normandy’s residence. The memory made her stomach tighten. It was a hazardous feeling, but one she found herself chasing more often than she should.
The airship thudded as it struck the uneven ground. Kazuaki heard the contents of the vessel shift in protest, but despite the rocky landing, it came to a safe stop. He looked over his shoulder when he heard the familiar click, click, click of the beast’s claws on the airship’s deck.
Granite’s dog launched itself off the vessel and onto the rock-strewn terrain. White and gray hairs had formed around the creature’s muzzle, but its age did not stop it from enjoying its patented excitement at touching the earth again. It stopped to itch its ear, bending awkwardly as it attempted to scratch. But even with the prosthetic, the three-legged mongrel failed to succeed.
Granite exited the airship’s cabin, an air mask on his face. He hurled a pack of supplies over his shoulder and leaped from the deck with a grunt. Several swift steps had him over to the beast, and he eased the animal’s itch by scratching it for him.
Revi, Brack, and Penn trekked out to the main deck. They all looked to Kazuaki with inquiring eyes. “Who’s staying with the ship, Captain?” Revi asked, waiting to see if he needed to gather his own supplies.
“Just Penn.” Kazuaki eased himself out of Bermuda’s grip as he walked toward them, though it pained him to do so.
Penn arched a brow. “Really? Me alone?”
Kazuaki hitched a shoulder as he grabbed a pack of medical supplies. “Not a soul alive is going to be on this mountain. The ship’s in no danger. But even if it was,” he leaped from the deck and landed on the pointed surface below, “You’ve proven your ability to man a vessel solo.”
Penn straightened his posture and tried to hide his proud grin. Manning Kazuaki’s old ship from the Southern division’s waters to Brechita last year was the biggest challenge he had faced in his adult life. While it felt good to know the captain appreciated his efforts, he said nothing. Penn Elmbroke was not a sentimental man.
“All right.” Revi bent down and scooped up the last two packs before he shoved one into Brack’s hands. “If he’s not doing any heavy lifting, then I expect a four-course dinner when we get back.”
Penn spat as he leaned back against the exterior walls of the airship’s cabins and crossed his arms. “You’ll eat whatever I make.”
“Too right, that,” Brack laughed and gave Revi a shove. “Come on now, quit flirting and get on with it. I want to see this sword.”
Revi scoffed and exited the ship to follow after Kazuaki and Granite. “That’s it, then? We just find the sword and head home? I have a hard time believing that’s as easy as this is going to be.”
“Arriving at the mountaintop is the first obstacle,” Kazuaki muttered as he walked, careful to test the durability of the rocks beneath his feet before he applied the entirety of his body weight to them. “It’s said the sword is guarded by the lesser god who blessed it. The God of Metal.”
“Right.” Revi waited for Bermuda and Brack to catch up before he continued to follow the captain. “That makes sense. I’m sure you haven’t tired of dealing with lesser gods after how well it went last time.”
Kazuaki paused long enough to throw a heated stare Revi’s way. “Belay that.”
“You got anything that could kill a lesser god?” Brack wondered out loud. “Been a long time since I read a thing about the buggers, but I know they’re not easy to kill.”
“As far as I know,” Kazuaki murmured, leaping over a chasm in the narrow mountain trail, “they’re impossible to kill.”
Bermuda cocked her head to the side as her face twisted. She jumped the gulf with grace and came up beside the captain. “Pray tell, Captain, how exactly do we plan to get this sword then?”
“The same way we got everything else,” he quipped. “By taking it.”
A brow rose on Revi’s face. “That clears the battle strategy right up, then.”
“Come on, mates!” Brack came up behind Bermuda and Revi, placing his arms over both of their shoulders, as he sandwiched himself in the middle. “Ye of little faith! You forget our beloved captain shares a common thread with those lesser gods, he does. Immortality ain’t reserved for the omnipotent, aye, Cap?”
Kazuaki drew in a deep breath, though it left him wanting more. His lungs griped about their emptiness, but he remained too stubborn to reach for his oxygen mask. “Rabbit’s right. Once we find the God of Metal’s hiding spot, just try not to die.”
“Excellent,” Brack beamed, releasing Revi and the quartermaster from his grasp. “I’m quite good at not dying.”
“Much to everyone’s joy,” Revi muttered with sarcasm. He stopped behind the captain as the beast ran circles around Granite’s legs, impressive in his movements for an otherwise clumsy animal.
The trek fell silent for some time. The crew chose to conserve their oxygen. Small patches of snow graced the peaks in the distance. Some rested in patches near their feet. The wind matched their surroundings in its temperature, threatening to chill anyone who chose not to wear appropriate attire.
Kazuaki stopped when he recognized an unnatural structure jutting out of the mountainside. Though a light dusting of flakes covered it, a well-timed breeze blew the coating away.
“This is the place.” Kazuaki knew it from the texts he had obsessed over for the last several weeks. Staring at the crew from the place it was first crafted, intricate stairs greeted them, carved into the rock and rubble.
They were perfection, each step encased in a thin layer of brass that had no business being on an untouched mountain, far from mankind’s reach. The alloy shimmered in brilliance, despite a lack of sunshine. It looked otherworldly, an ethereal structure of impeccable angles surrounded by the jaggedness of natural imperfection.
“I’ll say it is.” Brack placed one foot on the first step and tested it. “Looks godly to me.”
The beast cared little about waiting for the others. Gripped by an eagerness that never faded with age, the mutt hobbled up the stairs and disappeared into a fine mist collecting at the top.
Granite frowned and pushed passed the others, following after the creature in the event he found himself in a dangerous situation. With no hesitation, Kazuaki and the others followed. Rushing into perilous situations was a skill that remained alive in them all, sewn and grown from one situation to the next. This time was no different.
A haze surrounded them the farther they ascended. The crew tried to keep their eyesight keen to their environment, but it gave little away. As the thickness became more apparent, the most they could do was trust each footstep would meet another stair.
Brack panted through his breathing mask, but the endeavor only filled him with more excitement to match his physical fatigue. “Beasty!” he called out, his voice echoing in the highland air. “What do you see up there, boy?”
The dog’s bark sounded far away, joining Brack’s voice as it bounced off the mountains. Kazuaki felt the familiar touch of Bermuda’s hand slip onto his arm as she came up beside him. “I can’t see a foot in front of my face,” she admitted, trying to downplay the offense. “If I fall, I’m taking you with me.”
Kazuaki tempered his hunger, but he leaned into her body despite his mental chastising. Ignoring his natural urge to be near her grew more difficult by the day. Harder still, that she seemed to disregard caution as well. “For the best,” he said as they climbed, “then you can break my fall.”
A smirk crept onto the quartermaster’s face. It was not long after that when she felt her boots meet the final step. The mists thinned out, but it remained a struggle to see everything with c
lear eyes.
Granite spied a whipping tail poking above the mist. He scooped down and picked up his dog, cradling it in his massive arms. The behemoth did not want to risk losing the mutt to a misplaced step at this height.
“Tread lightly,” the captain ordered as he placed his palm atop the hand Bermuda weaved into his arm. The cover of the mist filled him with boldness, as it helped to shield his actions from the eyes of his crew. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before he took several steps away, testing the earth around them before his comrades had to take the risk for themselves.
“So, I know the plan is to take the sword,” Brack started, trailing after the outline he saw of Kazuaki in the mist, “but how do we take something from someone who can’t be killed? Not as if he’ll just hand it over, Cap.”
Before Kazuaki opened his mouth to reply, a strong gust cut through their bones. The wind brought an iciness with it that penetrated the crew, but each person held fast to the serrated ground where they stood.
Kazuaki narrowed his eye. He peered through his strands of black hair, as a long table fashioned entirely from steel, appeared after the curtain of mist was carried off with the flurries. He held his arms out from his sides to prevent any of his crew from advancing.
Atop the pristine silver table laid a body. A man. White hair cascaded around his frail frame. Sunken eyes lived inside his skull, cheekbones protruded from the thin skin of his face. Unblemished robes that matched the color of his hair adorned his body. In his hands, bony fingers wrapped around the hilt of a magnificent, polished sword.
“Feckin’ hell.” Brack stared at the body on the table, unceremonious in his actions. “If that’s him, he don’t look all that immortal to me.”
Olnos gasped for air as he slowly lifted his head. His neck creaked as he gazed upon those who invaded his space. His arms shook and his grip on the sword tightened. “Who ... goes ... there?” he asked, his tongue dulled from centuries of immobility.
Revi, Brack, Bermuda, and Granite braced themselves. Bermuda squared her shoulders. Revi’s hands lingered near his sides, where he knew his guns and blades hid, though his brain reminded him he could do no damage to a god. Granite tucked the beast under one arm in the event he needed his other.
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 51