The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  “What do we do now?” Jernal asked.

  Darjal stepped aside and motioned an arm forward. “Destroy the well. Terminate his prison.”

  Jernal felt a breathlessness claim him. A cool wind swept over his face as he stepped forward to approach the well. It looked as though it already suffered several travesties, held together only by luck and old mortar. He laid a hand on the nearest brick, giving it a firm tug. It resisted, but after digging his heels into the ground and pouring more effort into his action, the brick gave way and fell into his palm.

  “One down,” Darjal jeered, unimpressed. “Only several hundred more to go.”

  Jernal bit his tongue. It was fortunate he gained much practice soothing his ego in the moments spent with Yaurel and Braser. With more force this time, he kicked at the bricks with his boot. Chunks fell into the chasm and disappeared into the blackness.

  Darjal folded his hands into the large openings of his sleeves. Though time held no effect over him anymore, he appeared ravaged by impatience.

  Beating the well started to feel cathartic to Jernal. Much frustration had grown in the soldier over the past year. It sank into every tissue and subsisted there. Every demeaning comment Darjal uttered in his life. Rennington and Iani’s escape from his capture. The embarrassment he suffered under Nicholai’s engagements. Failing to subdue Kazuaki Hidataka. The mixed emotions that surfaced with each new revelation he made about the situation he found himself in. The confusion as to whether he was doing the right thing. He gave it all to the well in a series of blows.

  When his feet felt the aches of his aggression, Jernal removed his sword. It didn’t feel as comfortable in his hands as an old-fashioned Southern division falchion, but he did not wish to further dull his beloved blade.

  The man adapted and swung with all his fury. Shrapnel from bricks chipped away, flying off into the shadows. Jernal lifted his steel to unleash another forceful swing but stopped himself when he caught movement from the mouth of the well.

  From the abyss, the creature emerged. One wraithlike arm stretched from the black hole, followed by the other, and soon Mimir poked his head up from the blanket of darkness that made up his prison.

  A weak ray of moonlight highlighted the lesser god’s face as he arched an unimpressed brow. Glowing eyes scanned the broken condition of the well and his gaze flew to Jernal. “Rude,” Mimir muttered, flicking a small lump of broken brick away with his finger.

  Jernal caught himself as he took a sudden step back. Though Darjal’s presence introduced the soldier to the reality of lesser gods, Mimir’s appearance still shook him as something that shouldn’t be a reality. He did not look human. “So, the demon exists,” he breathed, gripping his sword.

  Mimir perched on the crumbling edge of his well, trying to find a solid place to rest his feet. “Why does everyone refer to me as a demon?” he wondered out loud. “I am as much of a lesser god as he is.” Mimir thumbed toward Darjal, who kept his place at a distance.

  Darjal scowled. “Perhaps it is because you look more monster than man.”

  Mimir squinted his shining eyes as he lifted his arms and assessed himself. A gelatinous, onyx-colored combination of sludge and shadows comprised his form, but his overall shape reflected that of a human being. “Many apologies,” he muttered with cynicism, “I am sorry I do not adhere to your preconceived notions of what a lesser god should look like.”

  Darjal waved his wrist to dismiss Mimir’s words. Jernal looked back and forth between the two before he settled his eyes on the creature who crawled from the well. “I’ve come to free you from your cell,” he started, “so that you might stake your claim over Kazuaki Hidataka.”

  Mimir’s head shot toward Jernal. He grinned. It split his face in half, inhuman in how far it stretched across his cheeks. “My friend, the captain ... how I’ve missed him. Has he cleansed his soul?”

  Confusion showed in Jernal’s expression. “I don’t know,” he confessed with a small shrug. “I only know I’ve been ordered by Nordjan of the Northern division to find your well and free you.”

  “I see.” Mimir sat back and stroked his chin. “I have heard my name whisper in Nordjan’s thoughts over the months. I would be happy to leave this place, young man, but I am afraid, like our dear acquaintance, the captain, I am bound to a situation I do not prefer.”

  Jernal tilted his head, crestfallen by Mimir’s admission that his task would not be as easy as he had hoped. “I don’t understand. Can I not just destroy the well that holds you?”

  Mimir snickered but startled when a brick fell beneath his foot and collapsed to the ground. After he corrected his position on the well, he said, “The Unnamed has doomed me to this place. It turns out It takes the Law of Freewill quite seriously.”

  “The Unnamed?” Jernal glanced over his shoulder to find Darjal, a questioning look on his face.

  Darjal snorted and crossed his arms. “The Unnamed. The top link in the hierarchy.” He used his hands to explain, holding them at different levels. “Men.” He raised his hand. “Lesser gods.” He raised it again, apathetic, and as if the very two words ignited a jealous rage in him, he murmured, “The Unnamed.”

  “Yes, yes. It chained me to this well after I sought a tiny bit of revenge on those who forgot me,” Mimir chuckled. “It was only a little. I don’t know why It got so angry.”

  Jernal felt a queasiness when the two spoke of The Unnamed. He just discovered the existence of lesser gods; to throw a more powerful omnipotence on top of that knowledge nearly crushed his mental wherewithal. He shook it off, focusing on the task at hand. “Is there nothing I can do to free you?”

  “Well,” Mimir grinned, reaching out to poke Jernal in the side to gain some insight from the touch, “we could make a bargain. I am very good at those.”

  The soldier stared, skeptical. His hand placed his sword back into its sheathe. “That wasn’t part of the deal,” he muttered.

  Mimir sank his neck into his shoulders. “It seems foolhardy to throw away your chance at financial independence simply because you’re too afraid to make a bargain, Jernal.”

  The creature’s knowledge gripped him. Jernal knew he had not given Mimir his name, nor the details of his circumstances. Still, a truthfulness hid in the demon’s words. Jernal wanted his freedom. He wanted a life for his family, absent of any burdens. The commander straightened his posture. “What do you want?” he whispered.

  “You want my freedom,” Mimir reiterated. “I will grant your wish ... in exchange for a favor. I will need assistance when I am released from this place. I will call upon you in a time of great need. You must perform my request. And if you do not, you belong to me.”

  Jernal withdrew, insulted. “I cannot agree to that.”

  Darjal sighed. “We’re wasting precious time.”

  Mimir tilted his head so far it looked as if it might detach from his neck. “Tick tock, Commander. I have nothing I need at the moment, but much I will need later. That is my final offer.”

  “You cannot expect me to agree to those terms when I have no indication of what it is you’ll ask of me—”

  “I can assure you, Commander, I will not ask you to do anything you haven’t already done before.” Mimir leaned closer to him without lifting his hands or feet from the well. “All I want is the captain. I do not know what role you will play yet, but what I do know is what I ask of you will directly correlate to his fate. Not yours.”

  The commander allowed Mimir’s confession to settle over him. Kazuaki Hidataka. Though Jernal lived in relief the captain had not killed him on the ironclad that fateful day, he continued to harbor resentment for the man. It was at Nicholai Addihein’s insistence that he lived, despite the immortal’s wrath.

  He was so close to freedom from the military, he could taste it. The feeling of easiness nestled into his tongue. Jernal clenched his hands into fists as he lifted his head and met Mimir’s gaze. So long as it affected Kazuaki Hidataka and not himself. He extended an uneas
y hand. “You have a deal.”

  The lesser god beamed. “Perfect,” he purred, lifting a bucket from his well that appeared out of nowhere. He dipped his viscous fingers into the vessel and flicked several droplets onto Jernal’s skin.

  The commander swallowed as he felt the water soak in. It seemed final. In desperation to rid himself of his small feeling of regret, Jernal turned. “It’s done. We should return to the ship. I’ll take you back to Panagea and you can find the captain.”

  Darjal and Jernal started back in the direction they came. When Jernal realized Mimir did not follow, he halted, turning to look over his shoulder.

  “Are you coming?” Darjal bellowed, already irritated he had to slow himself to a mortal’s pace.

  Mimir stared at the ground. The once jubilant creature stretched an uncertain arm forward. It hovered an inch above the earth. Jernal almost thought he detected a fearfulness, but soon Mimir placed his hand on the rocks below. He loitered there for a moment, as if the act of touching the land outside his well was something he needed to savor. Or adjust to.

  “I’m coming,” he whispered, still staring at his hand. His second arm followed. Then one foot. And the other. When all four of his limbs rested below his body, detached from the well, he slowly uncurled his hunched posture.

  No punishment. No retaliation from The Unnamed for abandoning his cell. It worked. Mimir tore his gaze away from his hands and grinned at his two acquaintances. “Let’s go find the captain.”

  Chapter Six

  “That’s it? We’re just leaving?”

  Avigail walked alongside Nicholai and Umbriel as the sun crept closer to the horizon. They stayed on Jodathyn’s property for hours, but Nicholai found no clues as to what caused the man’s death. When time ran out, he proposed they return to Southeastern’s border.

  Umbriel remained quiet as she sauntered beside the two. Nicholai noticed her look of uneasiness when he stole occasional glimpses of her, but he chalked it up to Jodathyn’s death. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do right now,” Nicholai explained as they traveled through Springden. “I need to return to Southeastern. I’m sure Bartholomew will put his best men on this.”

  The news seemed disheartening to Avigail. She pushed a strand of hair from her eyes as she walked. “Your friend died, Nicholai. It just seems like we’re abandoning his family.”

  A frown crossed the Southeastern Time Father’s face. It was natural for Avigail to relate the situation to her own. He didn’t expect her to understand. “I would have loved to secure his family’s safety with my own hands,” he admitted, “but I have duties to Southeastern. I cannot abandon the needs of the many for the needs of the few.”

  Avigail did not appear to accept his answer, but she held her disagreement inside. The three carried on, passing the small houses that sheltered Springden’s people. They passed the lamplighters as they climbed their ladders to ignite the candles that lived in their posts on the streets. Soon the forest’s edge came into view.

  Nicholai sighed, relieved. Every time he stepped foot outside of Southeastern, a fearfulness existed that he would be unable to return in time. It was a concern that he couldn’t outgrow, after everything that happened last year.

  As each stride brought them closer to the boundary, Nicholai continued to sneak momentary glances of Umbriel. A cloud hung over her. It was a worry he never witnessed on the otherwise serene woman’s face in all the time he knew her.

  “Umbriel?” he finally asked, his voice low. “Are you all right?”

  The Earth Mother lifted her head, unaware she had been staring at the ground as she walked. “I ...” She did not wish to tell him. Though Umbriel dreaded little, she feared Nicholai’s reaction. Particularly if she illuminated the entire truth. But as she stared into the genuine empathy of his eyes, she knew she couldn’t lie to him. “Nicholai ... about Jodathyn—”

  A body hurled itself into Nicholai with an unexpected force. The Time Father fell to the ground with a grunt, but dug his metal palm into the earth, utilizing the power of the mechanical arm to thrust himself up. The figure clung to his back, a knife in his hand. He struggled to find Nicholai’s skin with the blade.

  Umbriel gasped, cross with herself that she was too lost in her mental dilemma to sense the impending arrival of an attacker. She moved to help, but a second assailant caught her attention from behind. He approached her, dagger drawn. A vacantness in his eyes as he glared at her.

  Avigail took several steps back and bumped into a third aggressor. He wrapped his arms around her and snarled. “Bear witness, Darjal!” He cried out as if his actions would earn him a reward. “See that I follow and know you have my faith!”

  Nicholai scowled and whipped his head back. His hard skull collided with his attacker’s nose. The dagger fell. Hands flew to bleeding nostrils, as the aggressor staggered back, cursing.

  “Darjal is gone,” Nicholai muttered, unsure what the man meant by his statement, as he found Avigail’s captor. “Let the girl go.”

  As Umbriel’s quick feet avoided her frenzied attacker’s swings, Avigail writhed under her enemy’s grasp. He winced as she stomped his feet, but held tight to her frame with both arms. “You cannot kill a god,” the man breathed, increasing his hold on the young woman.

  Nicholai opened his mouth to speak but spun on his heels when he heard a hammer draw back on a pistol. Though his nose leaked blood like a river, Nicholai’s former assailant abandoned his dagger and brandished the gun instead. “His greatness lives on in us.” He squeezed the trigger.

  The Southeastern Time Father raised his iron arm. Sheets of metal ejected from the sides and locked in place, forming a shield he used to protect his head and torso. Nicholai’s expression hardened when he noticed the bullets dented his protection, but he did not have time to dwell on it.

  When the gun emptied, Nicholai ran full force, slamming into the man with his shield. He fell to the ground. Where his body landed, the Time Father spied a creeping ivy vine, an invasive weed that crept from the woodlands in Southeastern. Without delay, he extended his hand.

  The vine aged years, sprawling forth in length. The fallen man’s proximity served as a frame for the plant. It weaved around his legs, up to his stomach, tightening as it coiled around his arms and neck. He struggled against its constriction, but the stubborn plant held strong.

  Umbriel watched, wide-eyed. She darted away and scooped up a long vine of her own. Looking back at her attacker, she wrapped the vine around her hands and stretched it out, prepared to use it as a binding. “Keep your distance,” she cautioned, calm but firm, “or you will end up like your companion.”

  With one man restrained, Nicholai directed his attention back to Avigail’s captor. “I’ll ask again,” he said, his voice low, “let the girl go.”

  The man snorted as he tugged the flailing woman tighter into his chest. “You will suffer for your sins, Nicholai Addihein.”

  The Time Father’s eyes narrowed. He familiarized himself with assassination attempts before, but those were more artfully orchestrated. This display was nothing more than untrained laborers recklessly swinging sharpened blades and pistols. Something was off. “Release the young woman and I will accompany you willingly.”

  Avigail snarled as she dug her fingertips into the man’s skin. He cursed and shook her, but refused to let go. “You destroyed all that was good in Southern,” he seethed, “how am I to trust the words of a demon?”

  Nicholai’s expression remained unchanged. “You sound just like your god,” he muttered, nonchalant as he retracted the metal plates of his shield back into his mechanical arm. “I’ll give you one more chance to release her.”

  As Umbriel’s attacker charged her, she spun, catching his wrist with her vine. Fluid stems wrapped around it and pulled, causing the blade to fall from his grasp. As the man spun from the force of the Earth Mother tugging him in the opposite direction, she brought him to his knees and bound his wrists behind his back.

 
Though both of his comrades fell, Avigail’s captor showed no distress. He glowered at the Time Father. “I don’t submit to sinners,” he spat.

  Nicholai sighed. He took no pride in injuring his fellow man, but months of warding off murderous efforts had hardened him to the reality that, at the very least, he needed to render his assailants immobile. “Very well.” He lifted his arm. His thumb extended at a strange angle. Nicholai pulled back on it with his flesh and blood fingers. Another compartment opened at the wrist, as the metal hand bent back.

  The man didn’t even feel the dart when it first sank into his forehead. It was so small. But soon the tranquilizer radiated through his wrinkled skin. He tried to shout his disapproval, but paralysis claimed the muscles in his mouth and jaw. The feeling of immobility slithered down his neck and into his arms.

  Avigail shoved herself out of his weakened grasp and ran to Nicholai. The Time Father watched as the non-lethal poison spread to the man’s knees. He buckled under his weight and joined his comrades on the ground.

  “What did you do to him?” Avigail breathed as she clutched Nicholai’s arm.

  “It’s just a tranquilizer,” he informed. “In several hours, he’ll be fine.”

  Umbriel stood from the spot where she had restrained her aggressor. “Is everyone all right?” she asked, looking from Avigail to Nicholai.

  “I’m fine,” Avigail replied, though adrenaline still coursed through her veins. She looked down, realizing her hands lingered on Nicholai’s arm. The young woman did not care to move them.

  Nicholai took notice. He cleared his throat and slowly eased his arm out of her grip. “No injuries,” he informed Umbriel. “Though Rhirvin will be sorry to hear he has some dents to buff out of my shield.”

  “You handled yourself quite well,” Umbriel complimented as she smoothed her hair back. “Sparring alongside Kazuaki has paid off, it seems.”

  “Yes,” Nicholai flexed his artificial wrist and elbow to be sure they still operated after the abuse. “I’m sure he rests a little easier at night knowing I’m at least somewhat capable of defending myself.”