The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  “All right, what the feck is this all about?” Revi pulled his arm from Umbriel’s grasp when he grew tired of following. He stared at her, bewildered. “We’ve only been back from the mountains for an hour, is it too much to ask that I get—”

  Umbriel placed a well-timed finger on his lips. It silenced him. Her expression took on an empathetic softness and she looked over her shoulder to guide his eyes. When she gestured with her hand to Avigail, his gaze followed.

  Nicholai remembered what it felt like when time stopped around him. To describe the stillness was impossible. But when he stared at Revi Houton, he knew in some way, he felt the same gripping paralysis. The moment he looked at his daughter for the first time in ten years, time around him ceased to exist.

  The young woman watched him from behind her freckled face. Like a terrified, wild animal, she did not move.

  Revi recognized her immediately. He sensed every milliliter of blood his heart pumped. Each passing second fed it with more force. He wanted to take a step forward but could not feel his knees.

  The moment his brain caught up with his eyes and the shock of the moment eased, the guilt came. Like a typhoon that made all of Panagea’s past natural disasters look like soft rain, his culpability devoured him. It was his shame that weakened his voice the most.

  “Avi ...”

  The crew observed but maintained their distance upon the realization of the event's importance. Umbriel stepped out of Revi’s path and fell back in line next to the others. Nicholai soon found himself to be the only one near the estranged father and daughter. His discomfort called him to slither away from the pair and find a place near the crew.

  Avigail pinched her lips together and swallowed. Her fingers curled into the cloth at her hips as if holding the material would steady her shaking hands. “I didn’t think you’d recognize me,” she admitted.

  His mouth dried. His throat tightened. Revi parted his lips to speak but nothing exited. When he finally convinced his legs to take several uneasy steps toward her, he pulled himself together enough to say, “How could I forget? I see you every time I close my eyes.”

  Avigail said nothing. Her pupils scurried over his face, taking in the sight of him. He had aged, ravaged by physical and emotional turmoil over the years, but he was unmistakably her father.

  Revi reached out his hand to touch her face but stopped himself. He did not know how far he was allowed to tread the line of her comfort level. His eyes drank in the sight of her. A once small, enthusiastic 8-year-old blossomed into a youthful woman in his absence. His mind had vied with his heart. His stomach shriveled into itself. Sweat coated his palms. More than every battle he had entered, Avigail’s presence made the contents of his body’s interior catch fire. “How did you find me?” he asked.

  She stared at him, unmoving. He stood within her grasp for the first time in a decade. When his anxious eyes found hers again, Avigail felt the sting of tears. Before she fell victim to vulnerability, she summoned all her strength, drew back her fist and punched Revi straight in the jaw. When he collapsed back onto the ground, she loomed over him and scowled. “I looked!”

  Each member of the crew cringed as he fell. Nobody moved. Even Revi laid on the ground, immobilized. He stared at the sky for some time before he pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his pulsing jaw. “Guess you didn’t need your old man to teach you how to throw a punch,” he murmured, opening and closing his mouth to be sure it still worked.

  Avigail glared. “I didn’t need you for a lot of things. I couldn’t need you, because you weren’t feckin’ there!”

  Revi closed his eyes. This was it. The confrontation he feared since the day he left. The very one he tried to escape for ten long years. He finally ran out of road. There was nowhere left to run.

  He pushed himself to his feet and stared back at the freckled face Avigail inherited from her mother. The man wrote a thousand and one monologues in his head about what he’d say, how he’d explain his actions, why he’d never returned. But everything he ever practiced in his imagination melted into oblivion. Only one thing stood out at the forefront of his thoughts. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” She laughed, though the noise marinated in sarcasm. “That’s it? Ten years summed up in two words? Well, I have two words for you too, Revi.” She stepped forward and thrust her hand in front of his face, ticking the words off with her fingers as she said them. “Feck. You.”

  The man watched as she spun on her heels and stormed off. He looked over his shoulder at the crew. They all stared at him, wide-eyed until they realized his stare sought their advice. Penn and Granite averted their gazes. Brack shrugged. Kazuaki and Bermuda stared, slack-jawed. Nicholai looked sympathetic. Only Umbriel showered him with any useful assistance, motioning him to follow with her hands, hoping he bought the encouragement.

  It worked.

  Revi chased after Avigail, running in front of her and holding out his hands. “Avi-girl, please, stop—”

  “Do not,” she started, her eyes narrowed, “call me that.”

  “Look kiddo, here’s the thing,” Revi sighed, “I made a mistake. A colossal one. I can’t undo it. I can’t. You’re pissed, I get it, but you’re here—I’m here. Ten years, it’s a long time,” he said, exasperated, the words flowing out of him with the speed of his rattled nerves, “but I got at least ten more in me. And if you let me, you can have them all, and whatever’s left. I’ll spend every minute of my life making it up to you.”

  Avigail eyed him. Suspicion subsisted in her. “I only came here to prove to you how easy it is to find someone if you look hard enough.”

  Revi nodded. “And to give me a well-deserved punch in the face, yes.”

  His words did not amuse her. She looked behind her, taking in the sight of the crew that lingered in the distance before she returned her attention to Revi. “Are you and Nicholai good friends?”

  Revi’s face twisted at her strange query. “What?”

  “Nicholai,” she repeated, crossing her arms. “Are you friends? Do you guys spend a lot of time together?”

  The man’s brows furrowed together. “I ...” He did not enjoy the term ‘friend’. It made him feel soft. Weak, somehow. He would put his life on the line for Nicholai. He respected him. The Southeastern Time Father had grown on each member of Kazuaki’s crew over time. “ ... suppose,” he finished, still confused by her question.

  Avigail inclined her chin. She studied her father’s face. It reflected desperation. Remorse. A microscopic shred of her pitied him, but she squashed it as soon as it surfaced. “I’ll stay for a little while,” she said, easing the agony he writhed in. “But I want you to know I can leave whenever I want.”

  Revi’s shoulders dropped. He released the large breath he held. “I’ll take whatever time I can get.”

  “Great,” she muttered, turning away from him before she fell victim to his relief. A small falter made it seem as though she wanted to say something else, but she started back toward the others instead.

  Revi watched her go. He felt the weight of the world crumble away after her agreement to stay, but the reprieve did not last long. Revi Houton endured many things: stabbings, gunshot wounds, near drowning, physical and mental turmoil beyond most men’s comprehension. Experience guided him through each of those moments. He knew how to sterilize and stitch a wound. He knew the capacity of his lungs and what his body and mind could withstand.

  But he had no idea how to handle an aggrieved, teenage daughter. Have mercy, he thought to himself as he followed after her, hoping with every inch of his soul he did not mess up this opportunity.

  Brack was the first to spot Avigail approach. He swatted Granite and Penn, muttering, “Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,” as he pretended to direct his eyes elsewhere.

  Everyone bristled at her reemergence. Nobody expected her to knock her father in the jaw, much less with enough force to throw the ground out from beneath him. It was a feat for grown me
n to knock Revi Houton off balance. To observe an angry young woman accomplish what most failed to do was uncomfortable.

  Revi caught up with her quickly. He rubbed his hands together as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Everyone stared, having never witnessed the otherwise stoic Revi in such an uneasy state. “Avigail has agreed to stay with us for a while,” he announced.

  Brack blinked and stole a glimpse of Revi’s daughter. “Oi, I beg of you to keep your fightin’ fists off my mug then, love. This here’s my money-maker.”

  A brow rose on Avigail’s face. She looked unconvinced. “Is it?” she asked, unable to reign in her disbelief.

  The Rabbit stared at her, his expression falling flat. The look only lived on his face for a second before he grinned and busted a gut. “I like her! A real judgmental Judy, just like you, Rev!”

  “Don’t,” Revi admonished. He needed to surround Avigail in a relaxing environment if he had any hopes of her staying.

  Nicholai coughed into his hand, turning to segue into a conversation with the captain now that the moment settled itself. “If I could discuss something with you for a moment, Kazuaki ...”

  The captain nodded. “Anything to get away from ... this,” he said, ushering Nicholai away from the others.

  The Southeastern Time Father peered out to be sure the others were out of earshot before he lowered his voice. “Something’s happened in Southern. Jodathyn’s dead.”

  If Kazuaki felt surprised at Nicholai’s revelation, he concealed it well. “I know you wouldn’t bring this to my attention if he died of natural causes.”

  “Right.” Nicholai straightened his posture and shoved his hands into his pockets. He knew it sounded ridiculous before he finished his sentence, but he laid it out on the table. “Technically, he died by his own hand. But his hand was ... influenced ... if you will ... by a goddess.”

  “A goddess?”

  “A goddess.”

  “A goddess,” Kazuaki repeated, causing Nicholai to question the sanity of his admission. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

  Nicholai hitched a shoulder. “Umbriel said she spotted some flowers near his body. Red anemones, I believe. She said they bloomed wherever blood for her was spilled.”

  Kazuaki lifted his eye to the sky, calling forth his memories of all the legends he poured into his mind over the years. “The Goddess of Harvest.”

  “Yes,” Nicholai proclaimed, surprised Kazuaki knew of whom he spoke. “That’s what Umbriel said. I believe her name was Havidi—”

  “Do not give power to their names, Nico,” Kazuaki interrupted. “The less they have, the better.”

  Nicholai’s eyes took on a sheen of understanding. “Then you know what they’re capable of.”

  The wind blew the captain’s hair around his face as he stood. “Their departure from the tangible world was still fresh when I was a boy. I heard occasional whispers, but anyone who spoke of them did not linger in the city’s presence long. I did not live through their golden years. But I know enough.”

  “Then you’ll know what we should do?” Nicholai asked, hopeful. “If she’s out for the blood of innocent people, we can’t let her continue to roam about Panagea.”

  Kazuaki appeared lost in thought. He crushed Nicholai’s hope for a practical solution when he said, “You cannot kill a deity, Nico.”

  The Southeastern Time Father groaned. “I didn’t mean to imply we kill her. I meant ... send her away, somehow. It’s achievable if we’ve done it before, is it not?” He frowned. “How is it that murder remains your go-to solution after everything we’ve been through?”

  The captain glanced down at the sword he had stolen from Olnos on the mountain: Brufesphe. The blade rested beside the guns he wore at his hip before he looked to Nicholai again. “Because it’s effective.”

  “As you so aptly put,” Nicholai said, “I have a feeling, in this case, it won’t be. What do you do when you can’t shoot or stab your problems away, Kazuaki?”

  The two men locked into an intense staring contest, waiting for the other to relent. It was with fortune, or misfortune, that their concentration broke with the rapid approach of Lilac’s father.

  Malcolm panted as he rushed over, holding various papers in his arms. “Nicholai, I’m glad you’ve returned,” he breathed, his chest rising and falling with each summoned gasp for air. “These came for you, from the other divisions. They seemed quite urgent.”

  Nicholai continued to stare at Kazuaki, who challenged him to be the first to look away. Having no other choice, the Southeastern Time Father ripped his gaze from the captain and took up the parchments Malcolm handed to him. “Thank you, Malcolm,” he said as he looked at them all. There were six in total, all bearing the wax seals of their division’s insignia. “These are from the other Time Fathers,” he announced, a frown finding its way to his face.

  “And Time Mother,” Malcolm corrected. “Elowyn of Eastern has sent one, as well.”

  Nicholai opened the first parchment. Edvard Addihein of Western detailed concerns of skyrocketing suicide rates. Men and women with no previous criminal records suddenly derailed into hideous, violent acts. When arrested, they raved of nonsensical things, of gods, goddesses, righteousness, injustice, and more. He inquired as to whether Nicholai’s division suffered a similar epidemic. Before he finished the letter, Nicholai tucked it under his arm and opened another from Emont of Southwestern. It read similar to Edvard’s.

  “I don’t understand,” he muttered, tearing open a third letter from Elowyn of Eastern. Her people endured a comparable crisis.

  Aggi Normandy. Bartholomew Gray. They all said the same thing.

  The last letter he opened was from Nordjan of the Northern division. Expecting to see contents that mirrored the others, Nicholai unfolded it, gripping the sides. Only five words lived on the cream-colored page, but they made his blood run cold.

  “I tried to stop you.”

  He creased the parchment back over and held it in his hands. “They’re everywhere,” he breathed, forgetting for a moment Malcolm stood beside him. Had they been to Southeastern? What did he miss in his absence?

  “Almost,” Kazuaki interjected, looking to Lilac’s father. “Did nothing arrive from Vadim Canmore?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “Nothing that I know of. It’s possible it got lost in all the other letters, but these were hand-delivered by the diplomats of each division. They stressed their urgency.” His muscles hardened as anxiety took hold over him. “What do they say, Nicholai?”

  The Time Father tightened his jaw and closed his eyes. Without looking, he slid the letters into his vest, locking them away from prying eyes. “I need to go away for a little while, Malcolm.”

  “Again?” His forehead wrinkled in surprise. “But you only just returned.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Nicholai placed both hands on the man’s shoulders. “Please, look after the homestead for me again. I’ll hire additional envoys to help maintain any pressing political matters.”

  Malcolm nodded without fail. “You know I’ll do my best, Nicholai.”

  The Time Father smiled. He trusted Malcolm with his whole heart. “Good man,” he said, patting him once before he slipped passed and headed to his home. He needed to issue letters to the other division leaders.

  Though he could’ve waited for the rest of his natural-born life to step foot at Panagea’s center again, it seemed he’d need to face the climatic location of his past sooner than he thought. Nicholai had hoped he wouldn’t have to look at the gaping symbol of his failure for another ten years. But they had no choice. It was the only place all of the division leaders could speak together without risk to their land. And the last thing they needed, particularly now, was an additional risk to anything.

  Chapter Eight

  Jernal found fortune in the large dose of shock his body supplied to him. Were it not for his brain’s ability to create a healthy level of disassociation, the knowledge that lesser gods accompan
ied him back to the airship would have broken him. He lived in a comfortable denial for most of the trip. But Mimir’s incessant chattering made it harder to ignore the elephant in the room.

  “A bird!” The sludgy lesser god pointed a dark, dripping finger to the dull sky. “Sweet, serenading avian, spread your wings and fly. Nothing stops you from touching the clouds, does it? Not man, nor god, you bow to nothing and call no creature master.”

  Darjal rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples. He had adopted a familial understanding of all the lesser gods at his resurrection. Mimir was a wild card, waffling on the uneven ground of genius and insanity. He couldn’t have cared less about the once well-bound god. Darjal couldn’t care less about any of them. Though they shared the title of lesser god, they were not his allies. He was superior. They were nothing to him, only fragmented ideas that faded from memory long ago. He had put in a lot of effort never to be near another, finding them a disgusting objection to the religion he built during his reign in Southern.

  He had to live in the presence of one now.

  It was ... unpleasant.

  “Many centuries have come and gone since I last saw a bird.” Mimir dragged himself across the barren earth, enamored. “Commander, when is the last time you laid eyes on a bird?”

  The brows on the commander’s face rose. “Are ... are you serious? Just now. You pointed right at it.”

  Mimir stared at Jernal for several seconds, as if the words he uttered stemmed from a foreign language. A gradual, cheeky grin soon crawled onto his face. “So I did. You’re an observant man, Commander. The captain is an observant man, as well. When I find him, we will spy many birds together.”

  Jernal shuddered at the thought. Though he did not save any space in his heart for pity toward the immortal captain, the thought of spending an eternity with Mimir seemed like a nightmare. Even with denial numbing him, the last handful of hours spent with the lesser god were trying.

  Jernal experienced a great relief when the airship came into view, but as they drew closer, his respite felt short-lived.