Slumped over the airship’s railing, he spotted a body. It sat too far away to absorb any details, but Jernal did not need to stand near it to know the man died. Lifeless, devoid of any movement, he thought it looked like Yaurel. The man squinted to try and see better, but Darjal confirmed his fears first.
“Insubordinate creature,” he huffed. “Death was too good for him, but I found it was quicker than other solutions.”
Jernal felt his intestines compress. “What did you do?” he uttered, surprised he managed to issue any words at all. “You were with me the entire time, how did you ...?”
“My body was with you,” Darjal confirmed. “But a god is both a thing and an idea, Jernal. And ideas do not bow to the rules of travel. They are powerful and limitless.”
“Lesser god,” Mimir corrected.
Darjal turned to scowl at the creature. “Excuse me?”
Mimir did not shy away from the late Southern Time Father’s vehemence. “Lesser god. You are a lesser god. You are lesser than godly gods, than elementals, than the Unnamed. You. Are. Less.”
“Bite your tongue, heathen.” Darjal’s fists clenched at his sides. “Do not forget, as man can slaughter man, gods can still slay other gods.”
“Lesser gods,” Mimir repeated.
Darjal jolted toward Mimir, but Jernal held out his hand. “Please, Lord Wessex,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair, feeling the grief and guilt set in at losing soldiers under his command, “tell me, how many of my men are dead?”
After drawing his wrathful eyes away from Mimir, Darjal begrudgingly returned to a calmed position. “Only five. You’ll be proud to know the others put them down before they did much damage.”
“But ...” Jernal refused to remove his gaze from the body, though he saw many corpses in his service, “why?”
A disgruntled sound rumbled through Darjal’s lips. “Their fear at the sight of me made them weak. Weak men run. You did not want them to whisk away with your airship and abandon you here, did you?”
Jernal’s eyes closed. The integrity of his legs felt feeble. But he did not intend to showcase faintness in front of Darjal. Not when the lesser god capitalized on it. “I suppose not.”
“Wibble-wobble, wibble-wobble,” Mimir chirped as he slithered toward the airship. Jernal did not know why the creature muttered such nonsense, but he suspected it was meant to be a tactful indication that he smelled the commander’s fear. His knees neared a shaky state, but he held himself together as he followed.
“Commander?”
An uneasy voice from the airship sounded as Jernal’s body came into view. The commander straightened, spying one of his men holding a gun as he peered out from an open cabin door. “Yes,” Jernal raised his hands, “hold your fire, soldier.”
It took a moment for the soldier to believe him. He eyed Darjal and Mimir, hesitant at the appearance of the unnatural figure and a second man. But when he convinced himself the approaching person was, indeed, Jernal, he withdrew his weapon. “We’ve lost some men, sir. I ... I know it sounds ludicrous, but they went mad,” he announced, the freshness of the memory still alive in his eyes, “just shooting at themselves and others. We’ve no idea why.”
He spoke with a detachment that Jernal recognized from all Northern soldiers, but he saw a hidden panic the soldier couldn’t camouflage. “I see,” Jernal replied, glancing at the body that remained on the rails. “Gather those who survived and ready the airship. We have Mimir. We’re to return to the Northern division immediately, and deliver him to Nordjan.”
The soldier spied the unruly Mimir, his face a concoction of skepticism and disbelief. He thought Nordjan had lost his intellect when he ordered them to find the demon. In the minds of Northern men and women, gods did not exist. But there Mimir stood, tangible and undeniable.
His attention shifted to Darjal. He possessed no knowledge of the mysterious companion Jernal had pulled from the depths of the island, but he did not question it, compelled to adhere to his orders better than he had previously. “Yes, sir,” he said, cautious as he slinked away to prepare the others.
The three neared the airship and ascended the ramp to board. Darjal disappeared into the cabins without a word. Jernal experienced relief when the lesser god vanished from his sight.
Mimir stopped to poke the corpse several times before he shoved it onto the unforgiving earth below. He cringed when it hit the rocks with a thump.
Jernal wondered where the other four bodies had fallen. He wondered what thought Darjal capitalized on to get them to destroy themselves. Or what he did to get them to attempt to destroy each other. The commander was certain Darjal would have ended the entire crew if he had the skillset. Perhaps the others were too strong-willed to allow his dark thoughts into their heads.
It felt like hours, but it didn’t take long for the soldier to return. “Everything is set, Commander. We can go airborne with your signal.”
Jernal had hoped the Northern men would come to respect him organically. Though it was music to his ears to see them receptive and compliant, he couldn’t help but feel he hadn’t earned it. Their obedience was birthed out of fear. Uncertainty. Whatever Braser and Yaurel told them when they ran back from the middle of the island, it made these men see Jernal in a new light. It was all he ever wanted.
Why, then, did it still feel wrong?
At Jernal’s orders, the airship rose into the sky. The commander peered over the ledge, watching the island below grow smaller and smaller. Any relief he felt at completing his mission soon filled with dread. Jernal did not know what he was bringing back to Panagea. His orders were to return Mimir, but what were the consequences of such an action? Was there a reason the creature was trapped in that well?
It was easier not to think about it.
As the man approached the cabins, hoping to turn in for the night and find what little sleep his racing mind allowed him, Mimir’s voice made his ears pulse. He turned, watching as the creature curled his toes and feet around the airship’s railing, balancing himself with purposeful skill. Jernal’s eyes narrowed. Though the wind obscured his words, it almost sounded as though he sang.
“Mimir, Mimir, the time is near,
for thou to blesseth me,
Mimir, Mimir, come forth, appear,
for I’m your devotee.”
Jernal edged closer, compelled. He tried to approach the lesser god without drawing attention to himself.
“Mimir, Mimir, I give unto thee
whatever it is you may ask of me.
Mimir, Mimir, a bargain’s been made,
an even trade, a debt repaid.”
When a lingering silence followed, Jernal felt strange having crept up on the creature. He didn’t know what possessed him to do it. With his fresh curiosity dissipated, the man attempted to slink back into the confines of the airship’s cabin, but Mimir’s voice stopped him.
“They used to sing that all the time,” he said, his voice distant. “It was ... intoxicating.”
Jernal leveled himself, unsure how the lesser god knew of his presence. He had been so quiet. Rather than linger in ambiguity, the commander coughed to ease his tension. Something about the way Mimir acted roused the man. The being showcased many personalities since freed from the well. He hadn’t met this one before. It was almost sad. Forlorn. He didn’t know why he asked; he didn’t think he cared, but Jernal found himself uttering, “Are you all right?”
Mimir seemed more human than he remembered him looking before. The lesser god maintained his unnerving appearance, but it shifted. The changes were microscopic, yet Jernal noticed.
Mimir tilted his head as he watched the mists pass by. “I am ... happy. I think. I do not remember what happiness feels like.” He laid a hand over his chest. “What does it feel like, Commander? Describe it to me.”
The soldier’s rigidity eased at Mimir’s confession. He walked closer to the creature and leaned his arms on the railing, following the lesser god’s glowing eyes
into the abyss of the sky. A long time passed since Jernal felt happiness. He held it once, briefly, when the revolution at Panagea’s center ended. When Darjal’s relentless hunt for Nicholai Addihein closed. When he got to spend time with his wife, his kids.
Before that, he gripped happiness when he thought he captured Rennington and Iani, the deserters of the Southern army. It felt good then, to feel as though he brought justice to his unit and his division.
Things like that seemed less important as time passed.
The soldier inhaled as the breeze caressed his face. Though Darjal was out of his field of vision, he still sensed his presence on board the airship. It felt suffocating. He stole a glimpse of Mimir from the corners of his eyes and shrugged. “I wish I could. I’m starting to forget, myself.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The twilight hours bred fear. Darkness earned a bad reputation for housing men and women of ill-repute. Those who crept through the cover of shadows lived and breathed for the night, igniting terror in anyone who dared to step into their territory. Concerns like those were lost on Umbriel. She did not dread the night. She found it peaceful.
Her bare feet slid in silence across the cobblestones of Nenada. The smoothed rocks felt warm under her feet, still warm from the sun that set hours ago. The city candle lighters had done their job and slumbered, leaving the street lanterns to guide the few who traipsed through the city in the after hours.
But it was not the candle lights that guided Umbriel. She followed the ethereal glow of the moon.
It led her past the manmade structures of Nenada, into the forest she and Nicholai spent a majority of their time raising in the beginning months following the events at Panagea’s center. Somewhere, hidden in the comforting arms of the trees, Lilac’s grave rested. Umbriel didn’t need to travel that far into the woodlands. She needed only a minimal amount of cover, in the rare event a wandering pair of eyes treaded the outskirts of town this late at night.
When she found a suitable place, where several towering trees enclosed her, she knelt. Her knees nestled into the soft earth as she tucked her feet beneath her and sat. Her eyelids lowered to a close. She drew her shoulders back. Then she prayed.
“Naphine, Goddess of Love, please, hear my prayer,” she whispered to the wind. “It’s been a long time. For that, I am sorry. But I know your power must grow with the others. I beg you to surface. We have much to discuss.”
Umbriel knew before she opened her eyes that her mother had appeared. She blinked several times to adjust her vision. Though darkness surrounded them, Naphine’s presence exuded an otherworldly glow.
“Hello, darling,” Naphine inclined her chin, further emphasizing her grandiose posture.
Umbriel rose to a stand and tucked several pieces of hair behind her ear. “Hello, mother.”
“You’re looking well,” Naphine said. “I see you’ve discovered a way to return to Panagea.”
“Yes,” Umbriel straightened her arms at her sides. No matter how many times she encountered her mother, she still ignited a nervousness in her daughter. “I see you have, as well. And the others.”
“Some,” Naphine corrected, placing a finger on her chin. “The knowledge of the gods’ existence has only resurfaced a short time. Only those men who have needs have returned the lesser gods' strength to them. But it won’t be long before the rest find their way. Is that what this is about?”
Umbriel retained her serious expression. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
Naphine laughed. Her voice sounded sweet, like honey, coated in silk. She extended her arms. “Come, Umbriel. Tell mother what troubles you, darling.”
Her gaze fell to her mother’s inviting arms, but Umbriel held her ground. “Please, tell me I am wrong. Tell me the others who have risen are not out for mankind’s blood.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Naphine dropped her arms and tilted her head with excessive pity, “you know lesser gods can’t hurt mortals.”
It only lasted for a moment. Umbriel found herself clenching her jaw. Her second of frustration faded into the ocean of tranquility she commanded. “You know what I mean.”
“Umbriel, love, I do not blame you for being foolish.” Naphine wrapped a finger around her flawless golden locks and curled it. “It’s only natural you would develop a fondness for humanity when you share their bloodline, but, darling,” she paused, “do not forget, you also share mine. Men have besmirched the gods’ favor. There are consequences for immoral actions.”
“Those who allowed you to fall to the dust have long since died,” Umbriel said a little too passionately. “Surely you must know that countless generations separate the men and women who walk Panagea now from those who forgot you.”
Naphine made a noise. It was one of mock pity. “Do not frown like that, love. It makes your face look unbecoming.”
Umbriel sighed, clinging to the small thread that attached her patience to her brain. “Mother ... I urge you to reconsider. There is no revenge to be had. Tell the others to back down. I know they’ll listen to you. You are by far the eldest—”
“Shush, please,” Naphine smoothed out the cream-colored gown that adorned her perfect body, “a woman never reveals her age.”
The Earth Mother made no progress. She suspected as much. Still, she tried to break through to the Goddess of Love. “Mother,” Umbriel’s voice grew firm, “I harbor a particular concern about one of your newest affiliates. What do you know of Darjal Wessex?”
Naphine laughed again, her ruby lips sparkling in the moonlight. “That old badger? I’d hardly call him a lesser god. He’s so fresh. So green. He’s never done a godly thing in his life, let alone his afterlife.”
“I suspect he never intends to,” Umbriel said, taking a step toward Naphine. “I believe he’s been whispering dark things into the Southeastern Time Father’s mind. Nicholai Addihein. He’s trying to break him, mother. I don’t know how much longer he can hold to his empathy. I’ve already seen a change. He’s also utilized his followers in Southern in attempts to take Nicholai’s life. I need you to stop Darjal. I would if I could, but regardless of how fresh he is, I know only a lesser god stands a chance at—”
“Oh, my dear,” Naphine’s lips danced across her face as she smiled, “you love him. It’s all over your face.”
Umbriel flinched. She knew she couldn’t hide such things from the Goddess of Love, but still, she did not expect her to announce it. “I just want to be sure he is safe,” she said.
“Umbriel, I am far too busy with my own important goings-on to stop Darjal from his pointless side-project,” she explained, putting a hand on her hip. “But, oh, I could always make him fall for you. Even if just a tiny shred of him has some feelings for you, I could embellish them. Then, at least you could enjoy him for as long as he’s alive. Would that help?”
“No!” Umbriel blurted, her fingers balling into fists. “Mother, please, I’m asking as your daughter to—”
“My word, you have a thing for Time Fathers, don’t you?” Naphine giggled into her delicate hand. “Come now, I helped you enjoy A’ronn while you had him, did I not? It’s a shame his fellow division leaders killed him. Yet another symbol of the ugliness of man. Why you adore them so, I’m sure I’ll never know.”
Umbriel’s eyes narrowed. “You did not help do anything with A’ronn,” she said with confidence. “A’ronn loved me.”
“Of course, of course,” Naphine waved her hand to dismiss Umbriel’s rising aggression. “I mean, at least a small part of him must have.”
The Earth Mother released her grip on her fortitude. A rare streak of anger bested her. She glowered at Naphine and took a defiant step toward her. “Leave. You are no longer welcome here. I relinquish my prayer, mother. Begone!”
“Darling,” Naphine smirked, her head falling to the side as she gazed upon her daughter with shining eyes, “you can never get rid of me. I’m half of what makes you. Don’t you worry, love. Soon you’ll see the wisdom of your m
other.”
“Go!” Umbriel barked, her order echoing off the trees.
“The face, sweetheart,” Naphine pointed at her scowling expression one final time. “Remember. Unbecoming.”
Before Umbriel had a chance to say anything more, Naphine whipped the train of her elegant dress around her and vanished from sight. She stared at the place where her mother had disappeared, digging her toes into the earth in an attempt to regain her lost composure. After several deep breaths and a calming mantra, Umbriel’s fists loosened. Her muscles eased. She turned to return to the homestead, nearly jumping when she saw a silhouette in the distance.
How did she miss this person’s approach? The Earth Mother issued immediate blame to her uncontrolled emotions. Naphine remained the only soul she’d ever met who undid her otherwise tightly woven serenity. She did not know how much the figure had seen. Umbriel stared, waiting for the witness to speak first.
“Family reunion?” the shadow asked.
She recognized the voice immediately. “How much did you hear?”
Kazuaki stepped into an opening in the forest, where the moonlight illuminated his frame. “Enough.”
Her expression remained unchanged, though the captain sensed it took a great deal of willpower to achieve. “Are you going to tell Nicholai?”
Kazuaki arched a brow. “I think that’s the least of our troubles, Umbriel.”
“We have to get to Southern,” she announced, seeing no point in feeding illusions. The captain was a perceptive man. Any attempt to convince him that what he had seen wasn’t real was not only an insult to his intelligence, but it was a waste of time as well. “We need to tell Bartholomew to destroy any churches that still pray to Darjal. If he has no prayer to sustain him, he will have no power.”
Kazuaki’s harsh countenance tempered. He knew the pain she writhed in. The uncertainty. Love remained the only thing that rendered an otherwise sane person irrational. But unbridled emotion was no excuse for sloppy executions. “That’s a temporary solution, Umbriel. You know that.”
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 57