The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  “You were here?” she asked, gesturing to the cataclysmic damage suffered by the neighboring earth.

  Revi, still trying to recover from Avigail’s earlier confession, straightened his posture. “Yeah. I was.”

  The young woman rubbed her arm, absorbing the destruction. “Were you scared?”

  Revi looked out at the abyss. Like every other dissatisfying moment of his life, he tried to forget that day. But much like those dissatisfying moments, he couldn’t. “Not of dying,” he admitted.

  His daughter fixed her gaze on him until he forced a small smile. “You can stay on the airship if you’d like,” Revi offered. “They’re going to be discussing some daunting things, Avi. I ... I don’t want you to worry unnecessarily, but ... if you want to hear it,” he paused, shrugging, “I know you can handle it.”

  Avigail flicked her eyes down to the other Time Fathers and Time Mother. They seemed like statues standing there. She returned her eyes to Revi, lowering her defensive status. “Okay.”

  He stared at her for a moment longer before he, too, followed his comrades down the ramp.

  Nicholai found Edvard in the small crowd and approached. He stood before his father, the picture of political professionalism. “Dad,” he said with a small smile, holding out his hand, “it’s been a while.”

  Edvard returned his smile, though the gesture looked strange on the stoic man’s face. “I’ve enjoyed our letters,” he replied, shaking Nicholai’s hand.

  “Bart! Elowyn!” Brack shoved passed everyone and tackled Elowyn with an aggressive hug. He scooped her feet from the ground and jostled her back and forth in his arms before he set her back down. “Great to lay eyes on you, love! How’s tricks?”

  Elowyn coughed at the Rabbit’s physical display of affection. She cleared her throat when her feet found solid ground again, and though her eyes held dark circles beneath them, she smiled. “Hello, Rabbit,” she said, issuing a tired laugh, “I’ve been well.”

  “Gods, you don’t look it,” he stated, grabbing her face with his hand and turning it from left to right. “Politics got you sleepless most nights, aye? Gotta be hard work running a division.”

  She swatted his hand away and smoothed out her attire. “Yes,” Elowyn sighed through a smile. “Many are still resistant to the idea of a woman in a position of leadership, but I’m making headway.”

  “I knew you would, love.” He grinned and gave her shoulder a playful punch. “You always had greatness runnin’ through those tiny bones.” Brack spun on his heels and laid eyes on Bartholomew. He and Kazuaki were in the midst of shaking hands, but that didn’t stop him from barreling over with outstretched arms. “Bart! Give ol’ Rabbit a hug!”

  Bartholomew’s eyes widened, unable to protect himself before Brack swallowed him into an embrace. “Good to see you as well, old friend,” the scholar choked out as he attempted to pat him on the back.

  “Hold up,” Brack uttered, staring past Bartholomew’s shoulders at the two men the Southern Time Father brought with him. “I recognize that handsome face!” He grinned at Rennington, who stood proud in his Southern military regalia. “But I don’t know this other gent.”

  Bartholomew pried himself out of Brack’s arms and released an exasperated chuckle. “Yes, I brought my finest Southern soldier, Rennington, of course. And Southern’s finest ambassador has also agreed to accompany me. This is Kal Rovanas.”

  “Kal Rovanas, aye?” Brack neared the well-dressed man, who stood as tall as he could under the Rabbit’s scrutiny. He presented himself well, not a wrinkle detected on his clothing. His dark hair laid smooth atop his head, held in place with a product of sorts. Brack leaned in and gave him an unceremonious sniff. “Gods-be-damned, mate, you smell as nice as you look.”

  Kal blinked and his dark eyes bounced over to Bartholomew, seeking his advice on how to react. Brack followed his gaze, watching as the scholar’s traditional resigned expression implemented an undeniable, yet microscopic grin.

  Kal returned his attention to Brack and smiled, holding out a hand to shake. “You must be the Rabbit,” he said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

  Brack gripped his hand and pulled him in, refusing to let go. He leaned in close to Kal’s face, his lips blossoming into a devilish smirk. “I suspect if I hung out with Bart more often I’d hear a great deal about you too, mate.”

  Kal bristled but held fast to his lighthearted demeanor. “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? What do I mean?” Brack laughed uproariously as he looked to Bartholomew. “You thought you could hide this strapping young lad from us, aye, Bart? Come on now, no shame in playing games, ol’ Rabbit’s got a keen eye for lust, you know that!”

  Bartholomew’s muscles tensed. He looked mortified beyond belief, surrounded by his fellow division leaders. “That’s enough, Brack.”

  “Shush up, Bart. You know no judgments lived on board the ship, just because she’s sank doesn’t mean that ol’ adage died with her. I adore young love in all its forms,” he said, still gripping Kal’s hand. He laughed as he shook it, turning to the ambassador with a wink. “You and Bart look good together, mate.”

  “Brack Joney,” Bartholomew urged, his voice growing deeper, “please unhand my ambassador.”

  “Ah,” Brack released Kal and turned to Bartholomew with a grin, “he puts the ‘ass’ in ambassador, don’t he, Bart? Ah, come here, mate, I’m happy for you!” He opened his arms to hug Bartholomew once more, but Bermuda pulled him away.

  “Sit,” she ordered, forcing him away from the humiliated scholar. As she commanded Brack, Granite’s dog sat, wagging its tail.

  Granite looked down at the beast. “Good boy.”

  Aggi offered nods to everyone to draw attention away from the embarrassed Bartholomew. “It’s been too long,” he said, stepping outside his boundaries for only a moment to grab Umbriel’s hand. He smiled at her, bowing before he turned to the others. “I just wish our reunion was on better terms.”

  “Yes,” Emont stepped forward, bringing himself closer to the others who gathered. “I echo Aggi in that it’s good to see you all again,” he said, “and in good health.”

  “Good to see you as well, my friend.” Nicholai issued a formal nod. “And my countless apologies about Jodathyn. I know you two were friends.”

  “Yes.” Emont lowered his head. “He was a good man.”

  Nordjan lingered in the background. Nicholai met his gaze after the thrill of the reunion calmed down. He saw the Northern Time Father’s focus fall to his mechanical arm, but instead of drawing attention to it, he only said, “You’re late, as usual.”

  Nicholai ignored his hostility and placed his hand behind his back. It almost felt as if Nordjan’s eyes made his arm burn from the memory of the man severing it from his elbow. “Not as late as Vadim,” he observed, staring at the vacant spot where the Northwestern Time Father should have been. “Has anyone heard from him?”

  Each division leader shook his or her head in turn. “Not for months,” Edvard admitted. “To be fair, I have not sought his attention.”

  “Nor I,” Aggi admitted. “We’ve only maintained icy neutrality since last year’s events.”

  “Perhaps he’ll catch up later.” Nicholai glanced at the others. “We really can’t wait for him. This issue needs immediate attention. What are the details of your divisions?”

  “The same as yours, I imagine,” Elowyn said as she stepped forward. “An unprecedented rise in deaths, most of which appear self-inflicted. By the time they arrive in Eastern’s hospitals, there’s little my medical teams can do for them. Those they managed to save appear disillusioned, suffering from some sort of mental hallucinations.”

  “It’s not just the suicides,” Aggi interjected. “Town representatives from all over Northeastern have alerted me to rising acts of violence as well. Rational men and women have gone mad, killing strangers, neighbors, even their own family members in some of the more horrific cases.”

&nb
sp; Bartholomew dropped his head. “Forgive me for prying open old wounds, Nicholai, but,” he lifted his gaze, feeling obligated to look the Southeastern Time Father in the eyes, “many of the men and women in Southern who have showcased an escalation in violence are continually trying to cross the border into Southeastern, and I fear they share a common thread.”

  Nicholai narrowed his eyes. “Which is?”

  Bartholomew frowned. “They all claim to act in the name of Darjal Wessex.”

  “They’re insane,” Emont stated, shaking his head. “The victims who survived in Southwestern talk of gods and goddesses. It’s lunacy. Do you think it could be viral?”

  Elowyn turned to Emont for a brief moment before she threw a cautious gaze at Bartholomew. “The residents we admitted to the mental health wards claim ties to various deities as well,” she disclosed. “I was hesitant to believe the claims my doctors made, but ... we all had our experience with one.”

  Mimir. The lesser god at the forefront of the crew’s thoughts. Nicholai tried to gauge everyone’s reactions and noticed Edvard and Nordjan both stood in silence, undaunted by the revelations. He suspected Nordjan would showcase no surprise. The letter he received from the Northern Time Father indicated as much. But Edvard’s lack of astonishment plagued him somehow. “Did you know?” he asked, skeptical.

  Edvard met his son’s eyes. Before he answered, Emont interrupted. “Know what?” he questioned with a shade of rattled nerves in his tone.

  Umbriel, who stood in the back of the crowd to distance herself from her inevitable admission, at last convinced her body to take several steps forward. “I know what’s happening to Panagea’s people,” she said, voice soft.

  “The lessers have returned,” Nordjan interjected, casting vile eyes to the Southeastern Time Father. “I knew that as soon as man’s interests devolved toward archaic habits they would resurface. Darjal Wessex banned those texts containing word of them for reasons beyond his own absurd objectives. Why else do you think we tolerated his ridiculous claims of superiority? Humanity no longer needed the gods’ help, Nicholai. Do you know how much work it was to ensure they forgot they ever needed them at all?” He hissed, turning then toward Bartholomew. “Your depraved desire to build your historical library has doomed us all. You unearthed those outlawed texts. You handed them our damnation bound in leather.”

  “Knowledge isn’t meant to be buried,” Bartholomew responded. His calm demeanor angered Nordjan more, but he continued. “Erasing history only serves to threaten the present, should preceding problems reappear.”

  “Our forefathers eliminated the threat,” Nordjan scowled. “You all brought it back.”

  “They were never a threat.” Umbriel inclined her chin, her words anchored in strength. “Humanity did not forget them because they were a danger, Nordjan. The lesser gods and men worked together harmoniously until peoples’ egos grew beyond repair. They forced the lessers out. Starved them of prayer. The gods, they’re just angry. They’re hurt.”

  “They’re vengeful,” Nordjan finished with a glare. “The details are irrelevant, Earth Mother. They’re back, and Panagea’s people are suffering greatly for it.” He turned to Nicholai and thrust a finger toward him. “Never let it slip your mind that I tried to stop you. These deaths are on your hands.” The Northern Father snapped an angry glance at Edvard. “And you helped him. You of all people should’ve known better,” he said in a heated whisper.

  A distrustful frown crossed Nicholai’s face. He exchanged looks with Edvard and Nordjan, trying to dissect their conversation. He did not get far before Umbriel spoke up.

  “What’s done is done. We need only to convince them we are remorseful. They loved us once, they will forgive us.” She seemed convinced, but her look of determination slipped when she threw a glimpse Bartholomew’s way. She took several steps toward him, her palms together as her arms outstretched. “There is only one who I do not feel we can convince to yield with words ...”

  Bartholomew narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

  The Earth Mother claimed a stillness. “Darjal Wessex.”

  “Darjal Wessex is dead,” Bartholomew replied, paying no mind to the collective feeling of surprise that surfaced after Umbriel’s admission.

  “Yes,” the woman agreed with a nod, “but he is no longer a man. The power of worship has rebirthed him as a god. Countless thousands still pray to him throughout the Southern division, Bartholomew. It was people who manifested the original lesser gods out of need,” she said, “and they have done it again. I’m afraid Darjal Wessex’s years of influence in Southern have earned him immortality in the form of godliness.”

  Nicholai’s interest in the subtleties that laid under Nordjan and Edvard’s hushed whispers faded when he heard Umbriel’s deduction. “Darjal has returned?” he asked, flashing back to the time he had spent with Umbriel and Avigail in the woods. Around the campfire, he recalled it vividly. She tried to tell him then. Darjal was the lesser god she referred to. The one she believed responsible for inoculating Nicholai’s mind with foul thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

  “I needed to be sure,” Umbriel replied with a sigh. The confirmation she received from her mother was weak, but all the proof she needed. “But we can still eliminate the threat.” She turned to Bartholomew, her eyes shining with a plea. “Destroy the churches that still revere him in Southern. Please. He will not die, but without their prayers to energize him, he will be far too weak to have any influence over—”

  “Umbriel, I cannot do that,” Bartholomew said, causing everyone to grant him their attention.

  Bermuda’s eyebrows rose in speculation. “Why? It seems solid. You’re not exactly a religious man, Bartholomew. Those churches are a smear on the Southern division anyway.”

  “They are,” he admitted, his forehead creasing as he frowned. “I don’t deny that. But my icy relationship with the church has nothing to do with any of this. They’re still critical to some of my citizens. Knowledge was my religion before Vadim destroyed all the learning institutions in Northwestern when I lived there,” Bartholomew explained. “I don’t agree with their worship, but I will not force them to relinquish it. I won’t do to them what Vadim did to me.”

  Revi scoffed and shook his head. “Bart, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re going to choose what’s best for god-fearing men? The same religious fanatics who condemn a whole part of who you are?”

  “I’m choosing logic over emotion,” Bartholomew replied without sentiment. “I can see the frustration in it, but the Southern division is no dictatorship, Revi. Not anymore. In time, the people will see the faults in Darjal Wessex’ religion of their own accord. If I force them into submission, they will only feel oppressed.”

  “Umbriel makes a solid point though, Bartholomew.” Aggi cradled his jaw in his hand as he contemplated. “If Darjal is fresh, perhaps he can still be eliminated.”

  The Southern Time Father stared, unrelenting. “And what is one fresh lesser god in a sea of ancient ones?”

  “One lesser god who is trying to bring about Nicholai’s destruction,” Umbriel protested.

  The Southeastern Time Father winced. Bartholomew shook his head. “You are thinking with your heart, Umbriel. Nico is a dear friend to all of us, but he is one man in a continent of people.” The scholar looked to Nicholai, his jaw tight but his eyes compassionate. “I’m sorry, Nico. But as a division leader, you of all people should know, especially after everything you’ve been through, the collective comes first.”

  “It does,” Nicholai agreed. He stole a glimpse of Umbriel, taking in her worried face. “It’s okay, Umbriel. I can keep Darjal at bay.”

  She did not appear convinced. Nicholai’s mental fortitude harbored an unmatched strength, but Umbriel knew all it took was an infinitesimal shred of doubt. If Nicholai’s empathy wavered for even a moment, Darjal could use it to his advantage. “Nicholai—”

  “I
t’s okay,” he repeated. “Bartholomew is right. We can’t ask him to destroy his churches. Now, what can we do to stop the ancient gods from continuing to wreak havoc?”

  “Panagea got rid of them once before,” Aggi said. “We should be able to do it again.”

  “We don’t need to get rid of them,” Umbriel urged. “We need to apologize. We need to bargain with them, show them today’s generation can live with them in coherence again.”

  “Umbriel,” Kazuaki glared, his tone clashing with his expression, “bargaining with lesser gods did not work well for us last time.”

  Before the Earth Mother injected another comment, the sound of propellers summoned the attention of everyone’s ears.

  “Vadim?” Emont wondered out loud. “It’s about time.”

  “No,” Nordjan’s eyes drew to slits. “The Northwestern Father does not command an airship.”

  The group watched as the sunlight above silhouetted the approaching craft. Kazuaki’s hand edged toward Brufesphe’s hilt at his side. Bermuda’s fingers slid to the handles of her dual daggers. Granite’s dog barked as Revi, Rennington, Brack, and Penn dug their feet into the earth to brace themselves. Even Kal, who appeared more of a diplomat than a soldier, stepped in front of Bartholomew and withdrew a blade none knew he possessed.

  The airship landed on the uneven rocks, appearing unstable as it settled. Without delay, and to everyone’s surprise, Jernal made his exit. He unleashed a direct stare at Nordjan, lifting a finger to point at him as he ignored all the others. “I delivered him,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Send my pay to my home address. I’m done, Nordjan. Consider this my formal retirement.”

  Nordjan’s look said many things, the forefront of which was his unhinged nerves at Jernal’s sudden appearance.

  “Found who?” Brack asked, staring at the small aircraft Jernal rode in on.

  From the open door, a dark foot emerged, crawling on the ground. A second followed it, and in moments, the nightmarish head, held up by a shadowed neck, peered out from around the corner. Mimir’s gaze cut through everyone as though they were glass. He honed in on his target and grinned. “Hello, Captain,” he said, a maniacal look dominating his face. “It has been far too long.”