The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  Chapter Eleven

  “What does he mean he ‘delivered’ him?” Kazuaki’s untapped aggression flowed into his eye as he threw his focus to Nordjan.

  The Northern Father shuddered under the intensity of his rage, but only for a second. He said nothing.

  Jernal felt the weight of a thousand bricks fall from his arms. He had completed his mission. No dishonor would live in his name. He had no interest in loitering here any longer than he needed to. The commander turned, ready to instruct Darjal to abandon the airship too.

  But the lesser god was gone.

  Jernal flinched, his concentration on the empty craft. His adopted air of confusion lived and died quickly, as Bermuda shoved him aside to clear a path to Nordjan, daggers drawn.

  “You’d better start talking,” she seethed, her fingertips white from their forceful grip. Nicholai, Bartholomew, and Emont rushed to stop her, two gripping her arms while a third stood before her.

  “We can’t, Bermuda,” Bartholomew urged, his body language pleading her to ease up. “There are treaties in place that are fragile enough as is; we can’t risk hunting down a replacement.”

  “What happened to you, Bartholomew?” The quartermaster’s look pierced him. Malevolence exuded from her, tinged by betrayal. “You took up that watch for only a year. You’ve spilled blood with us for nearly a decade—where do your loyalties lie?”

  “In the greater good,” he said, calm and unaffected by her vehemence. “You must trust that I know what’s best.”

  “I’d love to stay and chat,” Jernal muttered, shoving thoughts of the missing Darjal from his mind. It was no longer his problem. He started for the airship. “But I’ve a family to return to.”

  “Now, now, now,” Mimir chirped, wagging a finger back and forth at Jernal. “You may have severed your ties with the Northern military, Commander, but like Mr. Hidataka here, you still owe me a debt.”

  The soldier froze. He tasted bile as it rose from his stomach and touched his tongue. “What?” he uttered, unable to summon additional words.

  “Do not play coy with me, Commander. You remember.” Mimir beamed, slithering over to Kazuaki with a toothy smirk. “And you, Captain—” He leaned in, giving him several quick whiffs. A look of displeasure swept his previous joy away. “You reek of emotional baggage. Of heaviness. Darkness. Still haven’t cleansed that soul, I see. No matter. I will travel at your side until you do.”

  Kazuaki glared at Mimir with unbridled malice. “I would sooner lower myself straight into the mouth of the Underworld.”

  “Oh, I know you would,” Mimir said, patting the captain’s cheek with his hand. “That is why you are in this whole predicament, isn’t it?”

  With the fluidity everyone came to expect from Captain Kazuaki Hidataka, he pulled Brufesphe from its sheathe. The enchanted weapon’s blade sliced Mimir’s arm clean off his body. The second swing occurred quicker than the first, detaching Mimir’s head at the shoulders.

  Mimir’s body stood, apathetic. It lurched over to the severed arm and picked it up, then used the disconnected arm to retrieve the head. “Temper, temper,” Mimir’s head uttered, though it remained separated from the torso. He placed his head back in its traditional spot, where viscous elements of skin and sludge melded it back to the body. “Your sacred weapon might seem impressive in human hands, Captain, but you know as well as I that against a lesser god, it’s just a piece of polished steel sprinkled with pixie dust.”

  Kazuaki felt blood pulse in his eardrums. Careful hands eased the blade back into its sheath as he focused on the serrated earth, trying to assemble his thoughts.

  The fur on the beast’s back rose, his lips peeling back to snarl at Mimir.

  The lesser god clapped his hands together and lowered himself to the mutt’s level. “I remember you,” he whispered, looking to the animal’s leg. “It seems you’ve been playing the same dangerous games our quartermaster and the Southeastern Time Father have. Lost limbs aren’t in short supply around you lot.”

  Granite stepped in front of his dog and glared down at Mimir. “Recede.”

  With a look that was both cynical and empathetic, Mimir gazed up at Granite. “Enjoy your feelings for this creature while you can, my friend. How soon you lose their affection.” He examined the graying hairs around the mongrel’s eyes and muzzle. Mimir tilted his head. “He won’t deny you love as men have denied me. Not on his own accord. He worships you far too much. But whether by choice or by death, it still stings when the adoration falls silent.”

  Granite’s muscles twitched. He was no fool. He knew the beast showed his age more with each passing month. But even intelligent men preferred the comfort of denial. “I said recede,” he repeated, more aggressive the second time.

  Mimir chuckled. Though there was nothing Granite could do to issue him harm, he withdrew and returned his focus to the others. “But lost adoration is no longer a threat to me. Imagine how happy we’ll all be,” he said. “The captain, the commander, and the lesser god they venerate.” He closed his glowing eyes and basked in the reverie. He would live forever, far from the prison that was his well. Though only Jernal was duty-bound to him at the moment, he would secure the captain soon enough. No more falling out of mankind’s memories. The souls of Kazuaki and Jernal would keep him company forever, now and in the afterlife.

  The lesser god opened his eyes in time to spy Avigail as she stood on the airship’s edge. She gasped and became frozen under his examination. He inhaled, sucking on the anxiety that emanated from her body. “Fresh,” Mimir purred, chuckling as he looked to Revi. “She looks just like you.”

  Revi stepped in front of Mimir to block the creature from spying his daughter. “Keep your distance, demon.”

  Mimir frowned and tapped the side of his jaw with his index finger. “Such tension. You respond to me as if I harbor the plague. I assure you all, lesser gods do not carry diseases that endanger mortals.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Nordjan snapped, cutting the air with his arm to invite silence. “We’re getting nowhere with this incessant interruption.”

  “You’re the one who invited him,” Bermuda glared, pulling her arm free from Bartholomew’s grasp. “You condemn Nico for paving the way for the lessers to return and here you are, feckin’ hiring someone to unleash one directly!”

  Nordjan scoffed, his strain rising. He took a long stride over to Bermuda, his face inches from hers. “Do not flap that serpent’s tongue at me, wench. My title commands respect.”

  Kazuaki shoved passed Nicholai and Bartholomew and seized Nordjan’s clothing, balling it into his fist as he pulled the Northern Time Father close. “Yours is the tongue that should bite itself,” he whispered, “or it’ll be flapping on the ground when I rip it from your skull.”

  Bartholomew grimaced. “Captain—”

  “He is no longer your captain,” Nordjan barked, a microscopic tint of fear tightening his voice. “Release me!”

  Jernal held his head in his hands, his concentration on his feet. “This can’t be happening,” he chanted to himself. He did not consider a lifetime tied to Mimir’s hip when he made that bargain. Only a single, potential moment of hardship.

  Kal stole a glimpse of Bartholomew. Sensing his measured unease, he waltzed into the confrontation amassing in the center. “Mr. Hidataka, I request that you put the Northern Father down.”

  “Oi! We’re losing sight of what we’re here for!” Brack shouted.

  Granite’s dog barked, wild and unhindered.

  Jernal looked to Mimir, his voice uncharacteristically desperate as he said, “I know I agreed to this, but I released you from your well, is that not gift enough?”

  Avigail’s anxious tone rose from the airship as Revi approached the accruing source of antagonism shared between the collective. “Dad—”

  “You are the start of all this,” Nordjan shouted at Edvard, still hovering an inch above the earth in Kazuaki’s unforgiving grip. “You of all people should have k
nown!”

  Edvard whipped his head from Nordjan to Nicholai, as if inspecting his reaction to see if he heard. Nicholai identified an apprehension from his father, but he didn’t understand it.

  Rennington advanced, arms outstretched. “Let’s all just—”

  He couldn’t finish his thought before heated voices competed with one another. Penn stepped back and held up his hands, unwilling to enter the fray. Emont tried to get a word in edgewise, but his efforts fell against the wrath of the others.

  Nicholai stepped back. He looked to Umbriel, the foundation for his calmness, but her consideration was given to the quarrel. She looked frazzled. She looked fearful. It was one of the few times since he met her she looked unequivocally human.

  The vehement voices of the group swirled around him. Men and women devolved into chaos. Treachery, disagreements, fears, and disparities became convoluted, melding into a sphere of debauched energy before him. They were animals. For the briefest of moments, Nicholai’s compassion fell away. For a millisecond, he hated them for what they were.

  A millisecond was all it took.

  He didn’t feel the rise in his blood pressure. Or his heart rate. Even the increase in arterial tension bypassed his senses. A floodgate of testosterone spilled into his veins and simultaneously melted every shred of compassion that Nicholai Addihein had. A man possessed, he threw his hands out toward the crowd, burning with an unidentified madness never witnessed before in the Southeastern Time Father.

  “Silence!”

  His single word brought disorder with it. From him, a pulse emerged, spreading outward like a spiral of invisible napalm. Every person halted when they felt the throb in their lungs. For a moment, each held a paralysis in their bodies. It took several seconds for their hearts to catch up to the sensation. The organs quickened to make up for the moments of blood that went unfiltered.

  Every set of eyes stared at Nicholai, quiet. Though he did no more than lift an arm, their ribs felt bruised by the pulsation. The ripple in time.

  Mimir grinned. “So,” he whispered to himself, “that’s where our dear Mr. Wessex went.”

  Umbriel put a hand to her chest. A rage flowed from Nicholai’s eyes, raw and anarchic. He looked like a stranger to her, panting like a beast from the unnatural discharge he released. While everyone else lived in temporary paralysis, she stepped toward him, unafraid, and placed both hands on the sides of his face.

  “Nicholai ...” She tried to capture his focus, but he pierced right through her. “Nicholai, look at me.”

  His mechanical arm shot up and gripped her wrist. Gears clicked as it compressed her. She did not react.

  “Nicholai, talk to me ...” Her identifiable inflection. The soothing resonance. It struggled in the beginning to penetrate the thick level of animosity that hemorrhaged from him. Though the reaction speed was slow, she felt the tightness in his bones ease. His muscle’s rigidity reduced. His eyes, bloodshot from burst vessels, took on their usual sense of benevolence. He stared at her, mouth open, unsure of what to say.

  “Nicholai,” her soft lips repeated his name a final time, the warmth from her palms flowing down his neck and into his chest, “are you okay?”

  “I ...” He gazed at her long enough to absorb her tranquility. Upon finding his composure again, he looked past her, to the others. Their questionable glances left him with an uncomfortable feeling. “I don’t know what came over me,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Umbriel said, sliding her hands off his cheeks.

  “No. It’s not.” Nicholai shook his head and removed his hat, feeling attacked by a sudden, challenging heat. “I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  The Earth Mother did not appear convinced. She stood beside Nicholai, too troubled to move. The Southeastern Time Father faltered in the stress of the environment. She knew he put too much pressure on himself to ensure the security of others. Umbriel needed to decrease the tension. With a firmness, she turned to the group. “Ignore Mimir for now. He cannot hurt Kazuaki, nor does he possess the ability to take his soul as it stands. We need to devise a plan regarding the other lesser gods before more damage can spread amongst the people.”

  Mimir made a face. He hated being ignored.

  Bartholomew nodded. “Umbriel speaks a lot of sense,” he said, trying to spread her calm over the lot. “We’ll focus on the most critical task at hand.”

  Aggi, Emont, and Elowyn joined Bartholomew in his approval. “Yes,” the Eastern Time Mother said, “Our people are far more vulnerable.” She glanced at Kazuaki. “With all due respect, Captain, they need our leadership and encouragement right now.”

  Kazuaki appeared irritated, but his aggression did not belong to Elowyn. “Focus where you must. I can handle him,” he said, thumbing toward Mimir.

  The lesser god grinned, pleased to have Kazuaki’s attention, if only for a moment.

  With an additional nod, Aggi turned to Umbriel. “You are the most experienced out of any of us regarding the lesser gods,” he said, ignoring Mimir as instructed. “Do you have any ideas?”

  “The lesser gods feed on vulnerability,” Umbriel explained. She was unable to stop her concentration from drifting to Nicholai. “Even the briefest thought, if felt with conviction in your head and your heart, becomes a weakness they can exploit. They’re powerless against stable people.”

  Emont shook his head. “The world is full of unstable people, especially after the events last year brought.”

  Umbriel bit her bottom lip. “Yes. If we can’t prevent them from manipulating people, we have to appeal to their sense of decency.”

  Nordjan scoffed. “Lesser gods have no sense of decency.”

  Mimir’s posture deflated as he sat, offended. “Most ungentlemanly.”

  “Should we tell the people?” Aggi asked, disregarding Mimir as he sulked. “If they’re aware, they can better protect themselves.”

  “If we tell them,” Nordjan interjected with force, “we risk making it worse.”

  Elowyn narrowed her eyes. “How so?”

  “After everything they’ve suffered,” Nordjan explained, “if men learn gods will grant their desires with little wait, chaos will spread. Awareness will ignite prayer, which will only serve to give them more power.”

  “I fear it’s true.” Emont buried half his face into his hand, exasperated. “If Jodathyn fell victim to impatience, then anybody could.”

  “No.” Nicholai stood firm, injecting extra rationale into his tone. “Keeping people in the dark did not work out well for us last time. It caused further confusion, riots, and uprisings across all divisions.”

  “Divided they stand,” Mimir chirped, “united they fall.”

  Bermuda shot daggers at the lesser god. “You’re not helping.”

  “But he’s right,” Aggi stated, crossing his arms. “We can’t be divided again. It tore Panagea apart in more ways than one.”

  Nordjan prickled under his comrades’ ignorance. “I refuse to give them an opportunity to grow again.”

  “People need to know.” Nicholai locked onto Nordjan’s simmering eyes with fortitude. “We can’t keep lying to them. We need to trust the public’s ability to do the right thing.”

  “Like you did the right thing, Nicholai?” Nordjan hissed. “What do you think of your ideology now?” He threw his vehemence toward Umbriel. “It seems the grass isn’t always greener, is it?”

  Umbriel brushed Nordjan’s rage off with effortlessness. “Your anger only stems from fear. Remember, lesser gods and men once cohabitated well.”

  The Northern Time Father lurched away from Umbriel’s brazen righteousness. “If we cannot come to an agreement, perhaps the divisions should go their separate ways on the matter.”

  “You’d like that,” Aggi muttered. “Classic Nordjan. If they don’t bend to your belief system, you’ll just damn the gentlemen’s agreement and do your own thing.”

  Nordjan jeered and reviled Aggi’s behavior. �
�Still sour because of how events unfolded at the border war, Mr. Normandy?”

  Mimir’s head whipped back and forth between the arguing men, his mouth open to soak in the entertainment.

  “Gentlemen, we need a solution.” Elowyn slapped a clenched fist into her open palm to punctuate her urgency. “I will not return to Eastern without an answer for my people.”

  “I still think we should try to salvage as many relationships as we can with them,” Umbriel urged. “We can mend those broken connections. The lesser gods were made by men in their image, it’s only natural they adopted some of humanity’s ego. We can fix this.”

  Mimir tapped his chin, growing bored once the heated energy between Aggi and Nordjan drew to a close. He looked over at Kazuaki and Jernal, his pets. He adored them, he decided. Wishing to spend more time with his companions and less time waiting for emotional humans to come to a decision, he uttered, “Tick tock, Time Fathers and Mother. I’d hurry up and decide on something if I were you.”

  Nicholai knew they agreed to ignore Mimir until an agreement was made. But something in the lesser god’s tone of voice irked him. He knew something he wasn’t saying. Against his better judgment, his focus fell on the creature. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Well,” Mimir said, inattentive as he picked invisible pieces of debris off his body and tossed them to the floor, “it just seems you are running on borrowed time. The lesser gods already claimed a great deal of Northwestern.”

  The collective bridled at his confession. Rennington separated himself from the crowd and found Mimir’s eyes. With caution, he murmured, “What are you talking about, demon?”

  Mimir plucked the last piece of imperceptible dust from his skin and looked up at Rennington. A colossal grin tore his face asunder. “Oh, dear, simple human. Why else do you think Vadim Canmore hasn’t shown?”