The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  Nicholai reached over to grab some stationery from his desk, staring down at the formal request for funding from one of Southeastern’s cities near the coast. He re-read the same sentence several times and still couldn’t remember the reason behind their application. “I think so,” he replied, laughing despite himself. “Important, but rather boring, I must confess.”

  Avigail laughed a little too loudly at his statement. She tucked unkempt strands of hair behind her ear, reveling in Nicholai’s nearness. “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “I’m all right, Avigail, thank you,” Nicholai replied, tapping the edge of his pen on the paper as if that helped his brain retain what he’d just read. All it served to do was create a blot of collected ink. Though he seemed distracted, he asked, “I trust you slept well?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Avigail drew her shoulders back and stood up straighter, to improve her posture. “I like this place. It’s comfortable. First time in a while since I slept in a real bed. I mean, since last time I slept with you—I mean, not with you, I mean here, with you, and Umbriel, in your house—before we went to Southern—”

  “I understand,” Nicholai said, forgoing the effort of lifting his eyes from the paper to avoid seeing the crimson sweep of embarrassment that invaded her cheeks. “I’m glad you slept well.”

  “Yes,” Avigail uttered, her heart threatening to explode in her chest, “I ... I’m glad too. Thank you.”

  “Avigail,” Umbriel called from the kitchen, “would you mind giving me a hand?”

  The Houton daughter cleared her throat, looking at Nicholai. “I ... um, I’m gonna ... I’ll be back.” She stepped away, digging her fingers into her scalp as she internally berated herself for her mortifying behavior.

  Umbriel looked up from the stove, the sound of sizzling food rising from a heated cast iron pan. She offered the girl a sympathetic smile, her head tilting as if she knew the depth of her humiliation. “Would you care to help me with breakfast preparations?” she asked, her voice light.

  Avigail reined her embarrassment in and joined Umbriel at her side, peering down into the contents of the pan. “I’ll try my best,” she started, “but I’ve never cooked anything like that before. Is it from a can or a package?”

  Umbriel poked the diced sweet potatoes with a fork, to test their doneness before she handed the utensil to Avigail. “Neither. We grew them in Malcolm Finn’s greenhouse.”

  “Oh.” Avigail stared at the fork, confused as to what she should do with it. “How do you know when they’re done? Everything I’ve eaten before just needed to be heated up.”

  “Actually,” Umbriel stood on the tips of her toes to reach a plate from a cupboard high above, “they’re already done. But if you want to take them to Nicholai,” she grabbed the pan’s handle and tilted it, sliding the contents onto the plate and handing them to Avigail, “he should probably eat something.”

  Avigail held the plate, watching the steam of the hot potatoes waft upward and disappear into the air. She glanced at Umbriel with a perplexed look. “You called me in here just to bring him a plate of food?” she asked.

  Umbriel smiled. “You looked like you needed an escape from that conversation.”

  Avigail blinked. Were her feelings that transparent? She remained skeptical, but Umbriel’s unbridled sense of security helped her to feel less outlandish. Even still, she couldn’t abandon the notion that the Earth Mother existed as some sort of competition for Nicholai’s affection. “Thank you,” she uttered with confused discomfort, turning on her heels to bring the food back into the main room.

  Nicholai sat in the same position she left him, hunched over and staring diligently at the paper before him. His hands slid up under the brim of his hat and into his hair, bloodshot eyes continuing to re-read the same sentence to try and absorb it. Too consumed by his focus, he didn’t even move when Avigail set the plate beside him.

  “Nicholai?” Avigail tapped his shoulder when he failed to acknowledge the meal. “Are you hungry?”

  The man looked up, staring as if he didn’t recognize her, but only for the briefest of moments. He rubbed his face and shook his head, granting her a small smile. “Many thanks, Avigail. I’ll get to it in a moment.”

  She took a step back and waited, but it seemed Nicholai had no intention of eating. At a loss for what to do, Avigail looked around the room, her arms folded in front of her. “Is this what you do when you’re not initiating uprisings?” she asked, trying to joke.

  Nicholai did not respond. He continued to loom over the document on his desk.

  The silence only bred additional awkwardness in the young woman. She glanced at the plate, then back to the Time Father. She was certain she hadn’t seen him eat much since they returned from Panagea’s center. Avigail thought, for sure, he would be hungry. “Nicholai?”

  Moments passed. When the memory of her words finally reached his sleep-deprived brain, Nicholai turned to face her. “I’m sorry—did you say something?”

  He looked horrible. Avigail wanted nothing more than to help him. To be whatever he needed to get through the difficult time she supposed he was going through. But as she stared into his absent, fatigued eyes, she found herself at a loss for words.

  “Avigail,” Umbriel’s voice sounded again, a beacon in the storm that was Nicholai’s ravaged gaze, “care to join me outside?”

  The young woman hesitated, looking over her shoulder at the Earth Mother. “Um ...” By the time she returned her focus to Nicholai, he was back to staring at his parchment. “Sure.”

  Umbriel waited for Avigail to exit first, closing the door behind her. The two ventured beyond the house at a slow pace, sauntering closer to the heart of the town. The liveliness of other citizens greeted them as they strolled. Umbriel issued a polite ‘hello’ to anyone who extended their attention to her. The residents of Nenada knew her well and came to look favorably upon the kind-hearted woman.

  Avigail appeared less at ease than Umbriel. She kept a sharp eye out for anyone who seemed distrustful and held close to her limited belongings. Though Nenada did not boast a high crime rate, Umbriel suspected her actions were ingrained from living in less desirable places.

  “I understand you have some feelings for Nicholai,” Umbriel said, her words coming on rather sporadically. “They’re perfectly natural for a woman of your age. I just wanted you to know that he’s in a difficult emotional state right now. While it’s great to show him kindness, I must ask that you do not apply any additional pressure on him in any form. He would never admit it, but his mind is fragile, and if he cannot maintain his resolve, it will put him in a dangerous position.”

  Avigail stopped walking. Umbriel’s words shook her to the core. She did not know what to feel more—surprise that she knew, disbelief at her candor, embarrassment, or anger. With a ball of mixed emotions flooding her, Avigail settled on lashing out, as it was one of the only reactions she experienced in her life of solitude. “You just want me to back off,” she accused, “I knew you two had something going on.”

  In the face of Avigail’s anger, Umbriel stood calm and collected. “We do not,” she admitted, stopping to gaze out at the hustle and bustle of Nenada’s people. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Avigail, but Nicholai’s heart already belongs to another woman. A ghost long dead, I’m afraid. Miss Lilac Finn.”

  Avigail bristled. Her adrenaline told her to react violently again, but despite her upbringing, she was not an uncompassionate person. Still, the fists she clenched at her sides were slow to unfurl. “He had a lover? How ... how long has she been ...?”

  “About a year now,” Umbriel informed.

  Avigail’s eyes fell to the cobblestone streets beneath her. “I see.”

  “My intent is not to crush your feelings,” Umbriel added, waiting until the noise of a passing steam car faded before she finished, “I only wanted to let you know that it’s very unlikely he’ll return your feelings.” The Earth Mother failed to mention the gla
ring age difference or the fact that Avigail was a daughter to one of Nicholai’s comrades. She did not need to destroy the young woman’s hopes any further. She only wished to ease Nicholai from the burden of Avigail’s constant advances.

  It took time to absorb the news. Avigail shoved her mortification to the back of her mind, repressing it, as she’d learned to do with many things. “Did she die during the revolution?” she asked softly.

  “No.” Umbriel inhaled and let out a placid sigh. “A desperate man thought he could bend Nicholai’s will and save his daughter with force. I suppose he did save her life, in the long run, but ... it cost Lilac hers.”

  “Oh.” Avigail pinched her lips together, allowing a short-lived feeling of pity to consume her. It was quickly replaced by a concerned curiosity. “Did ... anybody you know die in the revolution? I mean ... I know a lot of people did, but ... anybody in Captain Hidataka’s crew?”

  Umbriel scanned Avigail’s face. She knew her question stemmed more from a buried worry for her father’s well-being. Revi had only just reunited with the fiery young woman, and though she harbored obvious signs of resentment, the Earth Mother detected a shred of love for the man who abandoned her. “Yes,” she confessed, apprehensive to deliver the message, but unable to deny Avigail the truth. “Iani Platts. He was a dear friend and a brave man.”

  Avigail winced at the news. “I’m ... sorry to hear that.”

  Though the woman fell quiet, Umbriel detected that she held another uncomfortable question inside her. She waited, not wanting to force Avigail to sort through her feelings any quicker than necessary.

  “Umbriel ...” Avigail lifted her eyes to find the Earth Mother’s. “Did Revi ever ... get hurt? Doing what he does?”

  Her anguish was present, though she tried to cover it with a veil of disregard. Umbriel saw through her. “Revi is a very capable fighter. I’m sure he’ll return from Northwestern just as he has returned from every other hazardous occurrence he’s participated in.”

  Avigail nodded. It was all she could do.

  “Your father made some mistakes, Avigail.” Umbriel’s silver hair wafted around her as she stood. “You have every right to feel as you do. But good people make mistakes all the time. I have no doubt he’d be as good a father as he is a fighter if you gave him a second chance.”

  A small thread of hurt sliced through her and Avigail frowned. Discussing it opened the wounds and made them feel fresh again. “You have to say that,” she muttered, “because he’s your friend.”

  “No,” Umbriel corrected her, smiling. “It’s because he’s my friend, that I know it’s the truth.”

  Avigail hitched a shoulder and turned away. She wondered what he was doing at this exact moment. Umbriel followed her pondering gaze outward into the crowd.

  The poor, unknowing people. Nicholai had yet to make the formal announcement to Southeastern about the lesser gods returning. He wanted to wait until after tonight, to see if he’d have good news to follow the initial terror his statement would likely bring. Umbriel shook her head. To distract herself from thoughts of lesser gods, she said, “Revi reminds me a lot of my father, you know.”

  Avigail arched a brow and peered at Umbriel from the corners of her eyes. “Yeah? How so?”

  The Earth Mother smiled at the memories. “He was also a good man who made mistakes.” The primary of which was taking Naphine for a lover. “But he showed me many things. What sticks with me most is how he taught me of the beauty that existed in living a perfectly imperfect life.”

  “Your life seems pretty perfect to me,” Avigail murmured. Though disdain existed in her tone at the beginning of her sentence, it fell away shortly after. Umbriel was not her favorite person, but she felt undeniably at ease in the Earth Mother’s presence. It was a rare feeling. “That’s nice though. I wish my dad had taught me more things.”

  Umbriel’s initial reaction was to reach over and lend a comforting hand, but she sensed Avigail’s standoffishness and chose to respect it. With her hands moving behind her back, she looked up to the sky, watching the steam swirl with the colored smoke produced from burning coal. “I have no doubts he’ll try, Avigail. No doubts at all.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Revi launched the heel of his boot into the torched remnants of the furniture that blocked him. The fragile material gave way under the force and crumbled. He gripped the smaller pieces, and hurling them out of his way, he crawled over the rubbish and ash to peer inside the incinerated room. His movements were quick and purposeful; though he felt he owed a debt to Kazuaki for everything he’d done, he wished to return to Avigail without delay.

  “If Vadim’s here somewhere,” Revi muttered, gazing around the black floor, “there isn’t much left of him.”

  “Keep looking.” Kazuaki lifted a fallen beam to sift through the soot beneath it. “I couldn’t care less if we find the body. We just need the Chronometer.”

  “Beg my plain speakin’, Captain,” Brack said as he blew a collection of dust into a black cloud and coughed. The man continued his fit, struggling to regain his breath. For a moment, his hands lingered near his pockets as he debated seizing his oxygen syringe, but after a few deep breaths, he found air again. With a squeeze on his voice, he finished, “if the fire was hot enough to melt his body, wouldn’t his pocket watch be gone to shit as well?”

  Kal, unafraid to get his fingers dirty despite his diplomatic appearance, looked up from a pile of burnt remnants he sorted through on the floor. “I suspect if it was already broken, time in Northwestern would be frozen.”

  “Maybe,” Kazuaki muttered. “Maybe not.” He pushed himself away from the task at hand. “We should send a letter to Nico. If time stops here with us in it, we need to send word so he can free us if worse comes to worst.”

  “Sound thinking, Captain,” Kal dusted himself off, though it was of little use. His hands were far too covered in soot, and the action only served to dirty his attire more. “The only problem is any paper and pen within our reaches has long since burned to the ground. Not to mention, the nearest post—”

  “Belay that,” Kazuaki muttered, ripping a piece of his clothing off with his teeth. He clutched the makeshift parchment and, reaching down, grabbed an iron fire poker that survived the blaze. After dipping it in the available soot surrounding him, he scrawled a short message onto the cloth, the black ash a stark contrast to the pale color of the linen. “You seem to know Vadim’s home town well,” Kazuaki said, glancing at the ambassador. “Where’s the nearest post?”

  “Captain,” Bermuda’s hushed voice sliced through the tension as she shuffled up to him. “Set of eyes at 3 o’clock.”

  Without moving his head, Kazuaki utilized his limited peripheral vision to spy the onlooker from his or her place behind the skeleton of a charred building. Small frame, covered in filth, no visible weapons. He deemed their spy to be of little threat. “Ignore it for now,” he replied. “We’ll deal with it if need be.”

  “I really think we should be heading toward the fire,” Rennington interjected, an anxiousness in his character. Every once in awhile, echoes of far off screams were carried on the wind. They gutted his ears. “I know we need to find Vadim, but ... shouldn’t we look for survivors until recruits arrive?”

  Kazuaki squared his shoulders, finding only small shreds of sense in Rennington’s request. He did not share the soldier’s dutiful concerns toward the peoples’ well-being, but they needed someone to tell them where Vadim may have gone. As a last resort, before they hurled themselves into another perilous situation, he turned. “You,” Kazuaki thrust a finger toward Mimir, “you’re of a supernatural sort. Use your godly perceptions to tell us where Vadim is.”

  Mimir, scratching singed chunks of material with his fingernails, looked toward Kazuaki. “Hm? I don’t know. I’m a lesser god, Captain, not a fortune teller.”

  Kazuaki’s face fell flat. “That didn’t stop you from knowing Northwestern was in a bad state back at Panagea’s center.”r />
  Mimir chuckled, twisting his head so it hung in an inhuman state on his shoulders. “It didn’t, did it?”

  The captain glowered, unimpressed with the lesser god’s attitude.

  Jernal, silent in his prisoner-like state, dared to take a step forward. “Come on, Mimir. Let’s just get this over with. If you know where Vadim is, spit it out,” he urged.

  The creature straightened, clapping his hands together once. “Now, now, Commander ... where’s the fun in that?” he asked with a wide, mocking grin. “But truly. I do not know.”

  Granite’s dog clawed at a patch of the debris before it lifted its head, its ears swinging forward on its skull. It stared in the direction Bermuda had indicated earlier. Taking a few quick sniffs, the beast trotted over to the stranger who watched from the shadows, stopping several feet away to investigate further with its nose.

  “Beast,” Granite, aware of the creature’s location at all times, effortlessly pushed his way through a crowded room of burnt belongings and climbed into the open road. “Leave it.”

  The dog’s tail wagged, undeterred from its curiosity.

  “Go away,” a hushed voice pleaded from behind the wreckage. “Scoot! Scoot on!”

  The dog continued to stare, tongue lolling out the side of his maw. When the voice addressed him, his tail swayed faster, until his entire rear shifted from side to side with excitement.

  “I said leave it, beast.” Granite joined the dog at its side, unable to stop himself from glancing at the cowering child who attempted to hide from them earlier. “He doesn’t bite,” Granite informed, scooping down to pick the dog up. “Kids, anyway.”

  The child, no more than thirteen or fourteen years of age, peered up at the towering man from beneath her disheveled hair. She reeked of smoke, with holes eaten in some of her clothing to match the burns on her arms and hands. She tried not to breathe, too gripped by terror to react.