The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  The beast wriggled in Granite’s hands, begging with various whines to be returned to the floor. “Settle,” Granite ordered, trying to hold on to the writhing animal without dropping it. When he realized the mutt’s desire to get down was greater than his desire to fight with it, he grunted and lowered the canine back to the earth. “Fine. But you still have to leave it,” he muttered to the mongrel.

  Several quick strides later, Rennington joined Granite. He stooped to a knee to lower himself to the frightened girl’s level. He assessed her with efficiency, though it was difficult to see her injuries through the layer of ash that clung to her skin. “Hello, love,” he said in his gentlest tone. “Can I get you some cream for any of those burns?”

  The girl withdrew farther into her cramped space, but her eyes never ventured far from the dog. With patience, the two men waited, until the wave of her shock succumbed to her need to receive assistance. “Th ... that would b-be most kind of you,” she said, her words wavering and unsure.

  Rennington held out a hand, an offering to remove her from her hellish environment. After a brief hesitation, she accepted his offer, and he pulled her into the opening. He opened his pack, rifling through it to find medical supplies. “You’re a brave sort,” he said while busying himself with his task. “What’s your name, kid?”

  The girl watched, sending cautiously fleeting glances to the other eight individuals who stood at a distance from Granite and Rennington. Her eyes lingered on Mimir, gripped by his unnatural appearance, before she tore her attention away from him and cleared her throat. “Hattie,” she whispered, trying and failing to speak with more confidence.

  “Well, Hattie,” Rennington removed a clean cloth, and sprayed it down with an antiseptic liquid before he gently grabbed her arm, “the beast seems to have taken a shine to you. This might sting a bit.”

  Hattie winced as the cold cloth pressed down on her skin. She tried not to pull away, old enough to know medical assistance was a necessity in her current state. “I’ve never seen a dog before,” she uttered, sounding on the verge of tears.

  As if it sensed her agony, the dog padded over and licked her other hand. Hattie flinched. The beast licked more fervently, removing patches of soot in the shape of his tongue, revealing the girl’s skin beneath. After several moments of his affection, she looked up at Granite. “He’s friendly,” she noted, less fear in her tone.

  Granite stared down at her, his face giving away nothing. “Very,” he replied.

  When Rennington finished cleaning the wounds he identified through the grime, he returned his remaining supplies to his pack. “You got family around these parts, Miss Hattie?”

  The girl swallowed. The beast continued to lick her hand. “I don’t know if I do anymore,” she admitted.

  Jernal watched Rennington from his place near the others. His eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the deserter’s empathy. His memories of Rennington were all tied to his life as a soldier. His and his brother’s desertion of the Southern military. It struck him as odd, to witness acts of kindness from a man he labeled a sinner.

  “Look, Hattie, here’s the thing,” Rennington leaned forward as he pressed his palms into his knees, “I can’t imagine witnessing the things you saw take place here. And it’s killing me to ask you to relive the nightmares of what you saw, but ... do you think you’d be able to help us out with something?”

  She stared into his eyes, taking a step forward into the beast. A shaking hand rose to rest on top of the animal’s head, finding some solace in the softness of his fur. “I’ll try my best,” she squeaked.

  A comforting smile claimed half of Rennington’s face. “There’s a fighter, right there. Can I ask, do you know how this happened?”

  Hattie turned toward the beast, stroking his head. His beady eyes gazed up at her, black and welcoming, with a content tongue panting out the side of his jaw. “Mr. Canmore ordered the city to be cleansed, to pave way for new industry. New money,” she explained, focusing on the dog to keep her voice from breaking. “I lived here,” she expounded, gesturing with a shrug to the surrounding rubble in which she hid. “My parents always bragged about how close our residence was to the Time Father. They said it was the safest place to be in all of Northwestern.”

  Kal’s brows knit together. He broke away from the larger crowd, calm as he approached Rennington, Granite, and Hattie. “You said Vadim did this?” he asked, needing clarification against her claims.

  Hattie looked up, tensing at Kal’s sudden approach. She threw her arms around the dog and pressed her body into his. “Y-yes, he did, I-I’d know him anywhere, I, I saw him almost every day because—”

  Seeing his emergence ignited a terror in the girl, Kal stopped in his tracks and held up his hands. “Please, young lady, I mean you no harm. I extend my deepest apologies for frightening you. I just ... Vadim Canmore has never displayed such aggressive tendencies, and he’s ruled Northwestern for nearly thirty years. Statistically speaking, your claim—”

  “—is believable,” Kazuaki interrupted. “Particularly if Mimir’s claims are truthful, that lesser gods have invaded Northwestern.”

  Glowing eyes peered at Kazuaki, alight with pride and mischievousness. “I’ve always admired your perceptiveness, Captain.”

  Kazuaki scoffed and rolled his eye.

  “Lesser gods?” Hattie swallowed the fear in her throat. She knew nothing of gods, but the hate in the captain’s voice when he spoke of them invited an unforgiving picture in her brain. “Can ... can they make people go mad?” she queried, sinking further into the comfort of the beast’s neck.

  “That’s about all they do,” Kazuaki muttered, glaring at Mimir.

  Hattie’s fingertips curled into the mutt’s fur. He sat, allowing her anxiety to spill into him. Several tears escaped her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She sniffed, wiping her wet face off in the animal’s shoulder. “My mother went mad. She raved about wanting us dead. That only death would spare us from the hell the future promised. My father tried to stop her ... but she already choked my little brother before he realized what was happening.”

  Hattie turned to keep her voice from muffling, but she still hugged the mongrel tightly. “There were footmen everywhere. Some were keen to follow Vadim’s orders ... to cleanse ... other footmen tried to stop him. Like they knew he was wrong. Some stood in the fire and willingly burned. Others ran. There was so much confusion.” Her eyes began to well up again, her bottom lip quivering. “I ... I ran. But no matter how far I ran, the smell of burning bodies followed me. I came back when I saw the flames moved on, but ...”

  Seeing the pain in her eyes at reliving the memory, Rennington decided to end it. “That’s all well and good, Miss Hattie. You’ve been a big help. Thank you.”

  The girl nodded, sniffling once more. The dog flopped its neck back to lick the tears and discharge from her nose.

  “So Vadim lives,” Bermuda announced, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “At least, he was alive when this happened.”

  “We still need to get to a post.” Kal looked to his comrades, then down at the cloth Kazuaki gripped in his fist. “If Vadim is a victim to the same mental turmoil that plagues the citizens of Panagea, he could do even more damage than he already has. Northwestern will need reinforcements to find him and contain his wrath.”

  That and Kazuaki surmised Nicholai was probably having a panic attack waiting for a response on their position. “Right. Granite, Penn, Kal ... board the airship and take the girl to whatever town isn’t drowning in flames. Find a post. Mail this,” he ordered, grabbing Kal’s hand and forcing the cloth into the man’s palm.

  Penn bristled. “None of us are familiar with piloting the airship, Cap—”

  “You single-handedly guided the sea ship from the Southern coast to Brechita,” Kazuaki reminded him. “You can do this too.”

  The cook hitched a shoulder. “If you say so,” he murmured. “Just don’t be sore if something breaks off during landing.” He
turned his back to return to the airship, followed by Kal.

  Hattie looked up at Rennington, still holding strong to the mutt. “The flames are heading east. The others fled to towns westward. You might find a post there.”

  The soldier nodded and tried to flash an uplifting smile. “Thank you for all your help, Miss Hattie. Where is the safest place we can take you?

  With a small shrug, the girl shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m sure these guys will figure something out,” Rennington whispered, thumbing toward Granite, Penn, and Kal. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Granite’s a softy. Penn has heaps of knowledge on making do with little. And Kal’s an ambassador,” he said, rubbing his thumb and fingers together. “The man’s packing the bank of the entire Southern division in his hands. I’m sure he’ll set you up good and proper.”

  Hattie tried to smile, but the moment passed swiftly. “Can he come with me?” she asked, looking at the dog.

  Rennington looked up at Granite.

  The giant man nodded. “He goes where I go,” he murmured. “If you’re coming with me, so is he.”

  Weak legs straightened as Hattie looked to the others. She took several steps toward the airship, following the beast’s guidance, before she turned around. “Follow the flames,” she instructed, wiping a final set of tears from her streaked cheeks. “Mr. Canmore went with the fire.”

  Kazuaki nodded to the girl. She followed after Penn, Kal, Granite, and the mutt as they approached the airship. The captain waited until they were out of earshot before he looked to what remained of his crew. Revi, Bermuda, Rennington, and Brack perked up, awaiting his instruction.

  Jernal withdrew, still unwilling to take orders from the man that once tried to kill him.

  Mimir stared after the fire in the distance, an aloof look on his face.

  “Right.” Kazuaki dug his heels into the black earth and spun. He watched the smoke attack the sky in the distance. The scent of burning bodies that Hattie spoke of earlier assaulted his sense of smell. No doubt countless corpses awaited in the ash, but there was only one body at the forefront of his thoughts. Follow the flames. That’s what the girl said. “Let’s go find Vadim.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Which lesser god did you decide to summon first?” Nicholai walked. As the branches overhead tried to knock his hat off his head, he tucked it under his arm.

  “I thought it best if we start with Dimjir.” Umbriel’s lithe body slipped into the shadows of darkness provided by nightfall. “We will gain no greater sympathy than from the God of Mercy, himself.”

  Nicholai nodded. They continued to trudge deeper into the newly grown forest, amazing in its expanse for how young it was. His boots sank into the soft soil beneath him as he stopped. He moved to rest his hands on a moss-covered steam car, abandoned earlier due to mechanical failure and reclaimed by the liveliness of nature. The metal was almost fully engulfed by wilderness, integrating the steel, copper, and brass components with the neutral tones of the woods.

  Umbriel stopped, sensing his halt. She turned to him, taking several alarmed steps toward him. “Nicholai? Are you all right?”

  He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t slept. Failure to accomplish anything resembling productivity plagued him. Nicholai rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, trying to banish the growing migraine in his brain. “Yes,” he said, attempting to sound reassuring. “I’m just ... worried. About Kazuaki. And the others. I can’t believe Nordjan contracted Jernal to free Mimir from his well.”

  It was one of many things that bothered the Time Father as of late. Kazuaki’s fate, and Nordjan’s hand in it. The strange looks shared between the Northern Time Father and Edvard. The whispers ... the horrid thoughts that tried to dominate his mind. The fear of the lesser gods returning. The suicides. The murders. The awkwardness of warding off Avigail’s advances. Maintaining his division. Warding off the continued assassination attempts, the unflattering mail, the guilt that remained because of Darjal’s death, figuring out how to live a life absent of Lilac.

  The weight of everything piled on the man’s shoulders. The burden was heavy. He opened tired eyes to find Umbriel’s apprehensive stare looking back at him. Nicholai urged a compulsory smile to appear. “I’m sure he’s been in worse situations before,” he added. “I just ...”

  “I care about him too,” Umbriel said, her hair almost aglow in the light of the overhead moon. “Trust that he’ll be okay, Nicholai. He has hundreds of years of experience at his disposal, not to mention Bermuda, Revi, Brack—so many companions to keep watch over him.”

  “Yes.” Nicholai coughed into his hand and slicked his hair back, attempting to wake himself up. He needed to remind himself there was no sense in worrying about an immortal man.

  Far from the eyes of Nenada’s citizens, he drew in a deep breath. “So ... Dimjir ...” He looked to Umbriel and grinned. “Let’s get this soiree started, shall we?”

  She tried to return his smile, but it faded as soon as it appeared. “I must warn you, Nicholai, if we can get Dimjir to appear ... he might look rather haggard. The lesser gods wither in the absence of prayer. I have no clue how long he must have disintegrated before now.”

  Nicholai’s eyelids felt heavy. Her words seemed far away, but he tried to dig his claws into the situation and hold on. “I see. So he may not even answer our prayer?”

  “Perhaps not.” Umbriel lifted her head to the indigo sky above. The stars were all but blocked out from years’ worth of pollution and smog, but she tried to imagine they were there. “I just want you to brace yourself. He may look like death incarnate.”

  Nicholai nodded. “Of course. If there’s anything I can do to help ...”

  “Just focus,” she said, but soon realized, by the state of him, that her request was asking a lot. “And pray for mercy.”

  A short, disparaging chuckle escaped him. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Umbriel flashed a sympathetic smile and closed her eyes, dipping her chin to her chest. She poured all her concentration into her plea to Dimjir, hoping he surfaced with the same ease her mother did. But no guarantees existed in the ways of lesser gods. It was much easier to summon Naphine; the blood they shared strengthened the urgency of Umbriel’s requests. With Dimjir, she hoped the sheer desperation behind her prayer would be enough to beckon him.

  “Dimjir, God of Mercy, please hear our prayer. We request your presence.”

  Nicholai tried to focus, but his efforts wavered with crippling fatigue. The only sound that accompanied them after Umbriel’s request was the occasional trill of a night bird and the howling of an unsettling wind through the leaves.

  Minutes ticked by. Dimjir did not appear.

  Umbriel sighed. She licked her lips and focused harder, lining her thoughts with candid resolve. “Dimjir, God of Mercy, we strongly wish for your presence with unmatched urgency. Please, appear before us.”

  Her efforts gained more of nothing.

  The two stood, silent in the woodlands. The towering trunks of black trees reached up and all around them. An occasional leaf fell from the branches above, twisting in the air until it settled at their feet near all its fallen brethren.

  “Dimjir,” Umbriel tried a third time, her voice coated with more anguish than it held previously, “I beg you.”

  “Is it possible,” Nicholai asked, opening one of his eyes to steal a glimpse of the Earth Mother, “that he is too weak to surface?”

  Umbriel sighed a second time. “It is possible ... though I had hoped our prayer would give him enough energy to at least appear this once.”

  Nicholai swallowed. He did not wish to tell the people of Southeastern about the threat of the lesser gods without having a ring of hope to back his statement up with. “Are there no other lesser gods we could pray to?” he asked.

  Before she answered him, a rustling sounded to their right. The pair turned, gazing at the godly figure who appeared out of nowhere, who exuded omnip
otence even in the darkness of night. Dimjir pressed his staff into the ground, a masculine picture of health. Curled locks flowed to his shoulders, his bronzed skin wrapped over well-toned arms and legs. He looked nothing like the frail, weakened picture the Time Father or Earth Mother concocted in their heads.

  “I extend many apologies at my delay,” Dimjir said, bowing to them both. “I have been ... very busy.”

  Though Nicholai knew the purpose behind their nightly escapade, instinct made him withdraw at Dimjir’s sudden presence. His metal fingers gripped into a fist, prepped by a predisposition to strike a defensive pose, but he loosened the digits when he realized their prayer was a success.

  “Dimjir,” Umbriel stepped forward to greet him. “You seem well.” She scanned his body, perplexed by his condition. “Quite well, in fact.”

  “Yes.” He glanced down at his body as if it surprised him, too, before he returned his eyes to Umbriel. “I am well sustained. People pray to me frequently as of late, whether they realize it or not. Unfortunately, there are many begging for mercy these days ...” His voice faded away as his eyes fell, filling with empathy. “Daughter of Naphine ... I did not expect to hear a plea from you.”

  Nicholai glanced at Umbriel after Dimjir gave her mother a name, then returned his attention to the God of Mercy. “Thank you for coming.”

  Dimjir issued a nod to Nicholai but was quick to redirect his concentration back to Umbriel. “What can I do for you, Earth Mother? I only ask that you make it quick. Many remain who still cry for me.”

  His confession pained her. It only cemented her worst fears: the gods had been ravaging people in places far from their eyes. “I’m afraid your workload is a direct result of why we summoned you here, Dimjir. Word on the wind is the lesser gods have invaded Northwestern with vengeance in mind. Can you not talk sense into them, tell them that the men and women of today are not the same people who shunned them years ago?”