The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  Dimjir’s expression told her all she needed to know. It was not the answer she sought.

  Nicholai recognized the look. He forced himself off the steam car that he had leaned on for support. “Dimjir, please—I know without the prayer of the dead and the dying to sustain you, you will undoubtedly fall to the wayside once more, but—”

  “Mankind’s suffering is not my end goal, Time Father.” Dimjir frowned, appearing insulted by Nicholai’s assumption. “I, myself, have begged for mercy from the lesser gods seeking revenge. I adore mankind’s prayers, yes, but clemency flows through my veins more than greed.”

  Nicholai tightened his jaw, feeling a rising sense of shame. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I’m sorry, but my heart bleeds for these people.”

  Dimjir nodded as an act of forgiveness. “I understand. Unfortunately, it seems the only mercy found in this world right now is from me ... and mankind already has mine in droves. They have my pity, as well, for all the damage the vengeful lesser gods have caused.”

  Nicholai felt his stomach sink. Dimjir verified his already high concerns about the state of Northwestern.

  The God of Mercy recognized his disparaging look. He drew his shoulders back. “Please, have some hope. It is not all of the lesser gods who harbor a hatred for humanity. While we are all wounded for how people have mistreated not only us but Panagea, only a small handful have enacted a violent endeavor.”

  Umbriel’s brows knit together. “Who among them, Dimjir?”

  The lesser god turned to face her. “The God of War. He thirsts for such things. The God of Revenge, as clearly, it’s in his blood. The God of Metal ... it is rumored something precious to him was recently stolen by a group of men, renewing his disdain. The God of the Underworld, who craves more spirits to fill his residence. Goddess Havidite, who is spurned by the destruction of the land. The Goddess of Animals, and the Goddess of Water, they share Havidite’s rage at the mistreatment of Panagea. And ...” He paused, hesitant to tell her. “And the Goddess of Love, I’m afraid.”

  Naphine. Umbriel had her speculations, based on their last encounter, but she had hoped her mother would have a change of heart. “I see ...” she whispered, curling her fingernails into her palms.

  Dimjir wilted at her reaction, knowing his message caused her grief. “For all those who are vengeful, Umbriel, there are just as many who forgive humans for their treacherous behavior. And even more who remain too weak to choose sides.”

  Nicholai raised his gaze from the floor and found the God of Mercy. “How is it some of these gods have regained their strength? I struggle to believe any man in Panagea would pray for war. We only just ended one.”

  The being gave a sympathetic face. “It is the stronger lesser gods and goddesses, I’m afraid. Havidite and Pymlena have grown in power with the resurrection of man’s interest in crops. The Goddesses of Harvest and Water became resilient enough to influence others to pray to those they thought would share their cause.”

  Nicholai listened, rubbing his chin as he attempted to form a solution in his head. When none came, he sought Dimjir’s advice. “Is there anything we can do?”

  The God of Mercy gripped his staff. “Hold fast to sanity. The others and I are doing what we can. We outnumber them for now, but they try to grow their army more by the day, and, sadly, those of us who do not condemn mankind ... we’re no match for their wrath. They not only have the omnipotent weaponry necessary to end our lives, but the skills to do it as well.” Dimjir sighed, casting his eyes downward. “Those who sympathize with mankind are not warriors. We are beings of peace. We know they would sooner massacre us than let us stand in their way.”

  Umbriel nodded. “Of course, Dimjir. We understand. We do not want any of you to put your existence at risk.”

  The God of Mercy lifted his staff. He pointed it at Nicholai, making sure to find the mortal’s tired, wavering gaze. “You, Time Father. You must be the most cautious of all. They are after the division leaders. They know men and women exist who are too mentally and emotionally sound to relent to their trickery. They believe if they cannot manipulate them through intrusive thoughts, they can influence those who have power over them. One way or another,” he paused, returning the end of his staff to the earth, “they will not stop until they decide humanity has suffered enough.”

  Umbriel peered at Nicholai. He looked lost in the night, staring ahead at Dimjir as if he still tried to absorb the impact of his message. The man had endured many psychological pressures as of late. Umbriel bit her bottom lip. She hoped his wherewithal was more powerful than the unrelenting attacks that awaited him.

  Dimjir brought a hand to his temple, frowning as he closed his eyes. “I must go,” he informed. “The screams ... they grow louder with each passing second.”

  “I know the feeling,” Nicholai muttered under his breath. “Thank you for everything, Dimjir. Gods-speed.”

  The God of Mercy extended a nod to both Time Father and Earth Mother, and with the wind and the blink of an eye, he was gone.

  Abandoned to the darkness once more, the pair stood. Umbriel found Nicholai’s face. Riddled with calm acceptance, she hoped the man took Dimjir’s warnings seriously. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked, rare desperation in her tone.

  With his boots planted firmly on the ground, he stared at a nearby rock. He heard them, now. The hushed calls. The articulated chatter. The corrupt malevolence, the depraved way feelings of acrimony slithered through each neuron in his brain tissue. The soft, inclement touch of loathing as imagined hands stroked his cranial nerves, beckoning him to relax. To sleep. To let them take over so that he might revel in sweet, sweet rest.

  Nicholai closed his eyes. With his last thread of volition, he swept them away. “I’ll be all right,” he reassured her for what felt like the hundredth time. Without opening his lids, he felt her apprehension. The Time Father summoned an artificial smirk, hoping it would soothe her. “I promise.”

  His words were empty. He tried to fill them with meaning, but he had little of himself left in the shell that was his body. Umbriel drew her shoulders back. She needed to act soon. To help him. To save him.

  If only she knew how ...

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bermuda grunted against the weight of the body in her arms. As Rennington lifted the pillar that once pinned it to the ground, the woman dragged the unidentifiable person from their prison. Cleared from the wreckage, she put a finger to the individual’s neck, not harboring much hope, given the number of deep burns infecting the victim’s tissue.

  No pulse. Dead, as she suspected. It seemed the charred land beneath the pillar was not only the person’s prison but their final resting place.

  “Another gone,” she called out as Rennington set the fragile pillar back on the ground.

  The team had swept across Vadim’s hometown of Striburn for what felt like an eternity. Fatigue bit at their bones into the tenth hour of hauling corpses from the burn barrel that was the city. They followed the flames, as instructed by Hattie. The fire was not far ahead of them, and though they were anxious to arrive at the forefront, they stopped for any visible bodies located along the way. Though they had dragged dozens from various scorched structures, there were no survivors.

  “We’re wasting time,” Revi growled, consumed by an eagerness to return to Southeastern. “Assuming they weren’t crushed or burned to death, the smoke inhalation alone would be enough to kill anyone we’re going to drag from these pits.”

  “Come on, Rev,” Brack bent down to lift a large piece of rubble off a set of unmoving legs. As he leaned in to press his soot-covered fingertips against the fallen person’s neck, he added, “where’s your sense of compassion?”

  Revi glowered at Brack, unamused.

  The Rabbit witnessed his disdain and laughed. “Too right, mate, I forgot you hadn’t any to start with!”

  “It’s protocol,” Rennington muttered, analyzing his surroundings to try and locate
more bodies. “Soldier’s duty.”

  Revi scowled. “Since when? Imagined duties aside, you’re the only soldier here, Rennington.”

  “Nah, mate.” Rennington dusted his hands off when he was satisfied that the area he patrolled held no potential life forms, as the only corpses he found were already rendered to bone fragments. “There’s Jernal,” he said, gesturing toward the Northern footman.

  The commander blinked, surprised by Rennington’s admission. He did not know what to say, having expected much more animosity from the man he had once tried to imprison. “ ...He’s right,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “Service before self, we stand—”

  “—even in the shadowed land,” Rennington finished. The motto of the Southern soldiers had been embedded in his head since he and Iani were boys.

  Jernal stared, both tense and staggered. He lifted his chin, suspicious eyes on Rennington, but the cold, brown irises softened after several moments passed. “That’s right,” he said, lowering his arms to his sides.

  “If you two are done kissing one another’s asses over the mutual selling of your souls to the governments,” Revi muttered, readjusting the pack of supplies over his shoulder, “we’re almost to the flames. Let’s get a move on.”

  Kazuaki listened to his crew bicker with little concern. They had saved no lives. Revi was right; their time here had been nothing more than wasteful. Before he opened his mouth to force the group onward, the sound of the airship’s propellers filled his eardrums.

  Bermuda lifted her hand to her eyes to shield her vision as she watched it approach. “Brace yourselves,” she uttered, taking a step back. “If Kazuaki can barely land that thing ...”

  Penn found fortune that the others were too far away to see the look of absolute terror on his otherwise cynical face. His knuckles turned white from the intensity in which he gripped the wheel, his slender arms quaking as he tried his best to hold it in place. The wheels spewed out from the bottom at just the right time, the giant ship rattling the earth as it struck the uneven terrain.

  Like thunder beneath their legs, the giant ship crawled forward. It sliced through the fallen debris of Northwestern with little effect, tossing chunks of charred remnants out of its path. Kazuaki watched, absent of emotion as the tip of the airship collided with the skeleton of an unstable building. What managed to survive the fire soon collapsed, falling to the ground.

  The crew stood, unmoving, waiting for the dust to settle. They heard the ramp lower through the cloud of disturbed ash and Penn emerged, waving his hand wildly to fan the powder out of his face. Granite, Kal, and the mutt were quick to follow.

  “Nice and hard, just the way I like it!” Brack shouted, knowing full well Penn harbored insecurity about the unevenness of his landing.

  The cook’s brows fell flat on his face as he wrinkled his nose. “Feck off, Rabbit. Like you could do any better.”

  Brack’s uproarious laughter was a stark contrast to the dismal surroundings of burnt bodies and buildings. Kazuaki eyed the filth attached to his airship’s nose before looking over the rest of the vessel’s body. The condition met his standards. He turned to Penn. “What of the girl?” he asked, voice rough.

  “Bart’s wife set her up with some money and a place to stay,” Penn muttered, thumbing toward Kal. “Said he’d find a foster family for her when he returned to Southern.”

  Kal shot daggers at Penn for his less than diplomatic description, but the chivalrous man chose not to comment on it. “How have things been here, Captain?”

  “Slow.” Kazuaki turned to face the fire. The occasional ember floated near them on the smoke-scented wind. “We’re bypassing the debris now and heading straight to the source. We need to find Vadim.”

  Kal nodded, rolling up the sleeves on his nicely pressed shirt. “To the ends of the earth and all that, Captain. Let’s go find him.”

  If Kazuaki was surprised by Kal’s eagerness, he did not show it. Rennington frowned as Kazuaki started for the fire. “What of the survivors?”

  Kazuaki did not turn around. “There are none.”

  Mimir, who had been slithering in and out of the destruction as if it were a playground, leaped off a beam and landed in a crouched position. He busied himself spying on Kazuaki the entire time, analyzing the immortal’s curious behavior at stopping and searching for living people. It was unexpected, but he enjoyed the distraction.

  Lifting his face to stare at the flames ahead, a sullen look took over him. Mimir knew what awaited them there, and he was not keen on arriving. But the lesser god could not stop the captain. He did not belong to him. Not yet.

  Straightening to a stand, Mimir traced the captain’s footsteps. Kazuaki felt his proximity. It irritated him beyond reason. Coupled with the tension emanating from Rennington at having to abandon potential survivors, the immortal walked with a briskness that he hoped would leave his annoyances behind him.

  Silence gripped the throats of all who strode closer to the flames. It took the better part of an hour to arrive at the head. Kazuaki’s eye narrowed as the heat from the fire attacked his skin. The dull, ethereal glow of chaos melted over his and the others’ faces, accentuated only by weak screams rising from engulfed homes and businesses.

  Bermuda jerked to the side as a smoldering woman bolted past her, running as fast as her blistered legs could carry her. Embers fell from the sky like burning snowflakes, settling at the feet of those who watched men and women scatter like a colony of ants.

  Brack drew his lips back in disgust as a man climbed a smoldering beam, ignorant to the fact that the skin and tissue on his hands sloughed off with each touch.

  “To Donius, God of War!” he cried as the flames ate through his muscles and devoured him whole.

  “Gods be damned,” Kal breathed, tightening his jaw as he witnessed the chaos that reigned around them. “This is madness ...”

  Revi slid his pack off his shoulder and removed several oxygen masks, tossing them to Granite, Brack, Bermuda, and Penn. He slid his own on over his face, his voice distorted behind the material as he turned to Rennington. “We didn’t anticipate you coming,” he admitted. “The only mask we have left is the captain’s.”

  “Take it,” Kazuaki muttered, motioning Revi to hand the object off to Rennington. The smoke irritated his lungs and he felt the deprivation of oxygen like any mortal would, but overall, it served as no threat to his existence.

  Rennington caught the mask as Revi tossed it to him, but he turned his attention to Kal without delay. “Ambassador,” he said, holding the device out to the man, “Bartholomew would never forgive me if I didn’t return you unharmed.”

  Kal hesitated to accept the offer, but he knew the limits of his body. “You’re a good man, Rennington.” He slipped the mask on over his face before he turned to face the flames once more.

  Rennington drew his arm up, shielding his mouth and nose with his sleeve, though it did little to help.

  Jernal mirrored him, forced to do the same. His eyes watered from the sting of the smoke. “It’s not as if we can just charge in there,” the commander said through a short cough. “What’s your plan?”

  Kazuaki narrowed his eye. He scanned the horizon, searching for the man who followed the flames.

  “Captain—” Bermuda lifted a hand, her voice robotic behind the mask.

  Kazuaki trailed the direction of her finger, shielding his vision. He saw him. Standing valiantly, encircled by fire but miraculously unharmed. A mountain of papers was gripped in his hands, some singed on the edges after creeping too close to the heat. Vadim.

  The Northwestern Time Father halted from his depraved act of watching his people disintegrate around him. With a slow, eerie turn, he pivoted on his heels, his shining eyes locking onto that of the captain. No footmen protected him. No sanity lived in him. He raised his chin and shouted, “Ambassadors! They’ve been expecting you!” he cried, his voice competing with the roar of the crackling flames.

  Kazuaki’s express
ion flattened. He walked through the fire toward Vadim, fists clenched.

  Brack arched a brow, holding his mask to his face. “Who?” he wondered out loud. He assumed he knew who he meant, but no lesser gods were in sight.

  Though it should have been impossible for Vadim to have heard him over the violent disorder, the Time Father stretched his arms out to the heavens. “The gods are all around us!” he cried, his voice cracking from smoke inhalation.

  The captain pushed through the flames, scowling as the temperature threatened to burn holes in his long jacket. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face until they disappeared in his beard. When he neared Vadim, the Time Father lowered his arms. “All hail—”

  A swift punch ended his statement. “Snap out of it,” Kazuaki growled as he loomed over Vadim’s fallen body.

  The Time Father propped himself up on his elbows and rubbed his jaw, testing to see if it had been dislocated. It popped when he opened his mouth, but he still sneered up at the immortal. “I’m sure they’ll be most excited to see you, Captain.”

  Kazuaki looked unimpressed. His eye flicked to the Chronometer around Vadim’s neck, putting him in mind of his objective. He reached down, grabbed the Time Father’s leg, and hauled him without mercy, back toward the others. Though he cared little about the value of Vadim’s life, he did not want the pressure of locating a suitable Time Father on short notice, should the current one find himself cremated.

  “Show yourselves!” Vadim howled as his back dragged against the heated grounds of his once-proud city.

  Kazuaki dropped Vadim’s leg when they escaped the intensity of the blaze. Bermuda scanned the captain for any signs of physical distress while Rennington scoured the area for signs of life. His face fell at the sight before him. Unadulterated annihilation. The ravenous hands of the fire left nothing untouched, snuffing out any previously heard screams.

  “What do we do with him?” Brack asked, giving Vadim a light kick in the ribs. “He’s off his rocker.”