The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

He had only made it halfway toward her when he felt something collide with his stomach. The clatter of clanking metal met Kazuaki’s ears, as his arms instinctively reached out to catch the objects that had been thrown toward him. A set of ethereal katars, emblazoned with intricate carvings he was not familiar with; so polished they almost glowed in the darkness. They were not built by the hands of a man. His eyes narrowed, and he looked to his right.

  Mimir panted, a maniacal look on his face. “Time’s up, Captain. Hold these for me, would you?”

  Kazuaki panicked. He looked up, catching sight of Bermuda one final time before Mimir pulled him out of his nirvana. He felt cheated. He never got to touch her. Whether she was real or not, the look of horror when she recognized that he was being ripped from her world felt all too authentic. It embedded itself into his mind.

  He opened his eye to the physical world. The real one. It was in a state of waking, with the others around him either having already abandoned the other realm or just coming to. Kazuaki sat up and rubbed his throbbing head as the light of pre-dawn touched through the trees. He wasn’t sure how long he was out. It felt like only minutes. But the obvious passage of time as related to the sun’s position told him otherwise.

  When he realized where he was, Kazuaki quickly turned to view the woman behind him. Bermuda sat, clearly suffering through her own aches and pains that the Spirit Mushrooms left in her head. But she was awake. She appeared to be fine.

  The captain glanced over to Mimir. The lesser god held the two katars in his hands, swinging them around like a child with a toy. He stabbed a leaf and held it over his head as if he had ran an enemy through and victoriously presented him to a crowd of imagined onlookers.

  “Mimir, no, have mercy, we love you!” the lesser god said, distorting his voice to sound like a terrified child. His voice returned to normalcy as he added, “You’re too late, ha!” He swirled the katars and the leaf around before he realized the captain was staring at him. Mimir grinned. “Good morning, Sunshine. I got you a gift.”

  Kazuaki narrowed his eye. He lifted his hand and touched the side of his face. The familiar piece of faux-leather he kept over his socket fell under his grasp. That paradise ... it felt factual. His brain had a hard time realizing he was back to where he started. Or where he was all along. “What is that you have there?” he muttered, his voice making the throbbing in his head more persistent.

  Mimir scraped the leaf off one katar with the blade of the other. His immaturity faded and his face grew serious. “The answer to your problems, Captain. I hope you remember that I helped you when the Unnamed did not.”

  “It didn’t?” Kazuaki threw his focus over his shoulder toward Umbriel, Brack, and Penn. “Did any of you make it?”

  Penn shook his head, stuck in the same mental fog as the others.

  Brack grinned, but his apathetic shrug did not match the spiritedness of his facial expression. “Yeah, Cappy, we did. ‘Fraid the little bugger is right, though. The Unnamed ...” He shook his head. “It’s a true neutral, mate. We’re on our own with this one.”

  Kazuaki’s huffed. He expected as much. Solutions were rarely ever as easy as that. “Did everyone make it back, at least?”

  Granite, Revi, and Jernal surrounded Nicholai’s body as it sprawled out in the rust-covered leaves on the woodland ground. He was still, with only a shallow rise and fall of his chest visible from where the others sat. Revi tore his eyes away from the Time Father, an admitted concern accompanying the restlessness that lived on his face since Avigail left.

  “Not everyone ...”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The sound of her blade as it dragged across the smooth surface of the rock was one Elowyn grew familiar with over the unending days. She made her home in the catacombs that ran below Eastern, enduring endless nights of sightlessness in the darkened tunnels. The Time Mother dedicated all of her hours to following it to the coast; her fingers trailed along the cold, damp walls, acting as her most important sense in the place that stripped the usefulness of sight, sound, and scent.

  It almost hurt when she witnessed that first pinhole of light at the base of the catacombs. Elowyn had wandered in the dark for so long, her eyes struggled to adjust to the reintroduction of sun. But she persisted. She persevered. It took more than a long hike through the shadowed land to deter Elowyn Saveign.

  She didn’t remember how many days she walked through those tunnels, but she knew when she emerged, finding the cockboat full of supplies hidden on the shoreline was a top priority. Driven by thirst, as sucking the small amount of rainwater that leaked into the cracks of the catacomb walls did little to sustain her, she waded waist-deep into the embankment and clawed her way through the rocks. The second the last stone fell away and exposed part of the boat hiding behind it felt every bit of a miracle.

  Elowyn did not wander far from the mouth of Eastern’s catacombs. Not yet. She needed to regain her strength, which she did slowly, thanks to the contents of the cockboat. She had enough non-perishable food to last for many weeks, and a small device with which to purify whatever water she needed. Duty-bound fingers wound her Chronometer each day. Though she fell from the public eye, her responsibilities to Eastern did not.

  The blade dipped low as she ran it along the stone. The rock fit well in the palm of her hand, and while it did not accomplish the task of honing her knife with the same level of efficiency a sharpening stone would, the smooth surface, worn away by years of abuse from the ocean’s waves, did well enough. She continued to scrape it along, sitting cross-legged in the mouth of the catacombs, overlooking the ocean.

  Eastern was so densely packed that she heard the familiar sounds of industry carrying on above her. The occasional hiss of bottled-up steam being released. The squealing of unoiled wheels from passing steam cars. Her people were not far from her. She hid nearly in plain sight. Elowyn contemplated leaving her hiding spot several times, but each time she considered it, something cemented her feet to their place.

  It was not just industry that sounded above her. The scents and sounds of the lesser gods and their destruction waged on as well, in the form of guttural cries from people being ran through. That, and the depraved ranting of men and women who were unmistakably manipulated by the gods.

  From what she heard, the footmen of sound mind tried their best to keep up with the aftermath. It tore her apart, sitting in her safe haven while her ears burned with the clamors of their skirmishes. She wished to help them. But Elowyn had to remind herself that she put her people in even greater danger by putting her life on the line.

  The lesser gods wanted her. That much she knew. Elowyn remained confident that even if they found her, they could not corrupt her mind. She did not wish to make any goals they desired easy for them to attain. In any case, the woman had other plans.

  She held the sharpened blade up to her eyes and squinted, inspecting it for perfection before she lowered it and stared off in the direction of Southeastern. It bordered her division. Assistance lived there in the form of the captain and the others. It was frustrating at first, knowing help was so close, and yet so far. There was simply no way she could cross the border on foot, travel to Nenada, find the others, amass a following, and return to Eastern in less than twenty-four hours.

  This was one endeavor she’d have to go alone. For now.

  The working class of Eastern still met her governance with some resistance. Understandably so. They grew up in generations of belief that only men could lead others to greatness. That politics and battle were not places for the ‘fairer’ sex. She scoffed to herself as she grabbed hold of her black locks, which had grown out since her initiation into division leadership. With her other hand, she rested the newly sharpened knife against it, and it one quick swipe, the hair fell away.

  Elowyn did not care much for shaping it to suit the modern woman’s fashion trends. She just needed to change her appearance. Otherworldly gods might be perceptive enough to see beyond her camouflage, but she would n
ot hand her position to them on a silver platter.

  After gathering the cut strands, the Time Mother traipsed over to the waters and peered down inside. The ocean off the coast of Eastern did not make for a suitable mirror. Runoff from the countless factories had left the water a rather murky color. She tossed the cut hair into the waters and ran her fingers through what little remained, to shake out any loose strands.

  Imperial clothing would not do. If the public knew anything about Panagea’s society of elites, it was that hand-to-hand combat was not in their forte. She reached into the crate of belongings in the cockboat and removed a thick blanket, meant to keep fleeing division leaders warm in the cruel chill of the ocean winds. It was a material that lacked in aesthetics, built instead for endurance. With a few alterations, it would be perfect.

  By the time the sun decided it had enough of bringing light to a darkening world, Elowyn completed her necessary modifications. She shed her regal garb and slipped her new garments on over her head. The stitches would hold, she decided, as she ran her fingertips over them. Sewing cloth differed from sewing gaping holes in human flesh, but the medic made do with the skill set she possessed and the medical supplies from the cockboat.

  Even in the evening hours, Elowyn still saw the dense clouds of smoke that Eastern’s factories poured into the atmosphere. It heaved a strange shadow over the land. Her reign had been short; she had much to do to fix this place. But for now, she had to make sure her people survived long enough to live in it.

  She stooped down where the waters lapped up against the hardy boots she pulled from the cockboat. Elowyn dipped her hand into the mud and rubbed it between her hands, thinning it out before she used it to smother her hair. The thick coating of auburn muck served as another element to her disguise. The less she looked like a division leader ... the easier it would be to weave through the public unnoticed.

  The blade Elowyn used to sheer her hair found its place back at her hip. She needed more weapons if she were to amass a proper resistance. There was one place she knew of that would serve as a starting point: the gun-toting maiden that nearly shot them all on the river banks last year, when they floated up onto Eastern’s shores after the loss of the captain’s ship.

  Mairyn Catteral.

  Elowyn pulled her body up from the confines of the catacombs for the first time in weeks, letting the polluted haze of lamp light fall over her form. Only some of the lanterns were lit. The lamplighters of Eastern likely feared the repercussions of roaming the streets at night. Elowyn frowned. She did not delight in the knowledge that her people lived in dread. She needed to make this place safe.

  Amongst the fearful, the brave always lingered. She would search all of Eastern to find them. Memories of the time she and the crew rallied the inhabitants of the Southern slums flooded her mind. So many valiant people, unafraid to sacrifice their lives for change. The lesser gods mistook humanity for a weak collection of organisms. Perhaps even mankind bought into that lie. Elowyn Saveign would remind them they were wrong.

  The medic was no stranger to organizing an opposition. People needed to know they could fight back. They made the lesser gods. They fashioned them into invincible creatures. As such, they believed that’s what they were. Invulnerable. Unbeatable.

  As Elowyn walked deeper into the murky environment of her division, under the guise of a nameless wanderer who appeared as nothing resembling Eastern’s salvation, she had every intention of challenging that myth.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Avigail stepped off the steam train, her fingers trailing on the smooth, black surface of the locomotive before she traipsed too far to touch it anymore. She did not yet make it to her destination. The tracks cut through the whole of the Southeastern division and made it as far as the high part of Southern.

  While the border to Northwestern lived only sixty or so miles away, the Houton daughter could not make it by track. The trainmen announced that it was the end of the line. The condition of the railroad was too far gone, whether by the natural disasters of Panagea’s history or by the new threat of the lesser gods, she wasn’t sure.

  There were many whispers from passengers onboard the locomotive. Speculations were as endless as they were varying. She didn’t know much about the threat of the lesser gods before her departure from the Addihein household ... but after the many hours spent in the company of others on the steam train, she certainly knew more than she had before.

  Knowing her father was in the heat of it all, she found none of it comforting.

  Avigail adjusted her pack over her shoulder as she distanced herself from the station. It was an interesting visual journey. Trees thinned out the farther she traveled from Nicholai’s home town. Southern had several small patches of wilderness, but they were few and far between when compared to the Southeastern division. It was a shame when the trees disappeared from her sight. She found them comforting. They reminded her that Nicholai had stepped foot there, whether recently or otherwise, as he was the only one who could have grown them to that height. For whatever reason, being in a place the Southeastern Time Father had walked offered her some semblance of security.

  If she couldn’t make it to Northwestern by train, Avigail would resort to the other method of travel that served her well over the years. Hitchhiking. It was not as glamorous, and twice as dangerous, but it did hold effectiveness she couldn’t deny. Hitchhiking was well over half the way she ended up in Southeastern at Nicholai Addihein’s doorstep in the first place.

  The young woman approached the nearest road that looked healthy enough to accommodate traffic and glanced in both directions. Buildings, some upright, others not, flanked her viewpoints on all sides. Avigail spotted the movement of people, but passing steam cars were few and far between. She tightened her lips and started down the main road, in the direction of Northwestern. She could at least walk until one happened by.

  Avigail had ventured through Southern before, but never through this particular area. Her first quest to find her father stretched out over a year and carried her through several divisions, but the uppermost part of Southern was a foreign land to her. It was strange how the makeup of a division could differ so widely from the whole of itself.

  The various towns and villages of Southern she had wandered through previously endured heavy losses from the natural disasters. Bartholomew Gray had accomplished stunning things in his short rule, however. Large parts of the devastation were under repair by hired hands. It seemed his influence did not stretch to the farthest parts of Southern yet, or the chaos she witnessed before her was too fresh for him to have had any chance at correcting it.

  People walked around her as if they didn’t notice that half of their buildings were in a state of disrepair. Avigail wondered if they had just grown accustomed to it. What a thing to get used to, she wondered to herself. Obliteration. Ruin. They seemed so disassociated from it all, the jagged roads, the upturned stone that once served as walkways, the shaken factories, the shattered homes. The people of this Southern town seemed oblivious to it all. Or accepting. She wasn’t sure which haunted her more.

  Avigail’s ears perked when she heard an approaching steam car. She held out her thumb, cliché but custom in the hitchhiking business. The sound of the car’s engine indicated a deceleration. She had high hopes. The woman turned, watching as it slowed beside her.

  She performed a quick assessment of the couple in the car. Mid-forties. Man and assumed wife. Simple wedding bands on each finger. Standard to degraded clothing. Somewhere between working poor and lower-middle class. Low threat level. By the looks of them, she would have guessed them for common laborers, but the fact that they had a steam car threw her off. The automobile was often a luxury most plebeians did not attain.

  “Where you headed, little miss?” the gentleman driving the steam car asked as he hung his arm out the window.

  Avigail put on her best smile, trying not to appear like an inconvenience. “Northwestern,” she replied. “Any town will do.�
��

  “Hop on in,” the man said, motioning her to take a seat in the back.

  Avigail delighted in her luck as she found a spot in the steam car’s rear. Hitchhiking was an unexpected game. That she managed to find a ride so quickly was a rare and wonderful thing. Better yet that it appeared these people had no ulterior motives. “Thank you,” she said, settling down in the back.

  “Of course.” The wife smiled and readjusted herself before her husband turned the vehicle’s wheel and carried on. “It’s no trouble. We’re heading to Northwestern ourselves, actually.”

  “Oh?” Avigail leaned forward, resting her forearm on her knee. “What brings you both up there?”

  “Worry, I’m afraid,” the woman admitted, frowning as she stole a glimpse of her husband. “We’ve heard rumors about the state of Northwestern.” She seemed hesitant to share the knowledge so freely with Avigail but decided if the young woman was venturing to that part of Panagea, it was best she knew the speculations of its alleged condition. “Our son and daughter-in-law live in Bricklemore, a small town within its borders. We haven’t heard hide nor hair from them in two weeks. We were lucky to be able to borrow this vehicle from a dear friend to go check on them.”

  “That’s very sweet of you,” Avigail said, unable to contain her mild jealousy at the appearance of parents who traversed the world for the knowledge their child was all right. “I hope your bravery rewards you and they’re okay.”

  “Oh, bravery’s nothing to do with it, dear,” the mother replied, smiling as they drove through a destitute part of town. “It’s a necessity, really. A parent needs to know their child is all right.”

  Avigail forced a smile. “So I’ve heard.”

  “I’m Everly,” the woman said before gesturing to her husband. “This is Thom. We’re happy for your company, dear.”

  “Avigail,” the Houton daughter replied as she leaned back in her seat. She did not get any foul reads from the pair and did not mind participating in harmless small talk. “It’s nice to meet you both.”