The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  A pensive countenance took over Kal. He tried to exchange it for something more reassuring. “They’re just dreams, Bartholomew, I’m sure.”

  “Are they?” The scholar raised his gaze to his infatuate. “Or are they premonitions? I can no longer tell the difference. Whether it is Naphine trying to instill fear in me to make it easier to command my mind, or my subconscious manifesting images of chaos, either way, Kal, I can’t help but feel she is gaining the upper hand.”

  It shattered the ambassador’s being, watching the man he adored live in such mental anarchy. His brows knitted together, hoping to devise a solution to his ails. “You could always alert Mr. Hidataka to your concerns.” Kal harbored hopes Bartholomew’s old comrades would restore his sense of self. “They’re quite the team, as you know. Very capable. I discovered as much in Northwestern. Perhaps their presence might bring you some peace of mind, if Naphine was, in fact, determined to surface in Southern.”

  Bartholomew pinched his lips together, nodding. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. As this also relates to Darjal, it may be of interest to Nico, as well. I feel he’ll find himself dragged into this one way or another.”

  “Most wise,” Kal said, patting Bartholomew’s forearm. “I can draw up the necessary documents and send the letter straight away while you get some rest if you’d like.”

  A calmed grin tiptoed onto Bartholomew’s face. The ever-present affection of Kal Rovanas remained a light in a darkening time. He shuddered to think what he would do without him.

  The thought swept a restless agitation through Bartholomew as he remembered the cryptic words Naphine spoke to him concerning Kal. If his calculations were correct, and a chance remained that the Goddess of Love was, indeed, vying to infiltrate his brain, Bartholomew winced at the thought of the repercussions.

  “Kal,” he reached over, taking the ambassador’s hand in his, “if my resolve should wither ... if my logic should cave to the gods ... I want you to run. Run far from here. There are catacombs beneath the city. You can—”

  “Bartholomew,” Kal chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the scholar’s hand, “such folly, and from an otherwise intelligent mouth.”

  “I’m serious, Kal.” Bartholomew’s expression fell to one of grave significance. “Elowyn remains missing. Emont still hasn’t responded to any letters. We do not know whether Vadim holds fast to his lucidity or fell to the gods again. Nico, too, is under mental attack. I have a strong belief in my abilities to withstand them, I do, but I am not foolish enough to eliminate the possibility of my failure entirely. It’s not unwise to have a backup plan.”

  Kal withdrew his previous show of amusement. He knew Bartholomew’s confession stemmed from a pained, loving place, and he did not wish to mock it. “It’s not injudicious, no,” he said, a serene smile on his face. “But it is foolish to think I would ever leave you to any fate that would ruin you.”

  Comforting words, though Bartholomew wished he’d reconsider. Regardless, he smiled. “Well ... let us hope it does not come to that then.”

  “You’re a strong man, Bartholomew.” Kal patted his hand. “I know you worry about your comrades, Elowyn and Emont. But remember that Aggi Normandy, Nordjan, Edvard, and Nicholai all remain, despite the lesser gods' efforts.”

  The scholar inhaled deeply, nodding. “Yes. I suppose you’re right. Nico is an iron-willed man. So long as he hasn’t caved to the gods yet, then hope remains.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Nicholai thrashed against the hold of the vines that confined him to the bed. They were Umbriel’s replacement for the iron shackles that held him prior. The plants consumed a large portion of the room. As the others predicted, he tried to age them to their death to earn an escape, but the efforts only made the vines grow sturdier and longer.

  Umbriel sat beside him, restoring the life force he gave to the vines with a sigh. She tried to stay ahead of the bruising on his ribs, as well. Unable to mend bone, each time he lashed out earned him more swelling surrounding the fractures. The pain didn’t seem to slow him down.

  She had lingered near his bedside for hours, working tirelessly to regain his wits with little success. Once in awhile, she’d catch glimpses. A flash of confusion in his cobalt spheres, or a small look of recognition. Even sounds of frustration, as if he tried in vain to free his mind from its hostage situation, but to no avail.

  He allowed his body to suffer too long. Weakness from sleep and food deprivation, weeks’ worth of accumulated stresses, and all of the other things that plagued Nicholai Addihein stifled his ability to overpower Darjal’s influence.

  “Nicholai ...” The Earth Mother laid her hands on his forearm. He ripped at his organic shackles with such force, the veins beneath his skin looked as though they threatened to burst. Sweat collected on his forehead. His fingertips turned an off-color in spots. The more he fought the vines, the tighter they got. “Please. You must try.”

  Feelings of helplessness were uninvited guests as of late. Umbriel could do little to assist him. Nicholai’s predicament was in his psychological endurance. There were no physical issues for her to manipulate, no poisons for her to withdraw. All she could do was whisper words that might rise over the sound of Darjal’s voice ... but her luck was transitory.

  The door opening behind her severed her concentration. Umbriel spun around, taking in the sight of the captain. “Kazuaki,” she gasped, standing from her chair. “I didn’t think I’d see you on your feet so soon.”

  A small muscle in the immortal’s jaw convulsed at the unflattering reminder that he’d been rendered unconscious. “Yes, well ... here I am,” he murmured, clearing his throat. “I appreciate the use of your quarters.”

  “Of course,” she nodded with a tired smile. “I hope you found it comfortable.”

  It was no hammock, but it served as a suitable substitute. Kazuaki entered the room farther, peering down at Nicholai, who finally stopped fighting the strength of the vines. “How is he doing?”

  Umbriel bit her lip as she tucked some hair behind her ear. “I ... I catch glimpses of him now and again. But I’m afraid they are fleeting.”

  Not unlike the situation in Northwestern with Vadim. Kazuaki remembered it well. He clamped his teeth together, contemplating. Though he did not turn to look at her, he directed his words to Umbriel. “I’d like a moment alone with him.”

  The Earth Mother blinked, taken back by the captain’s request. She saw no harm in it, but couldn’t deny her surprise. “Of course,” she said, striding over to the door. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

  A nod followed and Kazuaki listened for the sound of the door closing behind him. He stared down at Nicholai, his eye narrowed to a slit before he pulled Umbriel’s chair toward him and sat down.

  The Time Father lived in an unsatisfied state. His arms strung up on either side of him. He stared at the wall ahead, making no move to acknowledge Kazuaki’s presence. Disheveled clothing draped over his body, mangled from the fight the evening prior. It was a surreal picture. Nicholai Addihein did not belong in this condition.

  Kazuaki’s eye shifted to the Chronometer poking out between Nicholai’s shirt and vest. If worse came to worse, they could force him to wind it. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “Look here, Nico,” the captain started, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, “I won’t pretend to understand what you absorb while you’re under the influence of the lesser gods ... or Darjal ...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Vadim was a bloody embarrassment. At least you’re not prattling on endlessly about nonsense as he did.”

  Nicholai said nothing. He returned to the unrewarding task of trying to break free from his restraints. His fists shook as he attempted to force himself from the vines.

  A wide, open eye turned to the ceiling as Kazuaki craned his neck back. He did not want to have this conversation. Already, unwelcomed feelings of awkwardness crept through his otherwise stoic body. His lips peeled back in a short, frustrated snarl before he dipped h
is head to face the Time Father once more. “What Madros said to break you ...” He paused, cringing. Another moment of contemplation powered him through. “I know why it did.”

  Nicholai paused long enough to lift his chin at the mention of Madros. It was short, and once several seconds ticked by, he returned to fighting the manacles.

  Kazuaki continued, undeterred. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been governed by another. Not since I worked for the ship that crashed on that island,” he muttered. The one where he met that gods-forsaken mermaid who bestowed her curse of immortality upon him. “Since then, I’ve only ever governed myself and others. As time passes, you gain experience, and I’ve convinced myself that nobody alive holds more of that than I.” Though he felt ridiculous, he forced himself to look at Nicholai’s face. “I do not make many mistakes. But even with my capability ... I still find I made one.”

  The Time Father’s absence of response made it easier to keep talking, but Kazuaki still looked over his shoulder to be sure nobody else listened. Satisfied they were alone, he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I was wrong about you. From the beginning, I took you for another self-entitled, piece of shit Time Father who cared more about lording his superiority over the common man than anything else. But you’ve proven otherwise. You are ... capable. Determined. A little too idealistic for your own good sometimes, but ... you care. And though Madros may have led you to believe otherwise, and my actions as of late only accentuated his words ... you have my respect.”

  Nicholai stopped thrashing. While he did not move the position of his head from facing the wall, his eyes crept over to Kazuaki.

  The captain felt a small stab of optimism. Though it irked him to carry on, he did. “I discredited your ethics. As an ethical man, I’m sure you felt slighted.” He frowned. “I won’t pretend your code of morals matches my own. I won’t even pretend that I think your ideas will be successful in the long-term. But I’d venture a guess that if anybody could prove me wrong, again, it would be you.”

  The Time Father turned his head to face him. Still, he said nothing.

  Nicholai’s lack of clarity was discouraging. Kazuaki waited for several moments, to see if he might speak, but when he said nothing, he clenched his jaw and stood. “Right. I’ll send Umbriel back in.”

  Sliding the chair out of his way, the immortal approached the door. With his back to Nicholai, he reached for the knob. A familiar voice sounded behind him, coated in heavy repentance.

  “ ...Is Bermuda all right?”

  Kazuaki turned. He assessed Nicholai as he laid in the bed. He looked the same as he did a moment ago, save for a shimmer of humanity in the blues of his eyes. The man seemed embarrassed. But lucid. “What was that?” Kazuaki asked, skeptical at first as to how long it might last.

  “Bermuda. Brack. Granite.” The color drained from Nicholai’s face as he took on a look of unmodified indignity. He remembered splitting the bridge of the Rabbit’s nose open. Nearly gutting Granite across his torso. Bashing Bermuda’s skull and stabbing her shoulder. “Gods, I ... I was not kind to them.”

  The captain was quick to return to his seat. He recalled how frequently Vadim wavered, spurred by moments of stress. He needed to keep Nicholai as free from anxieties as he could if there was any hope he’d cling to his lucidity. “They’re fine.”

  Nicholai appeared relieved by the captain’s admission. “Good. Good.” He took a deep breath and winced, the pain in his ribs radiating outward. An appropriate consequence for his actions, he supposed. Without complaint, he turned to the immortal, a new look of remorse on his face. “I’m sorry. I let them win.”

  “We can’t win them all.” Kazuaki’s response held its traditional roughness, but an infinitesimal smirk stole over half his face. “For the one battle you lost, you won another. Did you know you’re the first person to render me unconscious in at least fifty years?”

  Amid everything, even in the face of the pain it caused, Nicholai laughed. He flexed his wrists, still held by the vines, but made no requests for freedom until he knew he could trust himself. “I promise not to spread that around.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Kazuaki murmured, straightening his posture. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

  The door opened without ceremony. Kazuaki turned, expecting to see Umbriel walk back in, but Mimir slithered his body through the open frame instead. His head cocked to the side, not at all surprised to see Nicholai regained his composure. “Hm. Took you longer to return to your senses than I thought it would,” he uttered, unimpressed.

  Kazuaki glared, leaning his arm on the back of the chair as he took in the sight of Mimir. “What the hell are you talking about? Just last night you said it would be difficult to get Darjal to manifest himself. That it would be difficult to kill him.”

  “Yes,” Mimir chuckled, leaning against the wall to Nicholai’s bedroom. “But what does his manifestation have to do with his strength?”

  A brow rose on the captain’s face as he scrutinized Mimir.

  The lesser god snickered. “I have other news you might be interested in, Captain. While you were busy trying to reel in your primal human lusts in Bermuda’s company last night, I opened my ears to the channel in which the lesser gods’ voices travel.”

  Nicholai blinked, casting an uncomfortable eye toward the captain at the mention of his time spent with Bermuda.

  Kazuaki was too inquisitive to care about such things. He glowered at Mimir, his tone dark. “What are you talking about?”

  “I feared Madros may have sent a message out to the others before he died ... a thought beacon of sorts ... regarding my, ahem ... ‘borrowing’ of the katars.” Mimir frowned. “He did, by the way. Discerned it through you when he grabbed your leg, so, thank you very much for that.”

  The immortal scowled, standing from his chair. “I don’t give a damn about that. What does your supernatural bullshit have to do with Darjal? With Nico?”

  “Oh, not much. Just that he grows weaker by the day. Darjal, not you,” Mimir clarified, grinning at Nicholai. “For every continually unanswered prayer, he loses a worshiper. For every worshiper lost, he loses strength.” The lesser god cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the air around him, “If he wants to continue being revered as a god, he needs to start doing some god stuff!”

  Nicholai winced. Knowing Mimir shouted to an invisible Darjal invoked an unpleasant feeling. “Please, don’t give him any ideas.”

  Mimir shrugged. “It won’t matter soon. Word on the ethereal plane is that once Darjal falls, the lessers will command Southern. Those believers are wasted on Darjal, anyway. He’s too green to know how to be a proper god.”

  Kazuaki squared his shoulders. His blood pressure rose. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean a war, Captain. A blood bath. Southern is a religious division, always has been. It swims with people desperate for a god. Once Darjal is out of the picture, the others ... they intend to give them some. In Darjal’s hometown of Seacaster, no less.” Mimir paused, hitching a shoulder. “After they cement their retribution by making half the population slaughter one another, I mean.”

  Nicholai shot up in the bed, momentarily forgetting he was stuck to it. The stab of his broken bones paled in comparison to the dread raised by Mimir’s confession. “What?” His eyes widened, his mouth dry. “Why?”

  Mimir tapped the side of his head. “For multiple reasons, Time Father. They know they can’t manipulate everyone. But it becomes far easier when fear is introduced into the mind. What better way to earn fear than by taking lives? If it happens to simultaneously heal a dying continent by irradiating the parasites infecting it, well ...” He glanced at Kazuaki with a grin. “Two birds with one stone, and all that.”

  The captain did not share Mimir’s amusement. An immediate concern rose for Bartholomew’s well-being. On the same hand, the timing couldn’t have been better. If they gathered in one place, it would make it that much easier to
slay them. “When are they planning the attack?”

  Mimir smirked. “Oh, Captain ... I would guess Darjal has only weeks left, at best, before the people of Southern forget him in his entirety. That’s why they chose Seacaster, you see. There’s morbid poetry in invading his hometown, the birthplace of his rise to godliness.” He turned his attention to Nicholai. “Lucky break for you, aye, Time Father?”

  Nicholai looked horrified. Kazuaki appeared prepared for the moment, but the Southeastern Time Father was not. Another year of bloodshed and lost lives. The clincher, though, was the location of the invasion. Southern. He felt a sinking in his chest. Nicholai wished to go with them, to assist, to ensure the people he came to love met no foul ends ... but as the Chronometer ticked against his chest, he lived with the sorry reminder that he was bound here, to Southeastern.

  Despite Mimir’s words, he did not feel very lucky at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “I ... I’m glad I didn’t stab you in the neck,” Nicholai uttered, shifting awkwardly as he stood outside before Umbriel.

  The Earth Mother placed her fingertips on her lips to stifle an inappropriate laugh. “I’m quite pleased you didn’t as well, Nicholai. Thank you.” She stood back to admire him. “It’s good to see you reacquainted with your old self,” she said, fixating on the clinging aura of fatigue the man still grasped. “For the most part.”

  Questioning eyes flitted to the airship, which the others prepared for departure since dawn’s arrival. After Mimir’s confession, they did not know how much time they had before the lesser gods made their move on Southern. The captain and crew decided it was best to go now, rather than wait and risk missing their opportunity. Nicholai cleared his throat, fixing his gaze on Umbriel once more. “Are you sure you have to go as well?”