The Panagea Tales Box Set
Page 84
Umbriel nodded without hesitation. “I do. I know you believe the fault rests with you regarding the lesser gods’ return, but ... this is my doing. I knew the reintroduction of nature would bring about their reappearance in Panagea. In my desire to rebirth the Earth Mothers, I fear I’ve made some hasty mistakes. I must see to it that I heal any, and all who I can, that might suffer under my mother’s wrath.”
Nicholai listened, knowing full well he would have done the same thing. It did not make it any easier to accept. “I understand.”
A soft breeze blew her weightless hair around her shoulders. She wore her familiar smile, but it fell a shade as she tilted her head. “Will you be all right?”
“I think so,” Nicholai replied, gently rubbing the tender skin where his fractured bones remained. “Darjal’s whispers are fading. And even if there are more assassination attempts, it turns out Malcolm is a total renegade with a shotgun, so ...”
Umbriel laughed at his joke, her smile returning in full force. “Good luck, Nicholai.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “I’ll see you when I return.”
He watched as she pulled away and headed to the airship ramp. The Time Father adjusted his shoulders, the weight of his Chronometer around his neck feeling heavier than it ever had prior. “I’ll be here,” he said to himself, unmoving as clouds rolled in above.
Mimir came up beside Nicholai, his shadowy hands behind his back. He stood tall, taking in the sight of the others as they prepared the airship for take-off. Nicholai turned to face him, opening his mouth to speak, but paused when he saw Kazuaki walk by.
“Kazuaki—” Nicholai took several steps forward to catch up to him, glancing at the katars the captain held over each shoulder. “I ... just wanted to thank you, before you left. For what you said earlier. When I wasn’t myself. It helped.”
The immortal stared, a brow arching over the eye socket that hid beneath his faux-leather patch. “Don’t mention it,” he muttered, readjusting his grip on the katar handles. “Ever.”
Nicholai blinked, relenting with a small nod. “Yes, I know.”
“Nico.” The captain locked onto his eyes, a stern look on his face. His tone eased. “I meant every word I said.”
A relieved grin stole over the Time Father’s face. Rather than further agitate the captain with any excess words of sentiment, he yielded, motioning him toward the airship. “Good luck.”
“I don’t believe in luck,” he murmured, looking beyond Nicholai’s shoulders as Mimir fell into view. Halted by contemplation, Kazuaki eventually walked passed Nicholai, coming to stop in front of the lesser god. “Mimir.”
The being perked, his ears delighting at the sound of his name coming from Kazuaki’s mouth. “Yes, Captain?”
“For my own sanity, I need to know ... are you coming with?”
Mimir held up his hands and shook his head. “Not this time, I’m afraid.” A swift grin found its way to his face. “Simply too risky for me. A division swimming with angry, vengeful gods ... and little ol’ me, the thief of the weapons that will slaughter them. I will miss you, Captain, but my company is not a good fit for this particular endeavor.”
“That’s a relief,” Kazuaki growled beneath his breath. A slow pause followed, and he drew his shoulders back. “Mimir. Alerting us to the condition of Northwestern ... risking your life to steal these katars ... warning us about what awaits Southern ... these were all good things.”
The lesser god tilted his head to the side, feigning obliviousness. “What are you trying to say, Captain?”
Kazuaki rolled his eye. He intended to make him say it. “I’m saying ... perhaps first impressions are better left in the past. I will not say your constant presence has been without mental anguish on my part, but ... if you mean to continue favoring us with your help ... I guess I could get used to it.”
A shimmer swept across Mimir’s glassy eyes. “Captain,” he uttered, clasping his hands together, “that is the single nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
A look of irritation returned to the immortal’s face. “Right.” He turned around, returning to the airship. “Don’t get used to it,” he called out, his back to Mimir.
It was a feeling of bliss. Earned admiration from the heart of a legendary man. It was all Mimir ever wanted. He basked in the moment, feeling like a new god all over again. The warming memories of mankind’s adoration resurfaced in his brain. This was happiness. He remembered it now.
Jernal stepped up beside Mimir. Along with his military guise, he wore a standard expression of disappointment. “Why can’t I go with them?” he asked, attempting to cling to his masculinity, but obvious in his dejection. “My wife and kids are in Southern. If the lessers are planning a war, they could be in danger.”
“Southern is a big division, Commander.” Mimir dismissed his concerns with a flick of his wrist. “I am confident the captain can handle it. Besides, I need you here—what if I finally decide what to do with you?” he said, turning to him with a huge grin.
It provided no comfort. On the contrary, it caused Jernal to glower. More and more, he regretted his decision to release Mimir from his well. More still, he regretted accepting Nordjan’s offer of employment. The Northern Time Father sent no soldiers in an attempt to release Jernal from his hostage situation. The commander bled duty to his superiors, but it was getting harder to offer blind service to those who continued to spurn him.
Brack and Penn set down the last of the crates of food they carried onboard, while Granite and Bermuda readied the propellers. The mutt sniffed at the box of food, its tail wagging with excitement as it pawed the sides.
“None for you, beasty!” Brack knelt and ruffled the sides of the dog’s face. “Not unless you start doing your part around here and help with the heavy lifting.”
A large, pink tongue tried to assault Brack’s face. The man laughed, scratching beneath the dog’s chin as he stood to his feet. “Feckin’ Revi,” he said, turning to Penn. “Smartass left at just the right time, aye?”
“In his defense,” Penn muttered unenthusiastically, “he didn’t know things were going to blow up to this level. Again.”
Brack laughed, finding great amusement in Penn’s nonchalance. “Right-o, I’ll give him a pass on this one, then.” He sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the exterior walls of the airship’s cabins. “Hope that fecker’s havin’ more luck than we are right now.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Revi watched as a child nestled into the arms of its mother, who laid destitute on an unforgiving patch of broken flagstone. By the looks of things, she suffered from demanding turmoil. It was as if the Underworld opened up beneath her and she rested right upon it, with no concern for the discomfort of the pointed shards poking into her torn skin.
Her eyes were glassy. Vacant. From the short distance, Revi spied the stains of salty tears that stretched down her cheeks, spilling into the hollow of her throat. The flesh around her eye sockets swelled, outlined by a crippling shade of pink.
The child rubbed her hands over the tattered clothing covering her mother’s arms. She patted her blistered hand gently, reassuringly. “It’s okay, mama. Everything’s going to be okay.”
The mother did not respond. Revi was unsure how long ago she went into shock, but it was clear she lived in a state of cessation. Whatever things this woman witnessed, her brain no longer wished to comprehend them. It raised the white flag, shutting itself down, as a means of protection from further deterioration.
Years of wisdom did not live in that small child’s eyes, but for however many years she walked the earth, she filled her days with love. The way she stroked her mother’s hand, loving and calm, was perhaps the most heartbreaking thing Revi had observed on his endeavor to find his daughter.
And he had seen many heartbreaking things, indeed.
Children were stronger than most parents credited them for. The little girl, who sat with her broken mother, couldn’t have b
een any older than nine. Perhaps she was, and malnourishment dwarfed her growth, but even still, the presence of youth lived in her. She projected it.
Revi remembered once when Avigail broke her arm. She had been playing in the busy streets with her brothers, Amadeu and Jacob. Natty lived in her mother’s belly at the time, and the other children were merely thoughts on the horizon. He was not there to see it. The requirements of his job pulled him away from luxuries such as watching his children frolic. But he recalled how Arabella described it when he returned home that evening.
Avigail always tried to show up the boys. Though she was the oldest, Amadeu and Jacob had her beat in both height and weight. They were chasing after an old ball, participating in some game they had invented themselves. To flaunt her agility and prowess, Avigail bolted after it as it flew high overhead.
Arabella said her focus on that ball remained so, that it appeared as if she thought catching it might cement her legacy in the minds’ of her brothers.
It was her intense focus that kept her from hearing the oncoming steam car.
Arabella remembered screaming, watching as Avigail shoved her arm out at the last minute as if her frail, little limb would be enough to stop a three-thousand-pound metal monster. The driver managed to stop in time, but not before it crippled her humerus, dislodging it from the shoulder socket and crumpling her forearm.
Avigail cried, of course. When Arabella finally convinced her legs to move and collapsed to her knees beside her child, she saw the agony that lived in the little girl’s face. But as soon as Avigail spied her mother’s overwhelming distress, she sucked in all visible signs of pain. She did not whimper. She did not whine. For Avigail, it hurt more to see her mother in discomfort, than it did to have her skeletal system shattered by a vehicle.
Revi hoped that strength carried through into her adulthood. He needed to believe it did, after what he saw.
The minute he crossed the border into Northwestern, the atmosphere shifted. For every living body he spied, three or four laid in the ruined streets. But even some of the living bodies lacked the characteristics of humanity. Their eyes were vacant, their movements lumbering, confused, and purposeless. It was as if their brains rotted from inside their skulls, leaving them absent of anything resembling a soul.
It was as if, once the gods occupied them, manipulated them, and used them to whatever ends they wished to use them for ... they left them. But they did not leave human beings. They left husks. Hollow shells of who a person used to be. Revi wondered if, like Vadim, they could find their way back with the right instruction. But there were so many. Too many. He had neither the time nor the ability to assist these wandering cases of empty mortals.
He decided he did have time to help two, though.
Worn-out boots, weathered from heavy travel, took him over to the young girl. He knelt beside her, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. It was a difficult thing to do when one was surrounded by the smoldering wreckage of any living being’s worst nightmare. The condition in which the gods left this particular Northwestern town was abysmal. In any case, he produced a gentle smile.
“What’s your mother’s name, kid?”
The small thing shriveled into the chest of her matriarch, but Revi saw a flash of bravery in her eyes. She swallowed, her hand placed tightly over her mother’s. “Jessina,” she squeaked, trying to sound more courageous than her dehydrated throat allowed.
“Lovely name,” Revi replied, his tone soft as he tried to find the fallen woman’s attention. “And you? Did your mother give you just as exquisite a title, then?”
The tension in her arms released, but not by much. “I’m Emmy,” she said, marginally more confident this time.
“Emmy. Beautiful.” He nodded, keeping a respectful distance away from the pair. “Have you a place you two were trying to get to?”
Emmy’s eyes fell. She looked at her mother, hoping the woman would answer. She did not. “We were trying to get to the shelter. Mama said some good people made a place for us to go.”
“I see.” Revi stayed calm, though Jessina’s condition troubled him. “Did your mama say which town this shelter was in?”
Emmy bit her bottom lip, still patting her mother’s hand. “She ... said it was in Bricklemore.”
He was not familiar with the town. Panagea was a big place, and Bricklemore rang no bells. But as Revi turned his eyes outward and assessed the direction in which the small handful of lucid others wandered, he crafted an educated guess where they needed to go. “Were you heading in this direction?” he asked, gesturing to where he saw other people walking.
Emmy nodded wordlessly.
“All right. Well, Emmy, your mama looks very tired.” Revi tilted his head, trying once more to catch any signs of cognition in her. “Don’t you think she deserves someone to carry her a while so that she might rest?”
Emmy nodded again, her pupils growing wide with a glimmer of optimism.
“You don’t think she’d mind?” Revi asked, just to be sure.
“No, sir,” Emmy shook her head. “She is very tired.”
“Right, well ...” Revi slid one arm behind Jessina’s back, the other beneath the bend in her knees. He lifted the woman up, who did not process the ability, or need to fight back, and cradled her against his chest. “She can sleep while we go the rest of the way then. How does that sound? Are you able to walk?”
Emmy stood. She grabbed her mother’s hand, which dangled down at her side, next to Revi. “I can walk,” she said with sureness.
“Strong girl.” Revi walked, making sure to keep a low pace, as not to apply any additional stress to Emmy. “Do you know how far it is to Bricklemore?”
Emmy climbed over a small chunk of upturned ground, still clinging to her mother’s limp hand. “Mama said it was only another mile or so before she was too tired to go on.”
A mile or so. He had that in him. Revi readjusted his grip on Jessina as the world smoldered around him. The sun cast strange shadows on the streets as it shined through the broken structures that flanked them. He stepped over a puddle of something, what it was, he did not wish to know.
Nearly a week had passed since Revi entered the chaos of the Northwestern division. He did well to pass by those who grieved. It was easy to bypass the slew of lost adults. His heart did not bleed for them, and they offered him no insights into Avigail’s location. He asked every articulate person he saw if they spotted her along the way, but to no avail. They were unable to help him, and in turn, he felt no desire to assist them either. But he couldn’t find it in himself to leave Emmy to her fate. He did that to enough children already.
His objective was Vadim’s home town: Striburn. Where that was in relation to Bricklemore, he did not know, as traveling on foot differed greatly than traveling by airship. But he remained confident he’d find his way.
The decaying land around them reminded him much of Avadon. The air collected the putrid, unmistakable scent of decomposing corpses. It was so thick, he tasted it on the back of his tongue. An occasional, far off scream punctured his eardrums, but Revi did not react. He’d heard enough screams in his lifetime to pass them off as nothing more than unflattering lullabies. While he hoped Emmy was not negatively affected by them, Revi also wished she did not share the same level of detachment he did.
But as the small child lovingly caressed her mother’s hand with her thumb while they walked, he doubted she would.
Sheer determination goaded him to make the trek in less than an hour. Even with the burdensome weight of Jessina’s lifeless body in his arms, Revi and Emmy crossed the shattered remnants of the unknown Northwestern town. The two advanced up a short hill, crafted by a mound of rubble, and gazed down at a tent city, sprawling across the expanse of what Revi assumed was the border of Bricklemore.
“I think we made it, kid.” He glanced once at Jessina, to see if she recovered from her shock, but the woman had yet to regain herself. “Do you know anybody here?”
Revi could tell Emmy did not quite grasp the meaning of ‘communal chaos’, that she only repeated what her mother told her word for word. But he also knew she believed in the sentiment of her mother’s message with her whole heart, whether she understood it or not. That alone dissolved her fear of the unknown. “All right. Let’s find you both a place then, shall we?”
Emmy led Revi down the hill of wreckage, running into the streets that were lined with makeshift camps. Families of all sorts dwelled beneath tattered tarps and stretched sheets. The long walk made Revi’s arms ache, but he held fast to Jessina, weaving through unfathomable crowds of people.
So many displaced. So many gathered. Though the situation that brought these people here was a depressing one, the aura that emanated from this place left Revi with a consoling feeling. He could leave Jessina and Emmy here and know they would be all right.
The scent of a public stew met his nose. It was much kinder than that of sun-blistered cadavers. He followed Emmy, who must have also followed the smell, to a group of people surrounding a rusted, iron cauldron. It sat over a pit of fire, surrounded by mismatched stones that contained the flames. The viscous liquid bubbled and boiled as he glanced inside it, still holding tight to Jessina’s frail frame.
“From which part of Northwestern did you come?” an unidentified voice asked.
Revi spun, taking in the sight of an elderly man. Wrinkled, bearded, with liver spots spanning his face, he appeared as though he lived through several lifetimes of hell, but prevailed each time. “None,” Revi replied, clearing his throat. “I’ve come to Northwestern in search of my daughter. Perhaps you’ve seen her?”
“We’ve seen many,” the man said, his eyes flicking to Jessina. “Does this one need a bed to rest in?” He motioned for a young man behind him to step forward.