The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  Initial guilt came from thinking about the fall of the other division leaders. It almost felt as though Bartholomew traded their safety for his own. No efforts were made to assist them. The influence of the gods spread too quickly there. Whatever became of Vadim Canmore and Emont, he had no idea. Truth be told, Bartholomew thought it best he didn’t know the intimate details.

  He quickly passed the thoughts off as a normal humanitarian response. Well-meaning folk often felt the brunt of things they thought they could change. But Bartholomew could not change the gods’ obvious corruption of Emont. Or their re-corruption of Vadim. Or Nordjan’s corruption of himself. Or whatever it was that happened to Elowyn ...

  He could change one thing, however. Or so he thought. He believed it so strongly, he poured the last year of his life into bringing it to fruition.

  “After tonight,” Bartholomew said, reaching over to grab a hat, which he placed atop his head, “I will need to take leave to Odelusk. I will be gone, perhaps, two weeks.”

  Kal recognized the name of the town. It was a large city, located near a mountain toward the top of Southern. “Carry the word as far as you need to, Bartholomew. I will keep things moving swiftly here in Seacaster until you return.”

  The ambassador’s words melted over Bartholomew with a warming effect. Enough to banish the apprehensions of whisking away into a potentially violent night. “I know you will,” he said, placing a tender hand on Kal’s cheek. “You always do.”

  The pair shared a kiss before Bartholomew headed for the door. He supposed the footmen on the first floor of his home would already be alert. They knew his routine. The passing months had branded it into their brains as night by night, he took to Seacaster’s streets.

  “Bartholomew,” Kal called out, watching as he stopped in the open door. He tried to smile, but it betrayed his qualms. “Do be careful.”

  Absent of fear, the scholar stood straighter in the door. He met Kal’s smile with his own, a far more reassuring version than the kind-hearted ambassador was able to pull off at the moment. Bartholomew hoped it was enough to soothe him. “I will be as careful as I have ever been, Kal. Please, do not worry yourself with things beyond your control.” He shook his head. “Even if I am more cautious than I have been in past trips,” he said, shrugging, “eventually, death comes for us all.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Death was coming. Granite knew for weeks that the necessary hand of the reaper knocked on the door of his cabin. It did not matter how far the behemoth retreated into the airship. The sound echoed off the walls of his mind, and each night, try as he might to drown them out, they only grew louder.

  If only he were able to decapitate the reaper with the same ability that he could decapitate a living entity. But the angel of death was one foe that his raw strength could not keep at bay.

  His dog had aged. Months turned into years, and years turned into arthritis. Arthritis gave way for other ailments to invade. Granite had no medical background to speak of; he did not know precisely what had slowed the animal’s jubilant prances to low energy limps. He only knew that the creature’s time with him was running out.

  With the beast’s head in his lap, the pair sat on the airship’s deck, Granite stroked his fur. The hair had grown wirier over the years, it seemed. He remembered the day the scraggly mutt crawled out from that garbage pit in Eastern nine years ago. A thick mucus of oil weaved through the animal’s fur that day. How long it had been there, Granite had no idea. He recalled the smell still. Even today, the memory made him wrinkle his nose.

  Granite was barely a man when he found the dog, still living with his family outside of Avital York’s hometown of Shoudmond. He had taken to roaming the heaping garbage pits nearby for anything that might be useful to himself or his relatives. Some days he’d find salvageable scraps. Most days, he did not. And then, on one particularly unassuming day ... he found the beast.

  He recalled the animal tearing into a trash bag as it stood on a mound of discarded oxygen syringes. The dog clawed at the plastic until it ripped open, where it wolfed down spoiled food someone threw out at least a week ago.

  Granite had never seen a dog before. He’d never seen any kind of animal, aside from his fellow man. How the beast ended up in that pile of rubbish, he did not know. When the mutt turned to him after he’d accidentally kicked an unseen aluminum can, they shared a stand-off of sorts. Their eyes locked together, as they assessed the other for indications of whether or not they were a threat.

  The beast’s tail had wagged. Granite did not know the intricacies of animal body language. He remembered not knowing what to make of it. He recalled stiffening as the creature ran toward him. Granite panicked back then. Though he was certain he could take the animal on, as he met his massive size early in his life, he had still found himself frozen.

  The beast had bounded over to him, his tongue flopping out of his muzzle. His beady eyes were filled with wild affection and curiosity, two things Granite never saw in the eyes of any man or woman, his family included.

  After that first moment of fear melted at the sight of the beast’s large, brown eyes, Granite’s heart swelled. He loved him immediately.

  For a young man who had never known adoration, the beast built a bridge between complete isolation and companionship that every sentient person craved. Granite credited the animal for saving his soul. Without the mongrel’s pure, unconditional love, the man knew he would have emulated the only thing he’d ever seen up until he met the dog: the ugliness of mankind. It lived in his grandfather. His father. His brothers. Granite, himself, had already touched it with his short history of violence. Were it not for the beast, he would have drowned in it.

  Granite looked down at the dog now as it laid in his lap. All those years later, his tail still swayed from side to side. It was slower now. Not as animated. A full life in the rough hands of Panagea did little to drain the beast of his spirit ... but it did drain him of his vitality. Time had a way of doing that to every living creature. Especially as of late.

  If the beast knew he was dying, he showed no indication. He bent his body to lick Granite’s hand, the once quick assault from the animal’s tongue now a leisurely crawl across the skin. His head fell back into the man’s lap moments later, unable to sustain the exertion.

  “Good boy.” Granite gently sank his fingers into the folds of skin around the animal’s neck, giving him a good, final scratch. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

  Footsteps on the main deck did not summon Granite’s attention. Bermuda exited from the airship’s cabins, wincing when the sunlight speared her eyes. She lifted a hand to shield her vision. It allowed her to take in the silhouette of Granite and his canine.

  The quartermaster knew her comrade endured an agony. The beast’s failing health was no secret. One did not live with the spritely animal as long as they had and not notice the measured movements ... the difficulty breathing ... the agonizing gimps in steps that were once full of life.

  It took her longer to come to terms with it than she would have liked. Bermuda had her own demons that plagued her, in the form of the captain’s absence and slaughtering the gods and goddesses that remained in Northeastern. The hunt for Mimir was never-ending.

  Yet, even in the face of her growing set of problems, Bermuda tried to cling to the mental health of her crew. Her friends. She could not allow Granite to suffer to the same degree as she. It was not a fate she’d wish on anyone. She felt for him, truly. A disconnect existed, however, in feeling it in her heart ... and showing it in her actions. It was hard to be vulnerable when she wanted nothing more than to be strong.

  Bermuda inhaled and walked over, lowering herself into a sitting position on the opposite side of the resting dog. She reached her organic hand over, preferring to feel the texture of the beast’s coat as she stroked him. His chest heaved with each breath. The inhalations were rapid and unsteady. He was in pain.

  Bermuda lifted her eyes to Granite. He stared ahead, unmoving
, save for the hand that continued to pet his dog. “My offer still stands, you know.” Bermuda stroked the beast’s fur, finding a place to rest her hand that wasn’t near Granite’s. “I know it’s been a year since we set foot in Southeastern, but ...” She frowned, more over her own actions than anything else. “We can fly him to Umbriel. She can heal him. Regenerate him.”

  Every time she asked him, it got harder to say no. Granite’s arm lifted with each labored breath the beast took. He pulled the animal closer to him. “I can’t,” he said. “I couldn’t do that to him.”

  The events of the last months had hardened Bermuda. Her callousness grew with her hunger for vengeance. But her heart’s transformation into stone was not a complete one. A softness still existed for the crew. Her comrades. She wanted to be respectful. Still, she did not understand his decision ... no more than she ever understood Kazuaki’s desire to end his contract with immortality. “He’s your dog, Granite. It’s your decision.” She leaned back against the railing of the airship, dragging her hands over his fur. “I just ... don’t understand why you wouldn’t.”

  The man swallowed. His face gave away nothing. “If I learned anything from the captain,” he said, “it is that there is no glory in an unending life.”

  Bermuda felt a stab in her chest. A small flutter at the mention of the captain. She thought of him every day. He consumed her thoughts. But she never spoke his name out loud. It only made his absence heavier. “There isn’t glory in a lot of things,” she murmured, trying to sweep the feeling over her to better allow her to be present for Granite’s grief, “but we do them anyway.”

  “We do.” Granite rubbed his thumb over the beast’s jaw, just beneath his eye. It was one of the animal’s favorite spots. “But our vainglorious moments are always motivated by selfishness. Fear. The beast has given me nothing but unconditional love. And no matter how much it hurts, I will return the favor.”

  “Love could save him too,” Bermuda said, having a hard time watching the animal as it panted in Granite’s lap. Love was the very reason she continued to hunt gods across Panagea. Love looked strange wearing the mask of vengeance, but when the guise fell away, it was what it was. “What’s the difference?”

  “Love could save him,” Granite agreed, taking measured breaths as he felt the weight of the animal on his legs. “But it cannot save Panagea.” He turned to face her. “I asked myself over and over again, if I take him to Umbriel, if I save him, what am I saving him from? A peaceful death? A warm descent into the afterlife, where he will have only known affection, and be freed from the plague that has infected this place? You want me to invite him to live in a world that falls deeper into its own shit storm day after day?” Granite found his voice rising, but he returned it to its steady state, as not to upset his mongrel. “No. I will not do it. As it stands, with things as they are, even my own life is not guaranteed. I would much rather, of the two of us, he go first. Then he will never know the pain of a life absent from me. He has earned his passage to somewhere greater,” Granite said, turning away. “I am not an educated man, Bermuda. I do not know where he will go when he dies. But it has to be better than here.”

  The quartermaster swallowed. It was the most Granite had ever said to her in the years they had known one another. She followed his gaze outward, leaning her head back against the side of the airship. “Well,” she said, wanting to be present for her friend, “I’ll sit with you both then ... if you’d like.”

  A stinging feeling attacked the man’s eyes. It made him feel far too exposed. “I would prefer a moment alone with him,” he said, his words tumbling out unevenly.

  Bermuda glanced down at the beast. His tongue laid out the side of his muzzle. His eyes were losing their sheen. She nodded, placing a hand on Granite’s shoulder. “Of course. I understand.”

  Granite kept his composure as the quartermaster stood. He focused on the sound of her footsteps fading away from his ears. It was easier than focusing on the dwindling breaths taken by the beast. When he was certain she was gone, he took the sharp inhale he had kept at bay.

  “It’s all right,” he said to the canine once more, his strokes slow and loving. “I’m not going anywhere ...”

  He sat with the beast for what felt like seconds, though the sun’s position in the sky said it had been hours. His jaw clenched. He continued to stroke the dog, unable to stop. His heart thudded faster. So too, did the beast’s breaths.

  And then, in the only place the dog ever wanted to be, they stopped altogether.

  It hurt worse than any gunshot wound. It stung more than any blade. The pain fell over him in such a cataclysmic waterfall that he thought it might kill him. It felt as though it should have. Granite’s lips trembled as he kept his anguish inside. Only a short, guttural sound of loss forced its way out past the behemoth’s lips. The sun set behind him, molding an orange glow over his body as he continued to pet the animal who no longer felt his touch.

  The beast’s death was not valiant. He did not perish in the heat of a battle. He did not die saving a life. He died the only way Granite ever wanted for him. Peacefully. Loved. Freed.

  Chapter Six

  Lilac would have appreciated the collection of vines that grew over her headstone. Even still, Nicholai swept them off with a gentle hand, careful not to damage their integrity as he guided them to grow elsewhere. He just wanted to see her name. It was easier to pretend she was nearby when he could read the letters carved into the rock.

  “Sorry it’s been so long,” he said out loud, having grown beyond feeling foolish at talking to an inanimate object over the years. “Keeping Southeastern free from the wrath of the lesser gods is a bit more time consuming than I thought it would be.”

  When Nicholai was satisfied with the appearance of Lilac’s headstone, he stood back to admire it for a moment. A smile crossed his face as he turned, lowering himself to a sitting position on the ground beside it. “To be honest,” he continued, “I’m not even sure it’s going that well. It’s impossible to keep them out of every city. Many, still, have died in Southeastern.” His latest admission took his small smile with it. “I suppose I should be thankful it hasn’t been as bad here as it’s been in the other divisions.”

  The Time Father removed his hat and set it on his knee, pressing his back into the hard surface of Lilac’s monument. “I’m bridging the gap,” he continued, “trying to make people less susceptible to corruption by taking away some of what makes them vulnerable, but ...” He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s not as easy as I imagined. I’ve been looking at Panagea through rose-colored glasses my entire life, Lilac. As the son of a Time Father, I didn’t have much to complain about financially ... and mom more than made up for Edvard’s lack of presence. But, you know ... as it turns out, for how wonderfully I saw this place, there’s a lot for people to fear in this world. Not even just from the gods,” he said, frowning. “But from each other, as well.”

  A cool wind swished some leaves over to his feet. Nicholai glanced down at the dry, fallen shapes and smiled to himself. “I believe in them, though,” he added, nodding. “Now I just have to keep them alive long enough until they start believing in themselves.”

  Silence followed his monologue. It always did. Death had a way of stripping an individual’s ability to engage in conversation. Nicholai was not even certain if life existed in any way after death. For all he knew, his words could have been wasted, carried off on the back of the wind and falling in no ears but his own. But speaking to Lilac brought him comfort that he otherwise did not have. For that, he continued to return to her final resting place, and keep her up to speed on Panagea. The stories he told lately, however, lacked happy endings.

  “Edvard is implementing some of the successes we’ve seen in Southeastern in his division, as well. They were his ideas anyway. Or Esther Hiddle’s, but,” Nicholai shrugged, “I wonder if seeing the changes she unintentionally brought forth would have saved her from herself.” He trailed off, thinking
briefly of the possessed woman Edvard spoke of in his letters. His face fell at the thought of her. One of the many countless victims who fell to the influence of the lesser gods.

  “Listen to me lament,” he muttered with a dim chuckle. “What good does that do?” His laughter grew, but only by a small margin. “Gods, it would have earned me a contemptuous stare from Kazuaki, that’s for sure.” His smile faded again. Nicholai rested the back of his head against the stone. “I really do feel his absence, Lilac. I’m not a big fan of the lesser gods, but ... I don’t think legends are supposed to die. There’s a hole in Panagea where that man used to be. That I ever used to think he and his crew were somehow ‘less than’ simply because of their history. Gods, that sounds like something Ganther Odenhardth would think.”

  Nicholai sat up, his eyes falling to the leaves that gathered around his feet. To feel any connection with Ganther’s character, outdated or otherwise, made the hair on the back of the man’s neck stand on end. “I’m telling you, Lilac, if anyone invents the ability to go back in time, I would sooner travel back to my beginning on that ship and slap myself in the face than ever share a thought similar to that man’s again.” He closed his eyes, trying to force a contemplative smile. “I’d change a lot of things.”

  The man’s hands swept to his chest. His Chronometer fell into his palm. He opened his eyes long enough to glance down at it, catching a distorted reflection of his face in the glass before he wound the top. To imagine a world where a man could travel back in time ... those were nothing more than pipe dreams. Time only moved forward, as Nicholai was painfully aware.

  “Bermuda hasn’t been back,” he said aloud, his thoughts returning to Kazuaki and the crew. “I know it’s only because she’d never want to put me in the position of having to pardon her for the trail of bodies she’s leaving across Panagea. I can’t say I agree with how she’s handling Kazuaki’s end, but ... I do wish she’d come back. If even for a little while.” Nicholai slid his Chronometer back into the safety of his clothing and leaned back once more. “And the others. The crew. Revi. Avigail. I never thought they would stay away for this long.” His brows furrowed over his eyes and he frowned. “I hope they are well ...”