A thunderous rumble behind them caused both men to turn. Dust spewed from the open doors of the factory as a wall inside it fell. One step closer to adjusting the interior layout to suit the learning institution’s needs. Nicholai redirected his focus back to Ganther. “This isn’t a business anymore.” He forced the envelope of money into Ganther’s hands.
His fingers curled around the envelope, giving little thought to how it crushed under the weight of his frustration. “You would spit on the Odenhardth name like this?” he asked, acrimony glazing the words as they leaked off his tongue.
“My only hope is to raise many names, that they might join the Odenhardth rank.” Nicholai’s rising aggression settled when he realized he subconsciously clenched his fists at his sides. Releasing the tension in both metal and flesh, the Time Father tilted his head. “I would much prefer your help than your resistance, Ganther. I’m sure you have much to teach us about your family’s success.”
A muscle twitched in Ganther’s jaw. His teeth tightened together as he took a step back. “I have much to teach you, indeed.” He stole a final glimpse of his falling factory as he tucked the money into his pocket. Though he did not offer eye contact, Ganther addressed the Time Father a final time. “Until we meet again, Mr. Addihein.”
He felt Nicholai’s eyes on him as he walked away. They bore into the back of his skull with unrelenting strength. As Ganther made his way back around the street corner to find his chauffeur, he once again pulled forward the early memories of Nicholai’s reign. A youthful, malleable ruler during his twenties, who was naïve and susceptible to the influence of others. Ganther missed those days. Life experience and time hardened the young Addihein man into an irritating thorn.
Thorns required removal unless one wanted to run the risk of infection.
The long car ride home gave Ganther ample time to think. The assassination attempts had been unsuccessful all around. He knew he was among several who commissioned the employment of Panagea’s criminals to end Nicholai’s life. Destroying the Time Father on a physical level was ineffective. Though his primary source of protection fell off the face of Panagea a year ago, even without the immortal Kazuaki Hidataka to protect him, Nicholai adapted.
Surrounded by footmen and the aid of the Earth Mother, with her damnable abilities to heal wounds, Nicholai was untouchable. But Ganther Odenhardth did not shy away from a challenge. If he could not drain the Time Father of his mortal life, he would simply destroy it another way.
The very way Nicholai was destroying his.
It was one thing to force him to surrender one of his countless factories. It was another entirely to challenge the Odenhardth name. The legacy they built was nothing less than magnificent and it commanded respect. Respect Nicholai Addihein refused to give.
But for every success a family had, Ganther knew failures crept in historic shadows. Some were tucked farther away than others, but he was a man of compelling means, unafraid to get his hands dirty. If Nicholai Addihein intended to shit all over his family’s legacy, Ganther Odenhardth would return the favor.
He might even be able to turn the people Nicholai loved into weapons. People were emotional things. Inciting a riot would be the smallest of his challenges if he acquired the right information. An unhurried smirk stretched over his lips at the thought.
“Driver,” he said, crossing one leg over the other from his place in the steam car’s back seat, “when we return home, I need you to find some eager participants. I have a well-paying job available for any who wish to accept it.”
The driver arched a brow, peering into the mirror that allowed him to spy Ganther’s face. A job Ganther considered well-paying was enough to grab any man’s interest. “What type of job is that, m’lord?”
“I need eyes and ears in Southeastern and Western. Dig up every skeleton the Addihein name has in its closet ... and report them to me immediately.”
If Ganther Odenhardth could not find a successful assassin to slaughter Nicholai, he’d employ more unconventional methods. One way or another, out of revenge for his family name, he intended to spill some blood.
Chapter Ten
Blood was not meant to leak out of a person’s eyes. Bermuda pinched her lids together tightly, straining to open the door to Aggi Normandy’s formal dining hall. With her katar in her metal hand, still coated in fluids from a fresh decapitation, she raised her free fingers to apply pressure to her tear ducts.
When the dizziness that accompanied the leaking, red liquid faded, she pulled her fingers back. Rapid blinking helped clear the contamination from her corneas, but the blood on her fingertips still looked blurry through her vision. An irritated sigh left her lungs. With the heel of her palm, she brushed as much of the crimson fluid away before entering farther into the room.
The tip of the katar scraped against the floor as she dragged it. The vastness of the room accentuated the noise. Bermuda frowned. She did not wish to sully Aggi Normandy’s property, but with the effects of her stimulant fading from her veins, lifting the katar was a feat.
With a grunt, the woman heaved it up from the floor. It fell into her shoulder, where it laid until she found the chair she had pulled up next to the phonograph. Freeing her body from the task of holding up her weight, she collapsed into it.
The ethereal paleness of her irises were slow to return to their dark brown hue. They would, soon. Once her liver pumped the last remnants of the stimulant out of her body.
Bermuda stared up at the baroque, tin ceiling. Her pulse faded to a crawl. The time between breaths drew longer. One arm reached over to the phonograph. The lid to access the turntable was already raised, left in that position the last time she sat with it. When was that? Two days ago? Four? She found herself in and out of Aggi’s home so frequently these days, she wasn’t sure. Mornings blended into evenings and evenings into new dawns. Fresh or otherwise, they all felt very much the same.
It took effort she didn’t have, but her arm wound the phonograph’s motor. Her muscles protested the entire time. Her reward would come soon enough. The song she wished to hear was already in its place. It always was. Nobody was foolish enough to move it.
As soon as the music touched her ears, her arm fell limp. It smacked into the chair at her side and she closed her eyes. Irritation poked at her skin, as chunks of the blood that leaked from her eyes prior began to crust over and dry. She was too tired to scrape it off. The last goddess she slew took a lot out of her, and for little to no gain. None of the gods Bermuda had slaughtered so far had any useful information about Mimir’s whereabouts.
It was time to clear her thoughts of such let downs. The quartermaster wished only to regenerate in the company of her favorite tune.
As time passed, killing the gods and goddesses who dared to mettle with people outside of Northwestern’s borders grew harder. They knew Bermuda possessed the weapon, and therefore would not appear on their own accord. Trickery was the only way to lure most lessers into the open long enough to kill them. A few stayed on died on arrogance alone, but it was not enough. Interrogations were a thing of difficulty, as well. There was little time to ask questions before running the risk that the god or goddess would simply disappear, transporting themselves to a far safer environment.
They were slippery little feckers. Slippery feckers who had failed throughout their countless deaths to bring her any closer to finding Mimir.
Bermuda cast the heavy thoughts aside. They plagued her enough. From her tired throat, she hummed along to the melody that flowed from the phonograph’s horn. Each note laid a warm blanket over her weary bones. With her neck slumping loosely into the back of the chair, and her legs sprawled straight before her, she rested.
Aggi stared at her from the entrance to the dining hall, his arms stiff at his sides. When his footmen sent word that she and the other crewmen had returned from their latest trip, he knew he’d find her here. Regardless of the condition she was in upon her return, Bermuda always crawled to this place. Her h
aven. Aggi did not understand it, nor did he wish to. He simply let her have a safe space.
Until today ...
He blew his cheeks out and swallowed the air around him, finding the courage to enter the room. Strange, he thought, how a man of such commanding power would still find himself shuddering over the unpredictable temper of a friend.
If she knew he was present, she did not show it. Aggi walked over to the table and reached over to grab another chair. He pulled it from its place near the dining table and moved it up beside her. Her wilting body was hard to ignore. She looked as a skeleton might, with nothing more than a sickly veil of skin wrapping around her form. It pained him to see her in such a state.
Before he lowered himself into his seat, Aggi cleared his throat. A courtesy to let her know he was there if she did not know already. His fingers laced together and folded into his lap. She did not respond.
The sound of her hums touched his ears. Against the ravaged dryness of her throat, she hit every note. Aggi found his fingers squeezing tightly together. He needed to be the first to speak. He knew she wouldn’t assume the task. “You must have every chord memorized by now,” he said, his voice soft and observant.
Bermuda showed no acknowledgment. She only continued to hum along to the song.
Aggi reached up to pull on his collar. A sudden, suffocating heat swept through him. “You’ve done a lot for Northeastern in the way of keeping the gods out of Apetlas and the neighboring cities. I know the town’s salvation is only a side effect of your personal goal, but I’m grateful nevertheless.”
She stopped humming, but her eyes remained closed. The tone in his confession was grave. Enough to capture some of her attention.
The Northeastern Time Father licked his lips and sat back. “Bermuda ... I know I said you and the others could stay here, and I want you to know my gratitude comes first and foremost for all the gods you’ve killed, but ...” He tried to find her eyes, but she offered him none. Aggi sighed. “You’ve ... put me in a tough spot.”
The quartermaster did not ease his discomfort with a response.
Aggi sighed once more, running his fingers through his hair. She intended to make him say it. “I know you’ve been bribing the Northeastern military’s pharmaceutical industries to provide you with stimulants. Bermuda, those drugs are for soldiers in dire circumstances. For moments when they need to perform beyond their body’s limitations. They’re not intended for everyday use.” He looked her body over, catching sight of the blood that dried in the corners of her eyes. He winced, his brows drawing together. “I shudder to think of what damage you’ve done to your body already.”
Her eyes opened, but she did not grant him her full attention. Bermuda stared at the ceiling, her slow pulse visible in each throb of her exposed throat.
“I can forgive the forged prescriptions,” Aggi continued, leaning forward with worry. “But ... I can’t keep exonerating you for killing Northeastern footmen. Particularly commanders.”
Her voice came on with such an unexpected force, it almost felt as though it assaulted the room. “Commander Avard was in bed with the gods,” she murmured. “In more ways than one.”
An uncomfortable look molded over Aggi’s face. “So I’ve heard.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and shook his head. “Bermuda, I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this, but ... if you can’t stop killing Northeastern soldiers, you have to leave. I’m the leader of this division. Those men give their lives for Northeastern and each death you bring reflects poorly on—”
“Shh,” she interrupted, throwing up a finger to silence him, “this is the best part.”
Aggi frowned as he turned to the phonograph. The music flowed softly, but a slow-rising crescendo soon burst from the horn. He glanced at the quartermaster, catching sight of the dim smirk that rested on her face. Her chest swelled, soaring with the song until the notes died back down to their traditional volume. “Are you even listening to me?” he asked, his voice scarcely a mumble.
For the first time since he entered the study, Bermuda granted him her entire focus. She lifted her head from the chair’s back and opened her eyes. “Loud and clear.”
Staring into her crusted eyes sent a shudder through him. Aggi did not appear convinced that she absorbed the impact of his statement, but nodded. “Right, well ... I don’t want you to misinterpret what I’m saying. You’re welcome to stay here, you know. Just ... refrain from killing my soldiers.”
Bermuda watched him and said nothing. Her silence made his skin crawl.
Aggi squared his shoulders. “You know why I have to do this, don’t you? Please, do not make this harder for either of us than it needs to be.”
No response.
Aggi closed his eyes. “I do wish you’d choose to stay. The people of Apetlas feel much safer with you here. The gods’ presence in Northeastern dwindles by the day, but they know that if any dare to venture passed Northwestern’s borders, the Steel Serpent will make short work of them.”
Bermuda cocked her head to the side. Slowly, she peeled her back off the chair and adjusted her legs, leaning forward. With keen eyes fixed on Aggi, she rubbed her nose with her thumb and sniffed. “You’re right. Their presence in Northeastern has definitely decreased ...” Her brows fell over her eyes as she cupped her chin in her hand. “If I want to find more gods, I’ll need to go to the source.”
Wrinkling his forehead, Aggi held out his hands. “That’s not what I—”
“No,” Bermuda interrupted, her gaze darting around the room as she collected her thoughts. “It’s true. Northeastern doesn’t need us anymore. We haven’t made any progress here. We need to go where the answers are,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “I’m sure we’ll find them in Northwestern.”
It was not the response he suspected. Upon further internal examination, Aggi wondered if it was her way of giving him an out. He couldn’t be sure. Bermuda was as difficult to read as she was determined. He put no fault upon her for that.
Aggi nodded, patting his palms onto his knees before he pushed himself to stand. “I’m ... sorry to see you go,” he said, staring down at the broken woman. He looked away long enough to return his chair to its place near the table, his hands lingering on the back before he turned to face her once more. “For what it’s worth, I hope you find Mimir. The captain was a good man.”
Bermuda’s eyes fell away. His words earned him more stillness. He knew it was time to leave. Aggi Normandy cleared his throat once more and left the quartermaster to her post-slaughter ritual, closing the double doors behind him. He hoped, when she left, she’d find the same peace out there, that she always found in here.
Chapter Eleven
Umbriel remembered when myths and legends wove through the landscape. Supernatural creatures and stories intertwined with reality, blending life’s magic with the practicality of an ordinary day.
She remembered when men and women gathered around campfires with their children and neighbors to tell stories of Panagea’s legends. They were kept alive by resounding voices filled with excited inflections. The thrill reflected in the sparkling eyes of the children who congregated around the flames. The stories lived not only throughout Panagea but in the throats and hearts of those who shared them.
Umbriel recalled when homes were made of logs, labor, and love. When the only metal around was the melted iron used to fashion large nails, crafted one by one.
Memories of folklores. Of fantastic, but truly real treasures, scattered throughout the mountains, valleys, and grasslands.
She did not want to believe the world had changed. Though hundreds of years separated her from this place as she dwelled on her island, she truly wished to hold fast to what Panagea once was.
While sitting in the tallest tree that crawled up from Nenada’s soil, she stared out over the citizens and buildings and came to a sad realization. Those memories remained fresh at the forefront of her thoughts, but Panagea had forgotten them long ago. Or at least, the people wh
o trod upon her did.
The frayed ends of her dress dangled below her as she sat, knees bent, on the tree’s sturdy limb. The height provided a new perspective.
Hope swelled in her chest when her feet first touched Panagea’s soil several years ago. When Kazuaki, Nicholai, and the crew plucked her from the island the past Time Fathers’ had sentenced her to. Despite her best efforts, things had not gone according to plan. They halted the continent’s decay. They reintroduced nature, in turn reintroducing the gods and goddesses. While many died in the typhoon that was the gods’ wrath, forests returned, water ran clean again, and the components for a societal restructuring lingered at her fingertips.
Why was it, then, that her stomach filled with an undeniable sense of dread?
Umbriel closed her eyes. An unsettling feeling slithered through her toes and up into her legs. She tried to soothe it with meditation, with calming grounding techniques. It was easy to do on her island. Only she, the animals, and the plants needed to communicate, and the three shared a common understanding with the world.
But the people here, who she adored and wanted the best for, remained fragmented. Divided. Much as Umbriel loved the countless people of Panagea, they threatened to drain her of the hundreds of years’ worth of mental tranquility she had worked tirelessly to perfect.
She felt every ounce of their fear. Their uncertainty. It traveled through the soil and up into her often bare feet. The general dissatisfaction of humanity acted as a slow poison to the Earth Mother, draining her of all she had achieved in her life of solitude. She felt herself slipping. The sound state of mind that solidified Umbriel Dasyra became more tainted by mankind’s tangible aura of negativity with each passing day.
Still ... she loved them.
She wanted them to capture that same joy she saw in the eyes of her generation. She wanted them to experience the delight of Panagea’s myths and legends, without the modern fears they had earned. But the more Umbriel thought, the more she wondered ... was that tranquil piece of nostalgia what the people of Panagea wanted? Or was it what she wanted?
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 100