The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  Steam rose from the vessels, and into the air as he extended himself, offering one to Revi. “Hibiscus tea?”

  Revi arched a brow, throwing a judgmental look at Vadim.

  The Time Father only laughed. “Is that a no?”

  “The last time I saw you,” Revi started, “you were burning your division to the ground for some poorly perceived construct of financial gain. The gods used you.” He looked at the cup with disgust before he gazed at Vadim once more. “You didn’t seem like you valued life then, so you’ll have to pardon me if I don’t intend to risk mine by blindly drinking whatever foreign liquid you offer me.”

  Vadim blinked, then shrugged. “Well, that all makes sense,” he said, setting Revi’s cup down at his side. “I don’t remember much of that. I only know that it must have been necessary.”

  A scoff flew out of Revi’s throat. He felt more ridiculous for lingering here with each passing second. “What the feck makes you think that?”

  Sitting back, Vadim lifted his cup, blowing the steam away as if it would somehow cool the hot contents down. “If the gods needed me to do it, I am happy to help.” Satisfied with the temperature, he lifted the tea to his lips and enjoyed a careful drink. “They want what’s best for Panagea, you know. As it is our home, they must also want what is best for us.”

  A hostile laugh followed the man’s observation. “I’m sure the millions they killed in their endeavors would think differently,” Revi muttered.

  Vadim tilted his head, looking pensive. “There’s a lot of honor in the sacrifices they made. They will go into their next life with insurmountable honor.”

  Before Revi could reply, a woman poked her head into the small shelter. The same woman from before; Revi recognized her immediately. She slipped inside, holding smoked meats in her hand. “Something to eat?” she asked, glancing back and forth between the two men.

  The smell was inviting, but not enough to turn Revi away from caution. He had plenty of meat, and even if he hadn’t ... the man adamantly refused to give Vadim and his companions the satisfaction of assisting him.

  “Thank you, my dear.” Vadim gestured to an open space beside him. “You could set it there if you’d like.”

  With a nod, she rested the food beside Vadim, down onto a flat, wooden slab that served as a plate. “Is there anything else I can do for either of you?”

  Vadim smiled. “That will be all for now. Thank you.”

  The woman returned his show of platonic affection before she slipped back outside.

  Revi stared at the opening that she both entered and exited, his jaw tight. He craned his neck toward Vadim, his nose crinkled. “What are these people? Puppets?” The whole thing rubbed him wrong. Gone were the insufferable personalities of those who dwelled in civilized towns. These people were strange. Eerily at ease. They reminded him of Umbriel in a way, but they had not come to their tranquility in the same way as she. It seemed ... artificial. “What the feck is the gods’ plans now?”

  Having burned his tongue on the tea, Vadim winced. He closed one eye and blew out, reaching over to set his cup down. “Well,” he swept his tongue over his teeth, trying to scrub away the sensation the hot liquid left behind, “they cleared their debt with mankind. The consequences for forgetting the gods have been dealt with. What they do now, well ... that’s as varying as the gods, themselves.” Vadim lifted his shoulders to shrug. “Some are still mad. Most have forgiven and moved on.”

  All he knew to do was scowl. Revi sat with his loathing, shaking his head.

  His reaction made Vadim chuckle. “I don’t know why you see them with such malicious eyes. They cleansed Panagea. Saved it. Made it something better for both gods and men alike.” He looked over at his tea, willing it to cool down. “People are abandoning rigid society living, and seeking fresh starts in the forests, you know. These people,” he said, gesturing outside, in the direction the woman had left, “they are not manipulated by the gods. They are here on their own free will.”

  Revi snorted, straightening his posture. “You are clearly manipulated,” he accused, “whether everyone else is or not.”

  “Am I?” Vadim wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t know anymore. I can’t tell the difference.”

  The Houton man huffed, his expression slack. “The Vadim of Panagea’s history books wouldn’t be caught dead in a primitive woodland hut, I can tell you that much.”

  Vadim adopted a look of contemplation. “Hm. Well ...” He reached over to grab his tea, grinning. “Manipulated or not, haven’t they made me better, then?”

  “Better or not, you’re a pawn to them.” Revi’s rigidity did nothing for his sore muscles, but he still refused to relax. “They’re probably only keeping you alive because you’re the Time Father here. They don’t want to risk hurting the continent that they so ‘honorably’ restored,” he muttered, emphasizing the statement with intended sarcasm. “Have you ever thought about that?”

  The Time Father smiled. He took a sip, seemingly satisfied with the tea now that it had cooled some. “I try not to think about it too much. Sometimes it’s better to just let things go ... or it won’t be the gods who drive you mad.”

  It almost felt like a personal slight. As if he chastised him for his obsession to find his daughter. Revi’s eyes tapered as he glared at Vadim. There’s no way he could have known the lengths to which he’d gone. “Look ... I couldn’t care less about ... whatever the feck ... this is,” he said, waving his hand around while gesturing to Vadim.

  Before Revi could continue his thought, Vadim cut him off with an amused laugh. “Your tone doesn’t back up your claim.”

  “Piss off.” Revi felt a tension headache rising with his blood pressure. “I’m looking for my daughter. She’s obviously not here. What other primitive settlements have formed in Northwestern since things went to shit?”

  “I only know of Bricklemore,” Vadim admitted with an honest shrug. “Or, perhaps more accurately, what Bricklemore used to be.” His head cocked to the side as he studied Revi. “Can I ask you something?”

  He did not wish to engage with these savages any longer than he had to, and yet, something made Revi scrub his face and give in. “What?”

  Vadim took another drink from his cup, smacking his lips. “What makes you think she’s still here?”

  An honest question. It still made Revi gaze at Vadim with unkind thoughts. “It’s the last place I knew she was heading,” he admitted, the edge in his tone softening. “It’s the only lead I have.”

  “I see.” Vadim sat back, warming his hands. “What, then, makes you think she’s still alive?”

  Revi’s softness was short-lived. He curled his lips back, his voice rising in volume. “You’d better watch your gods-damned mouth.”

  Pinching the teacup between his thumb and fingers, Vadim held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I only thought that it was something you should ask yourself. Do you truly think she’s alive?” he asked, pausing. “Or do you only hope she is?”

  The man’s hands locked into fists. “What’s the difference?” he growled.

  “The difference?” Vadim’s eyes widened as he mulled over his reply. “One path leads to a life of struggle. Of constant searching. The other opens the door to begin healing from the loss. Everyone dies, my friend. It’s just a part of life. We don’t weep when the sun sets because that’s how it’s always been. Why is death any different? It, too, has always been.”

  Muttering under his breath, Revi pressed his fingers into his temples. “That’s hardly a comparison. The sun comes back every morning.”

  “It does,” Vadim agreed, nodding. “But people don’t love the sun itself, do they?” He found Revi’s eyes with his, a quiet smile on his face. “They only adore the warmth that it brings. People bring warmth too, in the form of memories. And my friend ...” He paused, raising his glass, “you don’t need them to be physically present to feel that heat. Long after the sun sets, you can still feel its
warmth in the rocks that it touched.”

  Revi’s mouth twisted into a sour expression. He didn’t know what had transpired in Vadim’s life after they left him with the working-poor last year. Perhaps it was best he didn’t know. “Gods alive ...” Revi shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “You’re crazier now than you were when we left you the first time.”

  Vadim smirked, staring at his reflection in the liquid of his cup. “That may be so. But I’m happier too.”

  He’d leave them to themselves. They were of no use to him. Revi drew in a deep breath, reaching down to grab his pack of supplies. “As pleasant as this conversation has been,” he murmured, throwing the bag over his shoulder, “if you don’t have any useful information regarding my daughter, I have no desire to stay.”

  “I understand.” Vadim stood to his feet as well, one hand on his hip. “I never touched the emotions that parenthood brought, as I fathered no children of my own, but ... the gods have filled me with the love they have for the people who traveled here. If fatherhood is anywhere near as powerful as that, I suspect it will fuel your efforts to find her for many years to come.”

  What a load of shit. Revi stared at Vadim, his jaw slack. The gods, love people? Having borne witness to all who perished under their whims, he sincerely doubted that.

  Without another word, he ducked down, crawling out of the primitive shack where Vadim housed himself. The same people who gawked at him with curious eyes earlier all stopped to turn and gaze upon him once more.

  “Will you be staying?” The woman who brought the meat to Vadim earlier smiled, the palms of her hands pressed together.

  Revi exchanged glances with her, sifting his attention from one god-praising body to the next. They did not seem manipulated. They did not stab or maim one another, or themselves with the same ferocity that the infected people prior had. He wondered for a moment if Vadim was right. If they were here on their own free will, seeking an escape from their former lives by entering the arms of the gods. He questioned whether they truly loved one another as they appeared to, absent of any malicious thoughts at all. The Houton man scoffed, repelled by his distracted musings. He’d stay near Bricklemore, he decided. Just to be sure he thoroughly inspected the area for signs of Avigail. It was, after all, the only civilized area he had found in the last year. But one thing was for certain ... he did not wish to remain in their company. “Over my dead body,” he muttered, readjusting the supplies weighing his shoulder down before he started for the woods.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Northwestern welcomed them with a storm. Lightning carved the sky into pieces with a violent jab. The low rumble of thunder shook the clouds immediately after. Bermuda stood at the wheel, gripping it with a fierceness, as the airship sailed into the Northwestern division. Though blankets of woodlands covered the once smoldering land, she still smelled the burn from the fires in the rain.

  The journey brought her a certain thrill. A yearning unfulfilled during the year she had spent in Aggi Normandy’s division. She had slaughtered gods and goddesses there, yes, but to enter the heart of their world ignited her. The lives she ended in Aggi’s hometown of Apetlas and its surrounding cities brought her no answers. As Bermuda felt the ill effects of long-term stimulant abuse ravage her body, she could wait no longer to receive them.

  Entering the gods’ realm was not the only joy the trip brought her. A sense of smug satisfaction filled the quartermaster when they dumped the body of the Odenhardth man who thought he could buy Nicholai Addihein’s death. She wasn’t sure where in Northern it landed, but she hoped with a sadistic glee that, by some miraculous act, it fell straight upon the body of Nordjan and crushed the life out of him.

  It would have been nice, to kill two birds with one corpse.

  Bermuda never forgot the hand the Northern Time Father played in Mimir’s reclamation of Kazuaki Hidataka. Moreover, an older distaste for the man existed. It was Nordjan’s decree that denied her from entering the Northern military with Ty all those years ago.

  He should have let her in. She would have been an asset.

  It was the fresh wound that burned a little more. Nordjan had made certain the captain’s debt was repaid. Bermuda had every intention of making sure Nordjan paid the price for his misdoings.

  But first ... she had to find Mimir.

  Rain slid down the sides of her pale face, droplets nestling into her clothes. The occasional flash of lightning brought illumination to her determined gaze. With her katar resting comfortably in a sheath at her back, she peered over her shoulder and through the handle to spot her comrades as they approached.

  Brack stepped up beside her, his hands at his hips. He did not speak a word, only beamed valiantly in the face of the storm.

  Granite joined them at her opposite side. His face gave nothing away as he stared into the abyss that was the sky.

  Bermuda peered up at the behemoth through the dark strands of hair that were matted to the sides of her face. She nudged him with her elbow, knowing full well it would be difficult for her voice to compete with the violent gales. When she acquired his attention, she asked, “How are you doing?”

  Granite stared down at the woman, his expression unreadable. She looked frail in the flickering light of the tempest. Insipid and unhealthy. But for their disparaging differences, he knew they were bound by a common thread. Both came to lose something. Something life did not often offer twice. The rarity of their losses brought unmatched remorse.

  Bermuda reacted to her sorrow with blades. Steel. Revenge. Granite mourned for the beast, but in a much different way. He mulled over her question. He did not think he was doing well. The pain of the beast’s death was fresh. Without warning, it would grip his heart and squeezed unmercifully, so much so, that at times he could barely catch his breath.

  But staring down at the quartermaster, with the ring of redness surrounding her sinking eyes, and her questionably white fingers turning blue as they gripped the ship’s wheel, he decided he was better than he could have been. “Eventually,” Granite said, the storm no match for the boom of his voice, “it’ll get easier. You just have to make it to that point.”

  Bermuda blinked. Her mind felt hazy. She did not know if he was referring to her, or himself, but she chose not to dwell. Shaking it from her head, she nodded in agreement and turned back to the task at hand.

  Rennington came up beside the trio, his hand shielding his face to protect his vision from the splitting drops of rainwater. “It’s a gods-damned fortress down there,” he said, unable to tear his gaze away from the endless sea of trees.

  Brack stood on the tips of his toes to peek over the railing. He laughed, rotating his stiff shoulder as he slicked a hand through his soaked hair. “That it is, mate. Be hard-pressed to find much of anything down there.” He turned to the quartermaster, his smile at half-mast. “You really think we’ll find him down there, love? Mimir, I mean?”

  “I’ll find where he’s hiding,” Bermuda replied, confident as she turned the wheel of the ship to glide it to the left. “Even if I have to cut the answers out of every omnipotent throat down there.”

  Rennington turned to Brack, forcing an uncomfortable smile. “That’s one way to do it, sure.”

  Though seeing beyond the trees was a near impossibility, Granite surprised everyone when he raised his giant hand. “There. Look.”

  The hint of a faint, orange glow broke through the darkness of the division below. A fire. Far smaller than the last fires they saw crawling through Northwestern. Sheltered from death by the thickness of the trees or manmade intervention, Bermuda was not certain. But she intended to find out.

  With shaking hands, she guided the airship closer. It approached until the force of the propellers below it shook the highest layer of leaves with more force than the storm. It did not grant any additional visibility, but the crew spied the silhouettes of individuals huddling around the flames.

  “Don’t look like gods to me,” Rennington offered, s
licking a layer of rainwater off his face. “Just people.”

  Bermuda’s eyes scanned what little of the landscape she could see through the elements. The space was occupied primarily by the identifiable shapes of men and women, but not far off, the flames threw a ginger glow over large, towering figures. They made no movements. Bermuda quickly identified them as monuments. Tributes, carved to resemble various gods and goddesses.

  “People who look like they know a thing or two about the gods,” she murmured.

  Rennington watched as the individuals below took notice of the airship. They peered up at them, sheltered by the treetops. He could not read their faces. “Should we prepare to land?” he asked, turning to the quartermaster.

  Bermuda shook her head. “No. They have access to fire. We don’t want to lose another ship to flames.” She recalled the loss of Kazuaki’s ship vividly. Its grave in the bottom of the ocean still burned her, and she cursed the god Darjal and his damnable ironclad whenever they dared to show up in her thoughts. “Find Penn. Tell him to keep the ship afloat. We’ll hover here and descend on ropes. He can pick us up when we’re through.”

  The Southern soldier nodded. “Aye aye, quartermaster. I’ll let him know.”

  Brack’s eyes followed Rennington until he disappeared from his sight. He shifted his focus to Bermuda, burying his concern for her state in lightheartedness. “You certain about this, then? I smelled a mean dinner cookin’ in the galley on my way out here. It would be a shame to hurt Penn’s feelings by thrusting ourselves into potential peril. You know how fragile his ego can be.”

  “The food will be here when we get back,” she replied, guiding the ship into position.

  Within minutes, Rennington returned with Penn. The cook glared, wiping his hands off on an apron tied around his waist. He lowered his beret further over his face, though it did little to shield him from the rain. “What’s this I hear about you needing me?” he murmured, his tone indicating an irritation that he’d been torn away from his meal preparation.