Bermuda inclined her chin, stepping aside to gesture to the ship’s wheel. “You’ll need to keep the airship steady while the rest of us ... investigate,” she finished, glaring once more over the vessel’s edge to spy the glowing fire below. “We’ll signal when we need pick up. Three shots in the air.”
“As opposed to the thirty shots I’m about to hear, I’m sure,” Penn mumbled to himself as he stepped up to seize the ship’s wheel. He anchored his boots the best as he was able to on the slippery deck, knowing full well he’d need to summon all the physical endurance he could, to keep the vessel steady against the storm’s wild winds.
“There you have it.” The quartermaster strode to a crate and flung it open, taking up four lengths of rope. She tossed one to each of her comrades before she approached the ship’s ledge, tying hers off on the metal rail. “Everyone ready, then?”
Rennington reached behind his back, to be sure his pack of medical supplies remained. Brack patted his sides, reassuring himself his barrage of weaponry was well within his grasp. Granite took up a rope, holding it tighter than he normally would have, as the absence of carrying the beast down the rope with him settled into his chest.
“We’re set, mate.” Rennington tied his rope off as well, half a grin on his face.
Bermuda nodded. She threw her legs over the railing, and with the rope clutched in her metal hand, she leaped.
No pain existed in her descent; the burn that would accost a flesh and blood hand did not affect her steel palm as the rope slithered between her fingers. When she reached the end of its length, she dangled ten feet above the ground. Freeing herself, the woman landed in a crouched position, her wet hair clinging to her jaw as she rose to her feet.
Without the luxury of metal appendages, it took longer for the others to reach her. Bermuda stared at the curious eyes of those huddled around the sheltered fire. They made no movements. She did the same.
By the time Brack, Rennington, and Granite joined her, she had advanced. Several of the individuals stood. Crackling embers jumped from the flames and settled near their feet before dying in the dirt. Bermuda’s eyes flicked from the shrines to the faces of those who stared, her gaze narrowed.
“What do you want?” one stranger questioned, his voice full of uncertainty.
Bermuda slicked the back of her wrist across her forehead, flicking her wrist to rid it of the collection of raindrops. “We’re looking for the gods,” she said, her tone firm.
The stranger’s brows rose over his face as he looked over his shoulder at his companions. With a blink, he returned his focus to Bermuda. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”
“So I’ve been told.” She felt the proximity of her crew beside her as she assessed the individuals one by one. Clothed in the skins of animals, they appeared barbaric. Primitive. She did not know what to make of them. They were unlike any other human she had seen before. Bermuda tried to remind herself they were still people. “Tell me, where is the lesser god, Mimir?”
The man who rose to address her acquired a look of newfound skepticism. The muscles in his neck stiffened as he tightened his shoulders. He knew of Mimir. Of the gods’ dislike for his betrayal. An apprehension came simply from uttering the name. The lesser god, once bound to the well for his crimes against humanity, and his fellow lesser gods, was not to be trusted. “That creature is not welcome here.”
Bermuda’s eyes became venomous slits on her face. His posture, his behavior, told her more than his words. “That isn’t what I asked, is it?” She stepped forward, unafraid. “Do you know his whereabouts, or not?”
A tangible nervousness grew amongst the collective. Others began rising to their feet. A mother wrapped her arms around her child and took a step away from the flames. From Bermuda. From the others. The man before the quartermaster felt his pulse hasten. His attention darted back and forth between the woman and the men in her employ.
A well-timed crack of thunder illuminated the stranger’s face as he bowed down. Bermuda cocked her head to the side, confused until she saw the unheard words spilling out of his lips. Her hand flew behind her back and grasped the wet handle of the katar. Prayer dripped out of that mouth. She had seen it before.
They’d be here soon.
Within moments, a lighted being appeared before them. The fire bowed to his presence as well, the flames bending as a forceful wind splayed out from where he appeared. Bermuda and the crew held fast to their positions as the muscled creation knelt beside his worshiper. He laid a large hand on the man’s back. “Rise, Jed,” he announced, his words powerful and confident. “I am here.”
The stranger’s shoulders shook in relief as he peered up at the god. A breath of respite escaped him as he allowed the deity to pull him to his feet. “Thank the gods you’re here, Delysus.” He clutched the God of Protection’s arms to reassure himself he was truly present before he raised a quaking finger in Bermuda’s direction. “This woman—she fell from the sky. I believe she brings ill will to this place. She has demons in her eyes, Delysus ... and she comes seeking Mimir.”
A stoic look of contemplation swept over the God of Protection’s face. “I see.” He patted Jed’s back and motioned the mortal to stand behind him. Confident his venerator was out of harm’s way, Delysus turned to Bermuda and the crew. “I’ve heard much about you. If you come seeking Mimir, I can only surmise you are the Steel Serpent of Panagea.”
Bermuda smirked, her arm still behind her, as her katar remained sheathed. “You truly are an all-knowing kind.”
Delysus thrust his chest out, probing the woman with direct eye contact. “Leave this place,” he said, his voice projecting through the wind with reinforced strength. “Mimir is not here.”
“I know about the channel the lesser gods share,” Bermuda announced, her grip tightening. “If he’s not here, it shouldn’t be hard for you to find him. To send him a message.”
The God of Protection glared. “We want nothing to do with Mimir. He brings chaos with him wherever he goes. Even if we share the same goals, even if you intend to destroy him, I would never invite him to this place. I protect these people. He will never have their location.”
Bermuda’s stance grew wider. She felt her boots slide in a yielding pile of mud. A tightness birthed in her chest, and her blood pressure spiked. “If you aren’t here to help,” she uttered, “then you’re here to hinder.”
Delysus’ eyes flew to Bermuda’s hand. He knew what she gripped behind her. The tales of the Steel Serpent traveled on the mouths of men, but the gods recognized her ownership of the katar. The other half of the set Mimir plucked from the realm in-between. Sensing a fight, Delysus closed his eyes, his arms drawing up at his sides as he summoned additional gods to assist him.
Before the eyes of the crew, bodies appeared. Large, towering figures, each one sporting more fierceness than the last. Bermuda’s smirk grew. She knew her comrades were untouchable. For the gods to appear so willingly, bound by their duty to protect their flocks, she beamed. Never before did a small horde gather. In Northeastern, she had to resort to parlor tricks to get them to appear.
But now ... they stood before her, weapons drawn, though they could do no damage to mortal flesh. She suspected the swords would be utilized defensively more than anything; shields to keep her blade at bay.
Still ... seven lesser gods against one woman. She pulled the katar from its sheath, bringing it out before her. It was not all she pulled from her person. Bermuda’s opposite hand reached into her pocket, removing a syringe from inside. She bit off the cap covering the needle, before ramming it into an exposed piece of skin where her pants and tunic failed to meet at her waist.
The rush. The thrill. The power. The focus. Bermuda’s irises paled, draining their traditional color away, as a milky film fell over them. She felt the pressure. It pushed on each eye, feeling as if it threatened to thrust them from their sockets. That was the only pain she felt. Her veins charged, her heart thundered, her muscles flexed
as she bore the gods down with her gaze.
Seven gods. She was ready.
Rennington, Brack, and Granite would keep the mortals at bay. The mortals, who appeared to have no weapons to speak of. The mortals, who the gods protected with their lives, despite the crew having no intention of slaying them. But the gods didn’t need to know that.
Delysus watched with contempt as she cast her empty syringe to the ground. “We will grant you one chance to leave.”
Bermuda licked her lips, feeling a slither of rainwater fall into the corner of her mouth. “I’ll grant you one chance, as well.” She pointed her katar at him. It felt weightless in her arm. “Find Mimir on your channel,” she demanded, her voice growing louder, “and tell me where he is!”
The God of Protection huffed. His cavalry positioned themselves around him. “Demand all you like.” His eyes darkened as he stood taller. “It is a fair exchange of information. If I reach out to him, he will glean the location of these people.” With a body shaking in fury, he added, “And that creature will never set foot here for as long as I live.”
A wide grin split Bermuda’s face in half. Lightning cracked above them. “Well then,” she whispered, as the rain trickled down the polished steel of her katar, “let’s remedy that, shall we?”
Chapter Twenty
She had the pills. She had her notes. Her formulas. A small thread of light leaked through the thick clouds above, catching the metal of Elowyn’s helm.
Broad daylight. Entering the facility at night was a fool’s approach. Those were the hours that she and the men of the Underground raided the building in the past. The time between the sun’s death and its rise allowed the interior to crawl with additional security. Now was her time, when the illumination of the day provided her façade with an illusion of a less threatening nature.
Everyone knew only monsters crept around in the dark.
The joints in her armor, as it bent at her knees, squealed with each step she ascended. Elowyn stood outside the door, staring at her reflection in a piece of glass that stretched to twice her height. Though iron bars extended from the floor to the top to protect the decorative glass covering the entryway, she still witnessed a clear image of the person staring back at her.
She did not recognize that individual, though it was the very same person she became over the last year. E.P. Not the Elowyn Platts she became in the eyes of Rennington and Iani when the trio found the haven of Captain Kazuaki’s ship countless years back ... but E.P. of the Underground. Soldier to Eastern. Dutiful. Fierce. Unafraid.
From behind her helm, her eyelids fell to a close. How nice it would be, she thought, when she could look in a reflective surface and see Elowyn Saveign again. She was starting to forget who that was.
There was no option to enter the building without proper identification. Not before the raids, and certainly not after. Elowyn doubted they would let her enter with an open mind. But it was not gaining entry to the building that birthed a nervousness in her gut. It was staying in the building long enough to earn a listening ear.
With an encouraging inhale, she turned a narrow corner. Ascending the walls never proved to be a difficult task. Not with clusters of buildings so near to one another. Squeezing her iron frame into the alleyway, Elowyn spread out her arms. Her palms touched the wall of the medical facility to her right and the wall of its neighboring building to her left with little effort.
She jumped. Her legs sprawled out on opposite sides. With the pressure of her feet and hands granting her permission to ascend, Elowyn clenched her stomach. One foot after the other, one hand after the other, her metal body crept upward.
Halfway up, sweat beaded off her forehead and embedded into her hair. The woman tasted salt when she licked her lips. Scaling her body up the walls was a feat in and of itself, but the additional task of hauling the armor made her efforts more challenging.
It didn’t matter how long it took, she decided. So long as she made it.
The woman anchored herself some forty feet off the ground. Though life on Kazuaki’s ship beat any fear of heights from her, she did not chance anything by looking down. With the final few steps in eyeshot, Elowyn curled her toes in her greaves. She rooted herself as much as she was able, given her position. She bent her knees. Then, she jumped.
Her hands gripped the ledge of the gothic architecture’s roof. With a grunt and a heave, she pulled the rest of her body up and over. The metal clanked as she collapsed to her back on the surface above, staring at the sky through heavy attempts to catch her breath.
“Bloody feckin’ damn,” she breathed, huffing as she sprawled out on the roof. Her heart bellowed inside of her, but she had no time to still it. Precious moments were being wasted.
Elowyn hoisted herself up into a sitting position, glancing around for an entry point that she and the other Underground warriors hadn’t discovered yet. The building’s stacked ventilation system granted her exactly that. Through the turrets and towers, she spied her access point, and after several more oxygenating breaths, Elowyn rose to her feet.
The woman tilted her head as she approached the shaft. It would scarcely be any different than throwing her body down the shit pipe that led to the Underground. Better, in fact. No human feces to wash off later.
With the weapons at her disposal, she pried herself an opening. Elowyn blew a deep breath out through her lips and swung her legs into the hole. “Count of three,” she whispered to herself, closing her eyes. “Three.”
It was harder to slow her speed than she thought it would be. Corrosion and oxidization in the pipe leading to the Underground gave her boots places to grip. This metal was smooth. Fresh. Sparks flew around her as her steel fingers dug into the edges of the ventilation system. Her heavy, metal body crashed through the grate at the bottom, and she landed on the building’s third floor.
Her stomach squeezed. Her heart threatened to leap from her throat as she turned, trying to discern whether or not her graceless entry gave away her position. Elowyn stood to her feet once more and backed up against the nearest wall.
Nobody was around. Yet, anyway. Her descent was loud, and would likely earn her uninvited guests.
She needed to find Dr. Evanston. One of the most decorated medical professionals she secured when she stood in the public light as Eastern’s Time Mother. His history of medical breakthroughs in the curative sciences surpassed the others she’d hired. He was her greatest shot.
The man’s office sat somewhere on the third floor. She remembered him requesting it upon his transfer.
“You, there!”
A voice behind her caused the woman to spin. A guardsman fell into her sight and she recoiled. It was to be expected. Elowyn reached for the dagger in the small sheath of her fauld and dug her heels into the flooring. Her aggressor assumed a similar stance.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Elowyn stated, unmoving. “I’m only here to consult with Dr. Evanston.”
“Consult with my feckin’ gun, thief!” The guardsman raised his weapon and fired. Months of raids fried his nerves. Countless incursions of watching his brethren fall to the men of the Underground. He wished to take no chances.
Elowyn raised her bracers to protect herself. She felt the bullet bite into the metal. It yielded, with no damage to her flesh. She snarled; bolted toward him.
Her target threw up his arms as the armored figure advanced. Though burdened by her protection, Elowyn trained herself to stay quick. Several more bullets echoed in the halls before she swept his leg.
The man fell but fought for his life. His hands raised to claw at her but only scraped against the metal exterior. Breaking his bone at the elbow was a simple matter of applying the right pressure.
His scream filled the corridor. Elowyn seized the cuffs he carried and strapped them to his limp wrist. She dragged his body to the nearest door. The knob became the new home for the other side of his shackles.
Secured to the door, she winced against his continued howl
ing. It would only be a matter of time before the other hired hands bore down on her. “Where is Dr. Evanston?”
“Feck off!” the man snarled through his pain.
She’d get nowhere with him. He clung too tightly to his pride. For the best, perhaps. It meant the facility hired somewhat competent guardians.
Elowyn spun when she heard a door open behind her. Muscles tightened. She braced herself for another confrontation. But it was not a guardsman who stood in the newly opened door. It was her target.
Armed with a weapon of his own, Dr. Evanston’s eyes widened when the sight of Elowyn came into his view. His throat constricted. Against his will, he took a step back into the room from where he came. “You gods-damned raiders are persistent,” he uttered, trying to sound more confident than he was able. “Stay back, or I’ll shoot.”
Elowyn held up her hands. “Dr. Evanston, I understand your apprehension. I did not come to take lives, I came to—”
The man fired. The bullet lodged itself into the metal of her breastplate. She felt the reverberation. The sting. She staggered back into the nearest wall and scowled. “I have crafted a medicine, to keep the gods from entering peoples’ minds—” She raised her hand again, the other held over her throbbing chest, “—but it is stripping them of everything they are. I need you to—”
Two more rounds entered her armor. They were not fatal. The bullets would earn her several bruises, but nothing more. Not yet. “Take these!” Elowyn reached into the satchel at her side and tossed a vial of pills toward Dr. Evanston’s feet. “Please! I have notes, research, but I can only take it so far—”
The vial rolled against his boot, its contents rattling until it fell silent. The doctor made no move to pick it up. His hands quaked as he held his gun. Smoke rose around him in waves. “Stay right where you are, or I’ll keep shooting.”
“Listen to me!” Elowyn removed her research from her side. She tossed the file at his feet, as well. “We can solve the gods crisis, but I need your help.”
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 108