“How many times must we tell you?” Her words poured out of her in a garbled mess, too marinated in her own bodily fluids to pass smoothly from her lips. “Mimir is not here. And he never will be. That creature is exiled from us!”
Bermuda lifted her boot, pressing it against the goddess’s torso. She thrust the woman back to free her deteriorating body from the length of her blade. “Until someone starts pointing me in the right direction,” she scowled, hovering the tip of her katar before the goddess’s nose, “I have no reason to stop.”
Several paces behind, the crew stood. Without weapons that could effectively eviscerate the gods, they stayed out of the path of Bermuda’s vengeance. It was wild. Untamed. It reminded them much of the captain, in their earlier days.
The people of Northwestern fled the area long ago. Under the arms of several gods who ushered them to safety, they vanished into the protection of the clustered forest. With the bravest beings remaining to deflect Bermuda’s wrath, they hoped her human body would fail her before she managed to land any deadly hits.
Their hopes dissolved further with each lucky strike she managed.
In her stimulated state, the woman was a warmonger. Hungry for retribution, she sought Mimir’s head in every omnipotent being she slew. But none of them earned her answers. None of them eased the heartache.
None of them brought Kazuaki Hidataka back.
“Do you ever get the feeling,” Rennington wondered out loud, turning to Brack, “that we’re not ... particularly needed?”
Brack rubbed the back of his neck, watching as the quartermaster eviscerated the last remaining god who was too bold to vanish from the threat of her weapon. Through her crimson-stained face, and the sunken depths of her pale eyes, he parted his lips and sighed. “Nah, mate.” His gaze followed her, watching the dust from deceased gods and goddesses adhere to the damp patches of blood trickling down her skin. “I think she needs us now more than ever.”
Granite shifted his weight uncomfortably. He remained unaccustomed to standing idly by in the face of battle. “I don’t believe this will get us any closer to Mimir,” he muttered, surprising everyone with the sound of his voice. “They will not relent.”
Rennington observed as Bermuda dug the tip of her katar into the soft earth. She leaned on it for support, her chest heaving with each inhalation of uneven breaths. Her arms shook. It rattled down her tired limbs and into the metal of the enchanted weapon. Though her auburn hair slipped down as she bowed her head, he still sensed the weakness that lived on her obscured face. “You know I’d do anything for the quartermaster,” he said, shifting his glance between Brack and Granite, “but Granite’s right. I don’t think she’s going to find what she’s looking for here. She’s only going to get herself killed.”
“I think, whether she realizes it or not,” Granite uttered, lowering his baritone voice, “that might be what she’s looking for.”
Brack looked back and forth between the two men. Though neither recalled the emergence of a frown ever appearing on the face of Brack ‘The Rabbit’ Joney, an undeniable one slipped onto his features. “Stifle those tongues of yours, lads. No judgments aboard the ship, you know that. We’re with her ‘til the bitter end. That’s how it’s always been, that’s how it’ll stay.”
“Calm down, Rabbit.” Rennington lifted his hands, an attempt to reinvest calm into the conversation. “You know we’d never leave. All we’re saying is, what she’s doing isn’t working. We can’t help her slay gods, but we have to give her an assist somehow.” He lifted his focus from the group, watching as Bermuda continued to try and catch her breath. “I’d prefer to start by not watching her feckin’ kill herself.”
“Right, right ...” Brack scratched at his mutton chops and straightened his posture. “Let’s just get her back to the ship. Get some food in her. If worse comes to worst...” His words slipped into the ether as he hesitated to finish his sentence. Brack closed one eye, contemplating. “I ... think I have an idea of what we can do.”
Rennington snorted. “I doubt a brothel will cure what ails her, Rabbit.”
“Oi!” Brack swatted Rennington’s arm, unable to stifle the grin that spread across his face. “Not what I had in mind, mate, but I must admit, it’d sure cure all that ails me.”
Not caring to endure the banter between the two anymore, Granite separated himself from the pack and closed the gap between them and Bermuda. His shadow fell over her as she continued to lean on her katar for support. The woman looked like a skeleton, donned in blood-stained clothes. Granite extended a hand. “Need an assist?”
The woman slowly lifted her head. The gods around her had fallen and she was no closer to her goal than she had been before. She stared at his hand silently, as if his words confused her. Her eyes returned to their traditional color. The stimulant ran its course, leaving her body a war-torn carcass of its former self. “Yes,” she uttered, though she did not reach out to accept his offer.
He could not pick her up. Bermuda would never allow it. Instead, Granite grabbed her arm, taking a majority of her weight from her legs, while allowing her the illusion of walking on her own. Without words, he led her to the shadow of the airship as it hovered above them.
“Penn!” Brack cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered for the cook. He lifted his gun, firing three shots into the air. The signal. “Get yer ass out on deck!”
“Come on, Elmbroke!” Rennington joined Brack in his incessant shouting, never one to miss an opportunity to goad the cook. “Quit your lollygagging and drop rope!”
It didn’t take long for Penn to peer his scowling mug over the airship’s ledge. He glared down at Rennington, pulling his beret further over his eyes. “Promise me you’ll tie it ‘round your neck and I’ll drop it faster.”
“Nobody likes a sourpuss, Elmbroke,” Rennington smirked, waiting patiently as the rope fell over the ship’s ledge. He seized it immediately and scaled the sides.
Brack was quick to follow suit. The men made short work of the effort. Granite glanced at Bermuda, who stared at the rope with equal parts horror and shame.
“Granite ...” Her voice strained. She couldn’t look at him, too consumed by humiliation to finish her sentence.
The behemoth glanced at the rope. Without the stimulant to help her, he knew Bermuda hadn’t the strength to climb it. He surmised she knew it too, by the amount of embarrassment in her voice. Reaching out, Granite seized it in his hands and tied it around her waist. “I’ll pull you up when I reach the top.”
Bermuda watched as he fastened the knot. She nodded, burying her pride back down the dark recesses of her throat. “Thank you.”
With one arm over the other, Granite ascended. Muscle memory threw his legs over the railing. As promised, he pulled the woman up from her place on the ground. It was never much of an effort to lift Bermuda in the event he needed to—but it was uncomfortably easy in her current condition. Malnutrition and lack of proper care had eaten away at her muscles. When she arrived at the top, he reached over, helping her find her footing on the deck.
“Penn, Penn, a man of men,” Brack grinned, clapping his hands down onto the cook’s shoulders. “I do believe slaying omnipotent creatures has birthed an appetite in my guts. How’s dinner?”
“Cold,” Penn retorted, shrugging himself out of Brack’s grasp. “And I know damn well you didn’t slay a thing, don’t go making yourself out to be more important than you are.”
A fit of laughter followed as Brack turned to Rennington. “Can you believe this fecker? I love him to bits, I do.” The Rabbit reached over, seizing Penn in a headlock while he pretended to grind his fist into the small man’s hat. “My wee little peevish Penn. Go on, then! Warm it up and slap it on a plate. Ol’ Rabbit’s not a picky man—I like my food like I like my women: within arm’s reach.”
“Get the feck off me,” Penn grumbled, somehow managing to escape the wrath of Brack’s grasp. “Get in the dining hall, then. I’ll bring your damn dinne
r, you feckin’ animal.”
“Ah, sweet talk me all you want mate, you can’t have me.” Brack stretched his arms up over his head, releasing a yawn. Taking notice that Penn ignored him and disappeared, he chuckled, turning to the others. “Let’s go find a seat, shall we?”
Settling into the dining hall did not reflect the warmth of old memories. It was not the same as Kazuaki’s wooden vessel. Ten bodies were reduced to five. The absence of the others grew more potent in the seemingly spacious room.
There was no sound of Elowyn’s cello echoing off the walls. Or her voice.
No childish pranks from Iani Platts.
None of Bartholomew’s sage observations.
No indistinct grumbling from Revi.
No announcements from the captain.
Bermuda excused herself to clean the blood and ashes of gods from her body. Brack, Granite, and Rennington settled into their chairs. The Southern soldier winced at the sound of the scraping seat’s legs across the floor. The way it bounced off the hollow walls only further drove home the shattered fragments of their crew.
“How do you intend we go about this?” Rennington asked, leaning back in his chair. “Bermuda’s tough, but we all know how temperamental she can get when matters of the heart are involved.”
“Eh, only half of her is chasing Mimir out there.” Brack tapped his fingers on the tabletop, waiting for Penn to arrive with the food. “The other half is just trying to ease the hurt. It’s the same thing she did with that fella she tried to forget when she traded her hand to Mimir.” The Rabbit shrugged, glancing back and forth between Granite and Rennington. “She got over that, eventually. We just gotta help the pain go away.”
Granite’s gaze fell to his hands. They rested flat on the table. He frowned, pressing the tips of his fingers harder into the surface. Much as he wished to assist the quartermaster, he was absent of ideas. The loss of the beast remained too fresh, particularly here, where the animal would have almost certainly delighted in anticipation of food. He had yet to discover a way to ease his own burdens, let alone those of Bermuda.
Rennington folded his hands behind his head as he rocked back on two of the chair’s legs. “There’s no short cuts to healing,” he muttered, drawing from his own experience when Iani left the mortal world. “I ... talk to him a lot. My brother.” His face twisted when he realized how ridiculous his confession sounded. “I know it doesn’t make much sense, but ... that always helps me.”
“Of course!” Brack pounded his fist on the table, a wide grin forming on his face. “That’s when it makes the most sense! We’ll ease her in slowly. Good memories and all that. She’s hovering in anger and needs a push toward acceptance. She hasn’t spoke more than three words about Cappy since he—you know. Let’s start there. See how things go. If we can get her talking about it—”
“Talking about what?” Penn burst into the room, unceremoniously settling his platter down with a clank. The soup he’d prepared wobbled in the bowls as he slid it into the center of the table.
“Quartermaster’s on a collision course for a mental breakdown,” Rennington informed, stretching his arms up over his head.
Penn shrugged as he fell into a seat. “What else is new? That’s how she operates.”
“Nah, mate.” The Southern soldier frowned, leaning forward on the table. “It’s getting worse.”
Penn reached over to grab a plate. He stabbed his fork into the breast of a small, cooked bird. “Of course it is. The world’s gone to shit.” After scraping the poultry off his utensil, he used it to point at Rennington. “Quartermaster’s a hard ass. She’ll figure it out.”
The door to the dining hall creaked open. Bermuda dragged herself inside, slumping into one of the many open seats with little effort. The woman rubbed at her face, trying to inject life back into her flesh before she reached over to grab a plate.
Brack shot everyone silent glances. He wore a confident grin as he did so. As the man reached forward to plate his own meal, he said, “Bath treat you right, love? You look different without all that blood on you. Better.”
“Simmer down, Rabbit.” Bermuda bit into the leg that she ripped from the bird’s body. With her mouth full, she added, “I know any talk of baths is just a clever way to picture me naked.”
Though her tone lacked enthusiasm, Brack snorted and poked Granite with his elbow. “She’s got me there.”
Rennington chuckled, shaking his head. “Gods, I don’t think I’ve seen a naked woman since Umbriel was sunbathing on the deck of the old ship.”
With a start, Brack slammed his open palm down on the table for a second time. “Get out! That’s two feckin’ years ago! You can’t tell me you haven’t laid with a woman when you took watch over Southern.” He ticked off on his fingers. “You’re in a feckin’ uniform, which I know the maidens swoon over, you were at the head of the revolution, which I know damn well makes the ladies’ legs spread, and, to top it all off, you’ve got a feckin’ dead brother story! You can quite literally work every angle, Renn. Visual appeal, hero appeal, pity—”
Rennington swallowed a mouthful of food, a wry smirk crawling onto his face. “Iani was never a very good wingman. In life, or death.” He flicked his eyes over to Brack, stifling a laugh. “You remember Umbriel asking him if he joined the crew so he could ‘bang broads’, like you? Shit, he must’ve turned ten shades of red.”
A small piece of meat flew from Brack’s mouth when he opened it to laugh. He placed a hand over his lips to contain any more from escaping, his eyes crinkled with delight. “I do!” He made a sound that was half laughter, half choking on his meal. “Gods, I miss that little fecker.”
Rennington’s eyes dropped to the table, but his smile remained. “Yeah ...” He absently tapped his fork against his plate, musing. “Me too.”
Brack stole a glimpse of Bermuda, to see if she engaged. A small smile hid in the corner of her lips as she pushed some food around her plate. It was too soon to involve her directly. The Rabbit redirected his focus to Granite. “What’s your favorite Iani memory, mate?”
The behemoth blinked, staring at his plate. Not many existed that weren’t directly tied to the beast. Though his facial expression didn’t change when he said it, his tone illustrated his amusement. “When the beast pissed on the boots he stole from that merchant in Avadon.”
On cue, Brack, Rennington, and Granite exchanged glances with one another, reliving the memory of Iani’s frustration by yelling simultaneously, “That’s expensive imitation leather, you devil dog!”
Even Penn, who hid his amusement behind the glass of liquor he sipped from, smirked at the remembrance. He exhaled when he set his goblet back to the table. “The fact that he was still wearing them when it happened only made it better.”
The dim sound of Bermuda’s laughter met Brack’s ears like an angelic choir. Utilizing his peripheral vision, he acknowledged her delight with a blooming hope. Feeling more comfortable pressing his luck, the Rabbit boldly uttered, “Even the captain found that one hysterical.”
Feeling the stab of Kazuaki’s name in his gut, Rennington tried to smother it. The loss of the captain was not absent in him. He, too, felt the sting of his disappearance, but the burden lived deep in his subconscious. It mingled there, with the experience of losing other good men. “Yeah,” he shook his head, grinning. “Quite a feat too. Hard to get a genuine laugh out of that man.”
“Not for this one.” Brack thumbed toward Bermuda, turning to face her. “Carving smiles into the stoic since day one, aye, quartermaster?”
Her expression faltered, but only for a moment. Bermuda replaced it with a lighthearted smile as she absently swirled the liquid around in her glass. “Cold. Calculating. A real, no-nonsense asshole.” She took a drink. “I liked him from the start.”
“Too right.” Brack snickered, shaking his head. “From the minute he plucked my drunk ass out of that fight down at the docks, I knew our fates were intertwined. Still remember the first thing he
said to me, I do.”
Penn arched a brow, setting the soup spoon back down into his bowl. “Which was?”
“You fight like shit. Want to try your hand at sailing instead?”
A short sound of amusement burst through Penn’s lips. The booze made it easier to laugh. It reduced the heaviness in his chest: the darkness he lived with since Mimir ripped Kazuaki from the crew. “Yeah. Sounds like something he’d say.”
Bearing witness to the returning signs of life in Bermuda’s eyes, Brack straightened his posture. The cathartic reemergence of the good old days seemed to be working. “Wouldn’t you know it? He taught me to fight and sail. Best decision of my life, walking onto the deck of that ship.”
“Mine too,” Granite added.
“Yeah,” Rennington mused, thinking back to the limited options he and Iani had after deserting their post in Southern. “Wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
“Me, either.” Bermuda smiled, another surprising action for the others. “I didn’t have a long list of achievements to boast of before I met Kazuaki, but ... the ship. The crew. All of it ... it’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Penn snorted, feeling the effects of the alcohol he had enjoyed since the others returned from the ground. “Yeah. That fecker made googly eyes at you from day one too. I never thought you two would—oof!”
The cook doubled over when Brack kicked his shin under the table. He winced, the sting of the Rabbit’s boot traveling through the bones in his leg. Though he scowled at his comrade, Penn bit his tongue. The look on Bermuda’s face told him he’d pushed the conversation over the razor’s edge.
Brack thought he could have salvaged it. Fixed it. But the silence stretched one second longer than he should have allowed it to. Bermuda cleared her throat, sliding her chair out from behind her. “Thanks for the meal, Penn.” She nodded, standing to her feet. “It was exceptional, as always.”
“Sit, sit, sit,” Brack held out his hand, gesturing toward the drinks. “Just ‘cause dinner’s over doesn’t mean we can’t have a shot or three, four?”
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 111