Something was amiss.
Unwilling to live with the insult that anyone thought they could invade the home of Edvard Addihein, dutiful Time Father of Western, he approached the staircase and traveled toward the source of the sound. The true absence of fear came as an admitted surprise. He feared no recourse as he reached the final step.
More noises from his study. Edvard frowned. He continued down the wide corridor leading to his sacred space. Another door left ajar. This time, he spied movement beyond the several inch gap in the frame.
Flashes of clothing belonging to the common folk. Edvard wrinkled his nose, offended. Were these his citizens, who so brazenly came to rob his home? He reached out, pushing the door open with his arm.
When the people inside spun to face him, they stood before his exposed shrine to Epifet. Fragments of his offerings to the goddess littered the floor, broken and torn. Feathers from her wings blew over the boots of the people who invaded his home, swept up in the small wind of commotion.
“You’re here,” a man said, his body posture stuffed with repulsion. Heated eyes turned to slits in Edvard’s presence. The man peeled himself away from the mob, stepping forward. “The gods have corrupted you, Mr. Addihein.”
Edvard stared at the feathers as they blew across the floor. He had been ousted. By who, he did not know, but he suspected it stemmed from the same source that tipped Nicholai off to Enita’s death. The Time Father turned placid eyes to his citizens, his tone even. “You are mistaken.”
“Relinquish your Chronometer,” the invader stated, holding out his palm. Years of respect for the Western Time Father eased the hatred in his attitude, but it survived on a thin thread. “Your mind is tainted, Mr. Addihein. The gods have taken you. You’re no longer fit to lead.”
Edvard stared at the open palm, arching a brow. With an eerie calm, he flicked his focus back to his aggressor. “I have ruled Western with great success for decades. I am going nowhere.”
With a sneer that was too quick to form, the trespasser sealed his open palm into a fist. “We will not fall like those bastards in Northwestern. You’ve done well by Western during your reign, Mr. Addihein, but your time as ruler has ended. Your people have spoken. Relinquish your Chronometer.”
Edvard felt his upper lip curl in irritation. He soothed it back down to its place. It was not their fault. “Your fear is based in ignorance. If you listen, you will understand—”
“Do not attempt to poison our thoughts with your heathen tongue. We will not fall to the gods’ tricks, as you have.” His anger rose in waves, each breath bringing more of a fevered panic with it. “I respect you, Mr. Addihein. That is why I cannot allow you to continue operating in this unforgiving state. If you do not relinquish it freely, we will simply take it.”
Edvard inclined his chin. He dug his heels into the carpet below him, his toes curling into the soles of his shoes. “Do as you must.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bermuda sucked in the oxygen around her in a sudden spasm of life. Her eyes shot open, bloodshot and feeling of sandpaper. She shut them immediately. The burning torches nearby threatened to blind her with their brightness.
With a low grumble, she dragged her arm over her face. She realized then, that she was splayed on the ground. The cushion of some material rested beneath her fallen body, but the quartermaster remained too tired to investigate.
Her body ached. Stripped of vital nutrients for far too many days, and further ravaged by her constant use of stimulants, Bermuda convinced herself to remove the arm that shielded her vision. It flopped to the earth beside her without ceremony. Her eyes were slow to adjust, but after a moment, they zeroed in on the ceiling above.
Stalactites hung from the cavernous space above her. They looked menacing in their position, threatening to pierce her with their pointed tips, should they fall. Bermuda took another deep breath, coaxing her broken body to cooperate. As she tried to prop herself up on her elbows, a hand gave her a gentle push, shoving her back to her place on the floor.
“Not yet, love. Gods alive, let your feckin’ body rest.”
If ever Brack’s voice brought her a layer of comfort, it was now. A familiar voice in an unfamiliar place was like a beacon. “Rabbit,” Bermuda breathed, relaxing into the warmth of whatever mysterious fabric separated her from the cold cavern floor, “where are we?”
The man laughed. It echoed through the tunnels around them as Brack leaned back onto his palms. “I’d call it home, but ... it never really meshed as such. We’re with the monks of Montezu, high in the mountains of the Northern division.”
“Northern?” The title spewed from her lips with identifiable wrath. Nordjan’s division was not among her favorites. Bermuda’s fingers balled into fists, though she remained on the ground. “Where are the others? Rennington? Granite? Penn? The ship?”
Brack smirked, lifting an arm to swipe a hand through his unkempt hair. The braid at the nape of his neck loosened, leaving strands of frazzled locks poking out of all sides. “Well, nobody’s dead, if that’s what you’re asking.” He stretched his arms up over his head, yawning. “Ship’s found a spot to rest in the best place we could land it. Hard to find even ground on a mountain, you know.”
It took a moment to process his words. Her brain was tired, not unlike the rest of her. “So I imagine ...” Bermuda’s words trailed off as she narrowed her eyes. She tried to summon recent memories, but they loitered in a dark spot of her mind she couldn’t immediately access. There was blood. There were gods. Then, nothing. “How did we get here?”
Running his tongue across his teeth, Brack leaned back once more. “No recollection of that, aye?”
The quartermaster closed her eyes. Her brows fell over her lids as she creased her nose. She remembered, then. “You poisoned me,” she uttered, disgruntled.
“Ah,” Brack shrugged, a quiet chuckle leaving him, “I don’t know that I’d call it a poison. More of a ... a really powerful sedative.”
“Is this a mutiny?” she wondered out loud, forcing her eyes open.
“Nah.” Brack grinned, stealing a glimpse of her as the firelight caught his eyes. “Mutinies only exist if there’s one person in charge. Truth be told, love, I thought after the captain died, we were all kind of ... equal.”
Kazuaki. The mention of him assaulted her already fragile morale. Bermuda remembered then, with renewed vigor, what she was accomplishing in Northwestern: unadulterated, merciless retribution. “I have to get back to Northwestern,” she murmured, trying once more to rise.
Brack laid his hands on her shoulders once more, keeping her grounded. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”
She was in no condition to fight against the pressure of his touch, gentle though it was. Bermuda gritted her teeth together, scowling at her comrade. “That is not for you to decide.”
“Bermuda,” Brack said, addressing her by name for the first time in many years, “lie down.”
Her heart thudded faster. Her pulse quickened. Bermuda felt her blood roasting in her veins but lacked the energy to effectively show it. “I need to do this, Brack. I will not allow the memory of Kazuaki to fade to dust. He was a legend—he was—” Her words fell away as her throat tightened. “—they need to pay for what they took away from Panagea.”
“From Panagea?” he asked, arching a brow. “Or from you?”
Bermuda turned away, her eyes finding a place to look at in the darkness of the caves.
The man beside her sighed. Crossing his legs, he leaned his elbows on his knees, resting his jaw in his palm. “Captain’s memory won’t fade to dust, love. Kazuaki Hidataka built an empire.” Brack’s jovial nature diminished as he motioned toward her by jutting out his chin. “Nordjan ... Mimir ... the gods ... they all played their part, but ... you’re the one who’s letting it fall apart.”
Her comrade seemed different in the darkness of the caves. A cold, Northern wind blew in from the opening, carrying small flakes of snow with it. They landed on
her face, melting into her skin. “Kazuaki’s empire fell apart the minute Bartholomew took over Southern. The minute Iani died. The minute Elowyn took over Eastern. It’s died several deaths already.”
“It didn’t die,” Brack replied, his tone calm and soft. “It expanded. The crew stretched its arms out over the place that shunned us and brought everything the captain taught them to those places.” He frowned, an unusual expression for Brack Joney to wear. “The empire fell apart the minute you did.”
His words invited ire to rise inside her. Bermuda felt her stomach sink. Her fingers sank into the hard rocks beside her as she glared at Brack in the light of the fires. “If it’s so bad,” she growled, “then why are you still here?”
The man shrugged. Nonchalant and absent of any malice, he said, “Because I love you, mate. With my whole heart. As much as I love Renn, Bart, Granite, Penn, Nico, Umbriel, Revi, wherever the feck he is. As much as I loved Elowyn. As much as I loved Iani. The captain. Even the beast.” He tilted his head, swatting her in the shoulder with the back of his limp wrist. “I’ve traded countless peaceful nights to march with you into the mouth of madness and I’d trade a thousand more because that’s what the captain built on that ship. And I’ll be damned if I don’t honor it ‘til my dyin’ breath.”
His confession choked her. Bermuda felt a majority of the rage leave her body. Without anger to hold herself up, she collapsed without mercy back onto the ground. Her eyes focused on the ceiling of the caverns. What did she say to that? Uninvited liquid stung at her eyes. She clenched her jaw, holding her remorse deep inside of her, where it belonged.
She dragged these people through the Underworld. Those who she loved. The few who were left. She forced them to shower in the blood and dust of gods. All to capture a feeling for herself that she wasn’t sure she’d gain, even if her efforts proved successful.
And they followed her. Without question, or hesitation, they followed.
Bermuda’s chest rose as she took a deep breath. She lugged her weak arm across the floor until it touched Brack’s knee. She knew, then, against the warmth of his body, just how cold her own had become. “You’re a good man, Brack.”
He grinned, stifling a chuckle. “Don’t I know it. But so are you, quartermaster.”
The fallen woman arched a brow, dragging her head to the side to peer at him from her lowly place.
His laugh deepened. “I mean, a good woman. And you can bet your bottom coin that I’ll stick by you until you start to realize that for yourself.”
She coaxed a smile from the reservoir of her tired spirit. “It might take a while. Between my poor decision-making skills when I lost Ty ... and now, this ...” She shook her head, flexing the fingers of the artificial hand she had traded away for peaceful ignorance. “Turns out I’m awful at correcting my internal flaws.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t work too hard to fix it.” Brack’s shoulders shook as he released a small laugh. “That’s why we get along so well. We’re all ten different degrees of fecked up.”
Against the pain it placed in her ribcage, Bermuda joined him in his short laughter. When the sounds of their amusement fell away into the shadows, she surveyed her surroundings. To know that she woke in a mountain cave in Northern came as a surprise; her exhausted brain finally connected the dots of Brack’s earlier confession. “Did you say this place was home?” she asked with a hint of curiosity in her voice.
“Nah.” Brack picked up a small pebble, chucking it into one of the open tunnels that spilled into the cave’s interior. “Home’s with you guys. This is just where I was born.”
Bermuda jutted her bottom lip out, reflecting. She remembered nothing of Brack’s origin. He remained the only member of the captain’s crew who made no mention of his birthplace. It never struck any of them as odd.
Until today.
“I didn’t even know these mountains were habitable,” she muttered, her breath forming around her mouth in visible clouds. Northern existed in a consistent, icy state. That anybody would wish to make a home in the colder elevation of the mountain environment seemed like an invitation for torture. “I could see why you wouldn’t want to live here.”
“It is not as bad as it first appears,” a new voice called out, startling Bermuda. From the mouth of an interior tunnel, a woman emerged. Entirely bald, and wrapped in simple linens that covered her form, she knelt beside the quartermaster. Clutching a bowl in one hand and fabric in the other, she offered a gentle smile. “Would you like a hot cloth to comfort you?”
Feeling the sting of embarrassment for chastising the monk’s home, Bermuda cleared her throat. “Sorry ... um ...” Her eyes flicked to the handmade bowl. Steam rose from the waters inside. “That does sound tempting, I must admit.”
Brack smirked, his eyes twinkling with their traditional perverted flare. “That’s right, Meera. Give her a nice, long sponge bath. She needs it, the dirty thing.”
Meera dipped the fabric into the hot water, wringing it out before she softly placed it against Bermuda’s forehead. Without turning to acknowledge Brack, she calmly replied, “I see you have changed little in the last twenty years, old friend.”
The man lifted a finger to point at Meera, a grin anchored on his face. “That’s how I know leaving was the right decision.”
“Your body needs rest.” Meera tilted her head as she continued to dab Bermuda’s skin. “It is well that Brack has brought you to us. That you are still among the living in your condition is admirable.”
An unenthusiastic frown fell over Bermuda’s face. “It’s not all that bad.”
Meera’s eyes closed. She smiled. “It is those delusions that you feed yourself, which have placed you in this unfortunate circumstance.”
Bermuda blinked. She craned her neck to find Brack. “She ... is nothing like you.” The quartermaster rotated her shoulder with a grimace. “I find it hard to believe you spent any length of time here at all.”
The Rabbit snorted as he pushed himself into a standing position. “Infancy into adolescence, adolescence into the teenage years.” Brack rubbed his tired face, his smirk remaining despite his obvious fatigue. “It’s as good a place as any to fall out of your mother’s bits. The people here are compassionate. Honest. Faithful. Obedient to their cause. And as it turns out, completely and utterly chaste.”
“Ah.” Bermuda leaned into the warmth of the damp fabric, closing her eyes. “Well, there it is, then. I can see why they booted you.”
“I am afraid Brack left on his own accord,” Meera informed, placing the fabric back into the bowl to regain the lost heat. “His absence was felt, though, we are taught not to mourn the loss of earthly attachments.” Her voice faded away as if it fell off a sudden, unexpected cliff.
Bermuda thought, perhaps, there were unspoken words to that sentence. She witnessed a flash of grief in Meera’s eyes, but the monk wiped it away.
“Those hot springs still flowing, then?” Brack gestured to the steaming bowl of water as he rotated his shoulder. “My muscles are killing me. A nice, long soak would do wonders.”
Meera slid the bowl over to Bermuda, making it available for her personal use, should she desire it. The monk rose to her feet, dusting debris from the cloth around her knees. “You of all people know, Mr. Joney, that the primary hot spring is not to be soiled by the bodies of the unclean. It is a sacred place.”
The man shrugged, rubbing his arm. “Couldn’t hurt to see if anything changed in the last two decades.”
“No,” Meera replied, folding her hands in front of her, as she gazed upon him. “The monks of Montezu are as consistent in their endeavors as they have ever been.”
Her response did little to deter his spirit. Brack smirked, lightly bumping her on the arm with his knuckles. “You’ve got nothing but my respect, Meera.” He thumbed behind him. “I’m gonna go find the crew before Penn pisses off the elders with his shit attitude.”
“Impossible.” Meera blinked. “They have eradicated anger from the
ir bodies.”
A laugh leaped out of Brack’s throat. “You haven’t changed a bit, love.” He glanced down at Bermuda. “If you need anything at all, just yell. The caves echo. Someone will hear you, eventually.”
“That’s ...” Bermuda frowned, her nose wrinkling at the statement, “ ...comforting.”
Brack offered Meera a small nod and a wink before excusing himself. Little pained the unshakable Brack Joney, but staring at Bermuda’s withering body ranked high amongst the things that did.
He slipped farther into the caverns. Though twenty years separated his feet from the last time they walked the mountains of Montezu, he discovered they retained the memory of which route led where.
Calloused fingers scraped along the rock walls as he walked. The rough texture of the stone brought a familiar remembrance with it. The way the purposefully flanked torches, burning in their embedded places in the wall, thrust heat into an otherwise unforgiving environment.
Though scent remained the strongest tie linked to memory, it was the absence of any smells which triggered Brack most. The monks of Montezu worked tirelessly from birth to train their bodies to exist on very little, for in the mountains, that’s all one had. Water, fresh in its hidden mountain atmosphere, lichen, fungus, and the thrill of enlightenment, remained the peoples’ primary sources of nourishment. If Brack remembered correctly, they often went several weeks without eating anything at all.
It was a humbling place to grow up. To learn how to exist on so little was something he utilized into adulthood. Reminiscing brought a smirk to his face.
As he rounded a corner, his eyes fell onto the familiar bodies of Rennington and Penn. They stood in one of the more cavernous spaces, with only a few monks joining them in the common space. Brack grinned. Penn’s back was to him as he chatted with Rennington. Unable to resist, Brack tiptoed as silently as he was able. Hovering just behind Penn’s body, Brack reached out, digging his fingers into the unsuspecting man’s ribs.
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 116