The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  The man turned away, rotating his shoulders. His jaw was tight. It was hard to look at her. “If you need someone to go to Southern,” he started, his voice rough, “to verify the passing of your comrade and bring words of respect to his grave ... I will go.”

  “Wulfgang ...” Elowyn’s eyebrows drew together. It hurt that he couldn’t look at her, but she understood. The soldier had a lot to process: the deceit, the loss, the revelation. She wanted to give him as much time as he needed. “You don’t need to do that. You have the Underground. They need you back there.”

  “No.” Wulfgang kicked at some leaves near his feet, looking down. “No, the Underground doesn’t need me anymore. That doctor will perfect that pill, I’m sure of it. The Underground was formed to keep our families safe from the gods.” He forced himself to look up. Then, he forced himself to look at her. “They are now. Or, in a very short time, as soon as those pills flow freely ... they will be.”

  Elowyn’s stomach sank. His kind words both warmed her and cut her. That she had hurt him damaged her in a way she didn’t account for. “I still couldn’t ask it of you,” she said, clinging tightly to her helmet. “The Underground may not need you, but you have family here. They will need help acclimating themselves with the surface world once more. I couldn’t ask you to abandon them now.”

  “I never thought abandonment was the right answer either,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “A soldier doesn’t abandon. A leader.” He pierced her gaze with his. They held the cold reserve of a warrior, with the understanding of a human being. “I hated you for it. For abandoning Eastern. I still can’t say I support what you did.” He turned away, staring in the direction of Southern. “But I meant what I said when I told you that you were family. I’ll take care of things in Southern. You go back to Shroudmond. Seize those bastards who have poorly attempted to control the division in your absence. You tell them you are Elowyn feckin’ Saveign, division leader of Eastern, and you have freed our land from the gods’ control.” Wulfgang stole a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye. “And if they have a problem with returning your position of power to you ... you tell them the boys of the Underground will ensure that your return is ensured.”

  In the face of everything, his words made her heart soar. Elowyn reached out, grabbing his arm. She held it tightly, an honest smile blossoming onto her face. “Thank you, Wulfgang.”

  It was the lingering feeling of resentment that made him tense at her touch. It would take time to forget the deception. The cemented feelings of disgust toward the division leader who he thought abandoned them. But time healed all wounds, and Wulfgang felt certain that someday he would view Elowyn Saveign with much the same reverence as he viewed the Eastern soldier E.P. “Thank you ... Elowyn.” He smirked, but only minutely. “Couldn’t have come up with a better alias than ‘E’?”

  The relief that washed over her cleansed every ailment that had grown over the last year. Elowyn’s smile expanded. “Creativity isn’t my strong suit. I’m a doctor, not a bard.” Despite the lighthearted exchange, she realized that her touch made him uncomfortable. Elowyn released his arm. “You’ll find all the answers I’ll need in Seacaster. Locate Bartholomew Gray. Tell him you hold the knowledge of Elowyn Saveign’s disappearance. You should have no problem securing an appointment with him then.”

  Wulfgang nodded. Though a part of him still gripped the offense, he was a soldier. So long as Elowyn stood as Eastern’s Time Mother, differences aside, he would act as her legion. “I will return as swiftly as I can. I expect to find you in Shroudmond.”

  Elowyn stepped back, giving him some space. “You will. Please give my best to those in the Underground when you return.”

  Without another word, Wulfgang stepped passed Eastern’s border, officially into Southern terrain. He headed toward Seacaster, in the direction of duty, and Bartholomew Gray.

  Elowyn turned back toward the course she had just come from. She would hoof it to the nearest steam train. An excitement spread in her stomach. It soaked into every layer of her body until it breached the surface of her skin and bubbled over.

  The dread over Kazuaki’s fate had not vanished, but an undeniable feeling of anticipation existed at returning to her position. How would the people react to her unexpected resurgence? She hoped that they would forgive her. She hoped that Wulfgang would forgive her. Admittedly, a ball of nerves wriggled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of seeing him again, not as E.P., but as Elowyn Saveign.

  Part of her wished to shed more of the armor that had disguised her for so long. But she could not. She would return it to Mairyn Catteral, its rightful owner. The second after she completed that task, she would return to Shroudmond and take up her rightful place as Eastern’s division leader.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Nicholai stopped for nothing. His presence earned him concerned glances from those who recognized him when he drove by in the steam car. The people of Western knew Time Fathers were not to be this far beyond their division. Particularly, a Time Father with a flawed history of poor time management, as Nicholai Addihein had.

  It didn’t matter. Their anxious stares meant nothing. As Nicholai saw the edge of Kudgan come into view, he knew they’d be frozen soon enough.

  With nothing but his troubled thoughts for company, he pushed the vehicle to its furthest ability. Epifet had the good decency to abandon him as soon as the steam car touched Western’s border. She did not want to see Nicholai stripped of his life as well, simply for being in the presence of a goddess.

  Hushed voices slipped from the lips of those who saw him rumble by. Several took steps after him, though they stood no chance of maintaining the steam car’s speed. They watched until he disappeared from their sight, onward, toward Edvard Addihein’s homestead.

  Nicholai knew he drew closer. Edvard’s home was the tallest in the division, with the tips of its pointed towers penetrating the sky. He saw them even at a distance.

  Focused entirely on his mission, he did not balk at the group of nervous people standing outside Edvard’s home when he finally approached it. Their energy was tangible. Rattled. Nervous. They must have belonged to the small band that had killed his father.

  They must have known what waited inside.

  Nicholai pulled the vehicle to a stop and leaped to the ground without delay. He marched toward the men, who knew nothing of what to do with themselves and pushed his way past them. He only had so much time to open the door before time stopped.

  “Nicholai Addihein?” One of the men before the mansion drew back, recognizing the Southeastern Time Father for his luminary status. He withdrew, wearing fear on his face. Did Nicholai know what he had done? The state he had left his father in? The state he had doomed Western too, for being far too terrified to face the raging goddess that waited inside the building? How?

  The Time Father paid him no mind, knowing time was of the essence. He reached out and threw the door open.

  Before Nicholai could disappear fully inside, a man grabbed his shoulder. When Nicholai spun to face him, all he saw was regret. Whether the regret was for Edvard’s murder, or simply for dooming Western, the Time Father had no idea.

  “We’ve made a grave mistake, Mr. Addihein,” the man uttered, trying to speak as quickly as he could. “Please, we need you to take the Chronometer to—”

  And he stopped.

  Nicholai blinked, staring at the frozen man before him. Time had trapped his face into one of perpetual repentance. It seemed just. For a moment, he thought, maybe it was. Much as he despised Edvard for what he had done, nobody deserved to die. Especially by the hands of the people who they loved the most.

  The Time Father lifted his gaze from the man, staring beyond him. He knew he needed to get the Chronometer. He needed to unfreeze Western, to restore it to its original state. But a paralysis gripped him when he looked out at the frozen world before him.

  It threw him right back to where he stood in Nenada, several years prio
r. He saw Lilac Finn’s face in every still body his eyes fell upon. It took longer than he would have liked to convince himself to turn away.

  Epifet had said Edvard was killed in his study.

  Over twenty years had passed since Nicholai last walked through his childhood home. Given its size, it would have been easy to forget the layout of the place. But he knew where Edvard’s study was. It was the same room he was never allowed to enter as a boy. Off-limits. The forbidden door.

  That’s where his father worked, and his father needed to focus.

  His feet were slow to climb the steps. Nicholai was not eager to see his father’s corpse. Too many mixed emotions likely laid on the soiled carpet with Edvard’s body. It was not the only thing that weighed his ankles down, however.

  He couldn’t stop seeing tidbits of his childhood. His hand slid over the smooth railing of the staircase. It brought him back to age six, when his mother pulled the pillowcases from their beds, used them as sacks to place their legs in, and the two slid down the staircase in their pretend vehicles.

  The ‘Down the Mountain’ game. That’s what they called it. It resulted in a sore bottom, for each time his posterior hit every new step on the way down, it would rattle up through his spine. But the laughter he shared with his mother during the game eased any small aches.

  When Nicholai made it up the stairs, he zeroed in on Edvard’s study across the corridor. The door remained slightly ajar. He saw a hand on the floor, but the rest of what awaited him was blocked from his vision.

  One step at a time. The floor creaked under the weight of his boots. Distracted eyes darted to his right, where his childhood bedroom sat. The door was closed.

  He needed to get the Chronometer. He needed to correct Western. Nicholai tried not to think about the fond memories he had in that space. Bedsheet forts and other make-believe things. A lot of late-night stories were created in there, collaborations between Enita and himself.

  He wiped them away. Focus. Just breathe, and focus.

  The floor continued to mock him with each step. It made sense. The house was old. Edvard likely poured much more of himself into division leadership, than home repair. Standing before the entrance to the study, he reached out, struck by how embedded the fear was of pushing the forbidden door open. He was afraid to do it, as a child.

  He was more afraid to do it now.

  The door swung open at his touch. There Edvard laid, as expected. His face was nearly unrecognizable, beaten within an inch of identification. Nicholai closed his eyes right away, his muscles growing rigid. The contents of his stomach dared to come up his throat. The sight was not a pleasant one. He knew it wouldn’t be, coming in ... but somehow, he still found himself unprepared for the brutality.

  The Time Father forced his eyes open. Numb from the neck down, he strode over to Edvard’s corpse and knelt beside him. The necessity to right Panagea was the only thing that guided him. He, above all others, knew the devastating effects stilling a land had on the continent. He did not want it, or the people, to agonize for any reason.

  Nicholai did not know how to feel, standing over the fallen body of his father. He remained angry. Angry for his mother, who suffered one of life’s greatest betrayals. But staring down at the proof of his father’s suffering, he could not hate him.

  Paralyzed to hate, but also paralyzed to grieve.

  Movement was the last thing Nicholai expected to see in a land where time stood still. To his great surprise, Epifet appeared beside him.

  It took a moment to convince his languid tongue to speak, but when he could, he kept his disbelief simple. “I didn’t know you could walk through frozen time.”

  Epifet folded her hands in front of her. She appeared calm, though a hint of surprise shined through in her words. “Neither did I.” She glanced down at Edvard, wincing. He looked as lonely now as he had when she first left him. Her eyes returned to Nicholai once more. “But, I had to try. I couldn’t let you do this alone.”

  Nicholai nodded. He spied the Chronometer, shimmering in Edvard’s open palm. Smears of blood covered parts of it. It did not deter Nicholai from reaching out, gently plucking it from his father’s waiting hand.

  With his heart protesting, he stood back to his feet and pulled the Chronometer closer to his chest. He couldn’t look at Edvard. He only stared at the closest spot he found on the floor that was not covered in his father’s blood, a thousand and one thoughts racing through his mind.

  The silence of a frozen division was maddening. It amplified every dark sentiment. Wishing to bring a small shred of comfort, Epifet broke the quiet. “He was not a bad man, Nicholai. I hated him too, for a moment in time, but ...” She hung her head. “I have since learned that what motivates a person changes as they age. I could not continue to fault him for something he eventually grew to fault himself with. He hated himself far more than I ever could have. To throw my own animosity on top of it ... it seemed too cruel.”

  Nicholai nodded. He knew Epifet’s words stemmed from love, but he found himself clenching his jaw. He was not just surrounded by the mixed emotions of Edvard’s tragic death; his mother had lived in these walls too. Though she was forcefully dragged from the home and family she loved, the walls still radiated with her aura. Nicholai felt it in his bones. It made it harder to forgive.

  Epifet took a step forward. “Nicholai?”

  He turned to her, removing his hat. It seemed rude to wear it. “I don’t know if I can forgive him for what he did to Enita, Epifet ...” Nicholai tucked the hat under his arm, swallowing. “But, I do know that he didn’t deserve ... this.”

  The goddess followed the line of his gesture as he waved his arm outward. She nodded sadly. “The pressure that comes with ruling an entire division ... that power is enough to corrupt any man.”

  Her words. They only confirmed what he’d already thought. “It is,” Nicholai said. “Power has corrupted every person I’ve met, who has had the opportunity to touch it. Even me.” He winced, thinking back to the time when he allowed his entire division of people to remain dormant, just to save one life. A life he had failed to save. His people suffered needlessly for that act. It haunted him. “It’s too much for people, Epifet.” He raised his eyes to find hers. “I think you’re right. Power turns men into monsters.”

  She stared back at him, her eyes narrowing curiously.

  Nicholai glanced down at his father’s Chronometer. He curled his fingers tightly around it, then held it out to the goddess. “That is why I’d like you to take this back.”

  Epifet’s brows fell over her into a questioning gaze. She tilted her head, her focus flicking down to the object in his hand. “I don’t understand ...”

  Nicholai kept his arm outstretched, finding a new conviction that grew in his voice. “I know that lesser gods gave men this power. I speak on behalf of all of us when I say we’re grateful for the gift. But we are not fit to handle it. We never were. Please,” he said, emphasizing the word, “take it back.”

  The goddess bit her bottom lip, unable to take her eyes off the shimmering metal that Nicholai held out to her. She recoiled only slightly, thinking back to the moment she tried to grab it before, in the hopes of taking it to Nicholai herself. Epifet shook her head. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Please,” Nicholai said again, filling his lungs with air. “Try. This power only harms. I have seen it. Take it.” He released the Chronometer, holding only the chain. The device swung back and forth. “I relinquish my father’s Chronometer back to the gods. Back to where it came from.”

  She tore her eyes away from the swinging object, finding Nicholai’s face. “Are you sure?” she asked, her words leaving her in a concerned whisper.

  He did not hesitate. “Yes.” The hardness in his face softened. “Free Western from its prison. Please.”

  Nerves gripped her. It was a strange sensation for the goddess. With some hesitation, she held out her hand, her fingers slowly opening like a blossoming flower. “All ri
ght. I will try.”

  Nicholai gently lowered it into her palm.

  Epifet winced, prepared for the worst. No shock came. No current of agony that grabbed her when she tried to touch it prior. She wondered, for a moment, if it was Nicholai’s permission that granted her the ability to hold the object without repercussion. Human consent. Free will.

  It had been a long time since any god held one of the eight Chronometers in their hands. A gift forged and given far too long ago, Epifet never surmised the objects would ever find their way back into the gods’ possession.

  Men could not destroy it. But she knew, anything made by the hands of a god ... could be destroyed by the hands of a god.

  She bent her fingers around the metal object and squeezed. The tendons in her wrist bulged to the surface from the pressure. As if it was suddenly made of paper, the Chronometer buckled under her force. The glass split. The gears fractured. The hour hand chipped off and fell to the floor.

  The pair waited in the stillness of Edvard’s study. At first, they heard nothing. Then the hiss of steam. The clanking of industry.

  It was muffled. Muted. Nicholai glanced over his shoulder and slowly approached the window. He placed his palms on the sill and gazed out, beyond the glass.

  Below him, as if Western never had to bow to the whims of a man with a pocket watch, people returned to life. Movement spread across the cobblestone roads and inside the factories and homes he saw. Steam cars rattled around corners, children pedaled by on bicycles, voices rose up through the throats of the people as they carried on with their day.

  It was almost as if they hadn’t realized they’d been frozen at all.

  Nicholai turned to Epifet when he felt her come up beside him. “I think you did it.”