Leaving the people of Western to their new reality was among the hardest of the tasks he’d given himself. Nicholai knew when the bitter resentment he had toward Edvard wore off, coming to terms with his father’s death would claim that title—but the paralysis of emotions did not yet allow him to feel anything about it. Not yet.
Panic rose when he announced that Western no longer had a Time Father. That Edvard was the last Time Father they would ever have. That they no longer needed to bow to the authority of a man with a god-made pocket watch. That they no longer needed to fear, on any level at all, the stoppage of time.
They were free.
It was their freedom that terrified them the most. Many of the residents didn’t know what to do with it. There was and had always been, a present Time Father. A man capable of commanding time, itself. Now, Western was just men. People. There was no magic left.
Nicholai thought, in time, they’d learn to readjust to their new reality. When they did, they’d find themselves better for it.
He hoped the people of Southeastern would feel the same. He’d have to make the same speech to them that he made to the people of Western soon enough.
The steam car rounded another bend. One step closer to home. With what little time he had left between now and when he reached his residence, Nicholai wondered what Epifet would do. He requested she not join him on his return trip home. A small resentment remained toward her too.
He did not want the goddess to fall to the wayside, absent of prayer. Soon enough, Nicholai knew that his forgiving nature would pave the way for her to emerge back into his life. He would sustain her. After everything she had done for Enita, for Edvard, for him ... he owed her that much and more.
Still ... it was too soon, to have to look at her face. He was pleased she respected his desire for privacy. Nicholai only hoped she wouldn’t suffer too much until he had the mental wherewithal to offer her his prayers.
The exterior of his home came into his sight. Nicholai thought it would have brought a sense of relief, but he couldn’t ignore a rising strangeness in his stomach. The same noises met his ears, the same familiar people waved when they saw him, but something was off.
There were no footmen posted outside his home. Strange. They were often always there, whether he wanted them to be or not.
The steam car rolled to a stop and he made his exit, staring at the front door to his home with narrowed eyes. Nicholai reached up to readjust his vest before he approached, standing in front of the entryway. He glanced over each shoulder once, just to see if he had missed them, but no. All the footmen were gone.
A cautious hand reached for the handle and turned it. The home was dark inside. All the curtains were drawn. Was Umbriel still in Sescol, at the institution site? Nicholai approached a window and peeled a curtain back, letting the light of the outdoors enter the home. He spun, scanning the room. “Umbriel?”
“Nicholai!” Her voice came from a room; which one, he did not know. He could not see her, but he could hear her panic. “Please, go!”
He wouldn’t, of course. Especially not when he heard her silenced by a blunt object. Nicholai darted for the sound of her voice, but before he could enter the room, Ganther forced her out.
With one of his arms around her throat and the other pressing a pistol to her temple, he shoved her body forward. Nicholai backed up as soon as he saw the weapon—he did not want to encourage a misfire.
The light from outside highlighted the shimmering liquid on Umbriel’s leg. Red. It was blood. A bullet wound. Nicholai raised his hand immediately, trying to isolate the injury site and expedite time to heal it—it was with sick remorse that he remembered he gave his ability away. Gone, like his Chronometer.
The man lifted his eyes. He locked on to Ganther’s face. Enraged, Nicholai’s mechanical arm rose—he would dart the bastard right between the eyes—
“I wouldn’t. Your sedative would never kick in before my bullet does.” Ganther pressed his pistol harder into Umbriel’s temple, his finger caressing the trigger.
Where were his footmen? Had Ganther somehow killed them? How long had he been here, making an Underworld of his homeland? Many questions piled on top of one another, and yet all Nicholai could do was ask in his iciest voice, “What do you want?”
Ganther increased his grip on Umbriel’s neck. “Initiate me as the new Southeastern Time Father. You’d best hurry too.” The man glanced at the now-open window, scanning the outside. “If the footmen return before the exchange of power is made, I’ll be forced to eliminate all witnesses.” His gaze flicked over to Nicholai. “I can’t have word spreading that would spoil the Odenhardth name, you know.”
Nicholai tried to find Umbriel’s eyes, to read her face. To see if she was okay. His heart pounded against the inside of his chest as he returned his attention to Ganther. “I don’t have it anymore ...”
The blue blood’s upper lip lifted into his nose. “Do not lie to me.”
Terror lived in the uncertainty of what would follow his confession. Nicholai swallowed, keeping his every movement steady and predictable, as not to startle Ganther. “It was destroyed. I’ve given it back to the gods.” He kept a keen eye on the man, hoping to keep him stable after his confession. “Both Western and Southeastern are free from ill-fit leaders pretending they’re pious enough to control time itself.”
Ganther stiffened. His lips pressed together tightly. Was he lying? The man saw no Chronometer hanging around his neck. What fool would give away that kind of power? That kind of authority? Ganther scowled. It had to be true. Nicholai was precisely the kind of fool to do just that. “That ... is most unfortunate, Mr. Addihein.”
“Ganther,” Nicholai held out his hands, sweating, “just ... let her go, all right? We ... we can figure this out.”
A rumble of disapproval rattled Ganther’s throat. This was not a part of his plan at all. It destroyed every piece of his intricately woven course of action. But it was not a complete loss. If Nicholai had, indeed, relinquished his Chronometer ... his authority was gone. There was no longer any man more powerful than him. Ganther Odenhardth had nothing left to fear.
Except for prosecution. Without the irrefutable authority of the Chronometer, Ganther was just a rich man who faced attempted murder charges. He could have bought his way out. Maybe. Or ... he could save himself the cost of bribery and eliminate the bystanders. “Don’t worry, Mr. Addihein. I’ve already figured it out myself.”
There was little time to react. Ganther aimed the gun and fired. There was no time to avoid the bullet. It was not like dodging lead from Darjal in Avadon. Ganther had precision. A steady hand. Expertise. It was a gun fired by the hand of a man who had shot and killed many.
Nicholai stumbled back and gripped a small stand by the window. A vase of metal flowers tumbled to the floor. He glanced down at his stomach. In it, there was a small hole. The color drained from his face. He looked up in time to watch Ganther fire another round.
Smoke wafted around the pistol. Nicholai hit his knees. His hands clasped his stomach as if they could somehow tourniquet the injury site. It was an impossible feat.
Umbriel’s mind screamed. It shrieked when her throat could not. Her fingers clawed into Ganther’s arm as she watched the color drain from Nicholai’s face.
The blue blood cocked his head, observing. “Impressive.” He laughed. It was a strange, eerie sound. “I have done what countless hired hands have failed to do. Stomach wounds are the worst, Mr. Addihein ...” He knew. He saw many who had suffered through them. “But I do not have the time to watch you bleed out.”
Nicholai looked up, panting. He tried to steady his nerves, to keep his wild heart from forcing more blood out the holes in his flesh, but his adrenaline betrayed him. He doubled over, his body on the floor.
Ganther grabbed Umbriel’s jaw. He forced her to watch. The liquid that met his fingertips, freshly leaked from her eyes, only livened the sadistic thrill. “Don’t worry, Miss Dasyra,” he whispere
d into his ear, lifting the weapon toward Nicholai once more. “I am a gentleman. I won’t let either of you suffer long.”
The bullet never left the barrel. The moment Ganther’s last word slipped into her ear, his core body temperature rose beyond any living creature’s ability. Umbriel’s fingernails dug into his sleeve. His brain melted before he even realized what was happening. That was the only mercy she granted him when she turned the cells of his body against him.
His death was quick and painless.
Ganther’s corpse crumbled to the ground. Umbriel leaped over him, her cheeks stained with tears as she found Nicholai’s stomach. Her shoulders quaked as she sobbed, devastated for having taken a life. It gutted her. Salted drops fell from her eyes and onto Nicholai’s clothing as she manipulated his tissue, forcing it to push the bullet fragments to the surface of his skin.
She had so little left to give.
Healing her leg earlier. Turning every cell in Ganther’s body against him. Umbriel pulled the first bullet out, her body still quaking with sobs of misery. She had betrayed her sisterhood. The Earth Mothers. Everything she stood for. Everything she was.
The second bullet came out shortly after the first. A pained moan escaped her as she gave what slight energy she had left to fuse the veins, the muscle fibers, every layer of broken flesh.
The foreign objects were out. The holes were closed. Had she done it in time? Shivering in disgust with herself, Umbriel laid her ear on Nicholai’s chest. A heartbeat. She needed to hear a heartbeat.
She felt the warmth of his hands on her arms before she heard the beating in his chest. Nicholai’s limbs engulfed her, pulling her tighter against his torso. Umbriel closed her eyes, knowing at that moment that he would live. Thank the gods. She had nothing in her left to give other than what sustained herself.
Nicholai felt her shuddering body. Her raw mortification. He reached up, pulling strands of hair out of the way of her ears. “Are you all right?” he whispered, refusing to let her go.
It was a question that only a compassionate soul, who also killed a man, could ask. Nicholai feared for her. He was no stranger to the sting that accompanied murder.
Umbriel sobbed into him. She took a life. Ganther’s corpse mocked her from across the room.
He needed to look at her. To give her the same serenity that she always gifted him. Though a small ache still lingered in his stomach, Nicholai slid his arms down Umbriel’s and gently lifted her head to face him.
She could barely look at him; could barely even hold her head up. Her eyes were already red and swollen, her face wet with evidence of her misery. He swept his thumb over her cheek, hoping to wipe away whatever guilt he could, though he knew it wouldn’t be enough.
The Earth Mother reached up to grab the hand he’d laid over the side of her face. She held it, too ashamed of herself to say anything. Nicholai found her eyes. He parted his lips, to try to say something he hoped would ease her torment, but before he could utter a single word, the room filled with two more bodies.
Kazuaki’s eye found Umbriel immediately. His sense of urgency did not allow him to comprehend the peculiarity of why she and Nicholai were on the floor together—he only dropped to his knees, holding Bermuda in his arms. “She needs healing.”
Through the blurriness of her tear-filled eyes, Umbriel found Bermuda. The captain. Her heart squeezed inside her. Kazuaki was back—teleported here, as if—
As if he was a god.
Nicholai stared, slack-jawed, failing to form words. They came from nothing. Nowhere.
Kazuaki’s eye narrowed when he saw the blood on Nicholai’s shirt. The pain in Umbriel’s face. The pair looked almost as haggard as Bermuda. With a sense of urgency, Kazuaki gently set Bermuda down, sweeping the room to see if danger remained. That was clearly a bullet wound in Nico’s gut. He’d seen enough of them to know.
His gaze fell on Ganther, crumbled to the floor.
Umbriel stared at the new god unceremoniously. Her breath caught in her throat. The otherworldly essence that hovered around him now was undeniable. She did not know how, but she knew—she felt it in every part of her. He had been resurrected. His aura was no longer that of a man.
Her eyes darted to Bermuda shortly after. Barely breathing. Only a remnant of who she once was. The sense of urgency hit her immediately. Umbriel squeezed Nicholai’s hand before she dragged her depleted body over to the quartermaster, placing her palms on the woman’s chest.
She was dying. Cold to the touch. It was a miracle she had not passed already. The Earth Mother wiped away one of her tears, though the effort it took to lift her arm destroyed the small shreds of energy she had left inside her.
Healing her leg. Destroying Ganther. Healing Nicholai. It drained her of almost everything she had.
Almost.
Umbriel looked once more at Kazuaki, who paced through all rooms of the house to ensure the threat to his comrades was gone. A fresh god. If he lost Bermuda ... the love of his life ... Umbriel knew him well enough to know that—gods alive—if Bermuda perished ...
The fury of Kazuaki the man was nightmarish enough. She shuddered to think of the rage Kazuaki the god would bring.
Glancing over to Nicholai, she caught his questioning gaze. He looked confused. Terrified for her. Through her tears, she offered him a tender smile. It was a smile that said she loved him.
It was also a smile that said ‘goodbye’.
Before Nicholai could protest, Umbriel laid her palms on Bermuda’s chest. A ripple of energy drained from her core, down her arms, out her fingers, and into the quartermaster’s skeletal frame.
It wasn’t much. But it was everything she had.
Umbriel’s body slumped to the floor.
Bermuda sucked in a sudden breath and shot up into a sitting position. Wide eyes scanned the room, only half aware of where she was.
It was the sound that brought Kazuaki back to her side. The house was safe. The only threat to his comrades was already dead on the floor. “Bermuda—” He knelt beside her, both hands on the sides of her face. Searching her eyes, he saw a lucidity. Sparks of recognition. Above all else, he saw that the reaper reflected in the whites of her eyes had vanished. The woman no longer knocked on death’s door. He opened his mouth to speak, but silenced himself, when he caught sight of Umbriel’s lifeless body.
Nicholai flung himself off the floor and over to her. Sliding one arm gently beneath her neck, he lifted her and cradled her to his chest. “Umbriel!” He thought for a moment he saw her moving, but it was his own shuddering body that gave an illusion of life to her own. “Umbriel!” Nicholai cupped her face, his throat caught in a vice. She was already cold. Not breathing.
“No, no, no, no—come on—” Nicholai set her down, looming over her as he desperately tried to restore her. Open the airway. Pinch the nose. Rescue breaths. Chest compressions. He tried it all and more.
The Earth Mother’s body did not respond.
Kazuaki stared. The hollow pit in his stomach grew into a chasm, not unlike the one at Panagea’s center. Her skin looked almost gray.
She did it. She gave the last of her life for Bermuda to live. A rare burden of guilt stabbed Kazuaki in the chest. He didn’t know when he asked her to heal Bermuda that she had so little left to give ...
He wondered if it would have made a difference if he had known. In the end ... he wanted Bermuda to live. Needed Bermuda to live. But never at the expense of Umbriel’s life.
This was no time to grapple with his suffocating guilt. Nico needed a guiding hand to pull him from his darkness.
Though it was hard, the captain forced his eye from the Earth Mother’s pallid body. He stared at Nicholai, who still tried in vain to resuscitate her. “Nico,” he uttered, reaching out a hand to grab the man’s arm. “... She’s gone.”
The captain’s grip did not stop him. Nicholai continued with his chest compressions, shaking his head. “No, no, she’s—she’s going to be ...” He couldn’t finish the sen
tence. He didn’t believe it, himself.
Umbriel was beyond saving.
“She’s ...” Nicholai stared down at her lifeless form. His compressions slowed until they stopped altogether. His jaw clenched. He felt the misery coming. A familiar unpleasantness. It rose high above the numbness that plagued his body the entire trip back to Nenada. The wall of paralysis around his emotions exploded. He scooped her up and held her against his chest. It was the only thing that stopped him from falling apart.
The disbelief at Kazuaki’s resurrection felt far away. He couldn’t process it. The room around him fell away into oblivion. All he could do was hold her. Keep her close. The last several hours of her life had been one nightmare after another.
How could he have failed her so terribly?
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair, unable to blink. He continued to shake as he held her. It was almost impossible to come to terms with the realization. The acceptance.
The last Earth Mother of Panagea was dead.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Her funeral brought many mourners. Countless residents of Nenada and surrounding Southeastern towns came to pay their respects. Those who saw her nearly every day. Those who adored her spirit. In attendance, fistfuls of individuals with artificial arms and legs, who the Earth Mother had helped to connect back to their nervous system. Some had even traveled from as far as Southern. Nicholai recognized their faces. Many were the former residents of Avadon’s slums. Years had passed since they last saw Umbriel, but when Nicholai thanked them for traveling as far as they did, they all said the same thing: “She was simply unforgettable.”
The service ended hours ago. The sea of bodies that clamored to say their farewells had all left the small plot on the border of Nenada’s forest. Nicholai thought, perhaps, Umbriel would have preferred a quieter place inside the woods ... but the people wanted to see her. Visit her. Remember her.
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 126