The woman dismissed his sarcastic fear with a flick of her wrist. “I doubt that. He’s got bigger things to worry about than us being a few minutes late.”
Rennington nodded. He knew precisely what ‘bigger thing’ Elowyn referred to. “Yeah, yeah, the quartermaster,” he uttered, trying to keep the spirit of the circumstances from dipping by downplaying the seriousness of her condition. “Maybe she’ll distract him with her feminine wiles. Should grant us another ten or twenty minutes here, at least.”
A swift smile found its way to Elowyn’s lips. She slowly craned her neck toward the tombstone. Her gaze traced each letter before she felt her throat tighten. Ruling over Eastern had kept her from many things … chief among them, visiting Iani’s grave. The medic reached out a hand and gingerly laid it on the stone’s edge. At a loss for what to say, she landed on the trite and obvious. “You really miss him, huh?”
The inquiry, commonplace though it was, still charged the grin on Rennington’s face. He shrugged. “As much as anyone can miss a mouthy little shithead.”
Classy. A sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort left Elowyn as the wind brushed up against her cheeks. “I miss him too.”
Resting his chin in the palm of his propped-up hand, Rennington stared at Iani’s name. Somewhere in the distance, a steam car’s horn honked. A terrible invention, Rennington thought. The world had enough noise in it, without people adding to it by way of new creations. It seemed that was what Panagea was destined for though. Another big shift. Another monumental change. What other new technology would the world begin to see if Nico’s effort to remove the Chronometer-wielding overlords and restore the balance of equality actually panned out? If the passage of time was no longer controlled by eight, but instead in the hands of everyone?
The Southern soldier shifted in his place on the ground. Panagea could not predict what strange innovative circumstances would befall her. Just as they, themselves, could not predict their futures. At least there was some joy in speculation. “So,” he muttered, twisting to roll his focus to the woman who stood over him, “what are you going to do? When all of this is over?”
Elowyn felt her stomach drop out from beneath her. She wasn’t sure why the question upset her. Perhaps it had something to do with the loss of Eastern. It was far easier to predict her life’s general direction when she had a title to guide her. “It’s … hard to think about it,” she admitted. “I used to believe I had something in Eastern. A plan.” She shrugged, shaking her head. For the briefest of moments, her thoughts drifted to Wulfgang. Did he mean what he had said about looking him up upon the completion of her task? “I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”
Witnessing the turmoil on her face, Rennington cleared his throat. Time for a swift change in demeanor, to salvage the situation. “A land no longer bound by an old fecker with an enchanted pocket watch.” He raised his hands over his head, simulating a detonation with his fingers. “What an explosive revolution that will be. I’m sure you’ll have no shortage of offers from those who want that medicine you created, what with the gods sticking around and all, but … you know you’re always welcome to stay with me in Southern. Until you figure something else out, of course.”
Elowyn turned her eyes toward him and found herself smiling. It brought her more ease than she thought it would. “Thanks, Renn.” She drew her arms tighter around her torso, as her gaze fell to the ground. “It’s hard to plan out the rest of my life at the moment. I think we’re all just trying to get through tomorrow.”
The man snorted, tilting his head back to grant himself a better look at the sky. “Preach, sister.”
Sitting in the stillness of Southern’s boneyard, Elowyn and Rennington basked in their unobtrusive surroundings. It was a rare treat to be in the presence of invited silence. The kind that was not birthed by eerie discomforts or moments of grief. The kind of quiet that melted one’s tension away and replaced it with the warmth of temporary peace.
And temporary, it was.
They heard the airship before they saw it. By the time Rennington and Elowyn craned their necks to see where the vessel positioned itself in the sky, it was near enough to blow any debris not anchored down across the graveyard. The churning propellers jostled the few treetops that grew nearby, and both man and woman spied several silhouettes looking at them over the airship’s ledge.
Rennington raised a hand over his eyes to shield them from the setting sun. He glimpsed Elowyn, sporting a feisty smirk. “I guess Bermuda’s skirt wasn’t as short as Captain’s patience.”
The medic chuckled, reaching out to grab the rope that one of the crew members above had hurled over the ledge. “Come on, then. Maybe if the others tell us what they plan to do with the rest of their lives, we can get some ideas of our own.”
A laugh fell from Rennington’s mouth as he grabbed the rope that Elowyn already managed to scale partway. “Rabbit has pretty low standards for eternal happiness!” he shouted, just enough to raise his voice over the churning of the ship’s engines. “Might be better if we ask Revi.”
Elowyn grunted while she hoisted herself farther. “I doubt that he so much as knows the definition of joy,” she called back, grasping the airship’s ledge upon reaching it. When Rennington ascended the rope to reach her, she stretched over, grabbing his forearm to help pull him the rest of the way. “I doubt any of us do,” she added, sweeping some hair behind her ear.
Pulling the rope up behind him, so as not to leave it dangling, Rennington smirked. “I don’t know. There used to be a lot of it in the dining hall, back on the old ship.” With an idea igniting in his head, the Southern soldier turned to her with a spark in his eyes. “I’ve got my harmonica. Care to sing a tune with me at dinner? For old time’s sake?”
His harmonica. Gods, she’d nearly forgotten about it. About their songs. The entertainment and the laughs. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago. Elowyn smiled, and with her hands on her hips, she nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Dusk. It was one of the few hours that brought the sweet scent of Penn’s cooking to life. Better than his breakfasts, his lunches, his in-between meals; dinner was something the arrogant cook had perfected throughout an entire day. His marinades had set in, his various doughs had a chance to rise, things had fermented to his immaculate taste: it was the man’s hour to shine. He could not lift a sword or fire a gun with the same lethal accuracy as the others, but Penn Elmbroke slew hunger like the best of them.
With the rise in old-world goods returning, it reminded Kazuaki of days he thought he’d never have the pleasure of tasting again.
The others would likely head to the dining hall soon, lured there by the aroma. The captain had promised to bring Granite a meal, as gratitude for piloting the ship, while he briefly indulged in Penn’s cooking with the others. It would be nice he thought, to sit with them in peace before they headed into the mouth of chaos once again.
Retrieving the Chronometers from Bartholomew and Elowyn was the easy part. Kazuaki doubted very much that Southwestern, with its rugged terrain, countless animals, and aggressive goddess ruling over it, would honor them with as much effortlessness as the other divisions had thus far.
Turning a corner, the man’s quick pace ground to a halt. His body arched to avoid running into the woman he nearly trampled over in the corridor. “Bermuda—” Kazuaki placed his arms on either side of the narrow hallway to steady himself. “I would have thought you’d be in the dining hall by now.”
“I’m on my way.” She smirked, clutching the fragments of her ensemble to keep her shaking hands steady. “I’ll let you escort me if you beg.”
A small grin tugged on one end of Kazuaki’s mouth. “I can still count on one hand how many times I’ve begged for anything in my life. But if you ask it of me”—he lifted his palm and spread his fingers—“I’ll start on the other.”
The heat of a slow blush spread over her cheeks, far more noti
ceable than it should have been against the paleness of her skin. “That’s fine. You save it. If you’re anything like me,” she said, sliding her mechanical hand into the crook of Kazuaki’s arm, “you might need to trade it to a demented lesser god one day.”
“I’ve given away enough body parts,” Kazuaki mumbled, sliding his free hand over to rest atop Bermuda’s, as he guided her down the hall. “Unless there’s any that you might wish to lay claim to.”
The woman’s pinched lips held in her depraved laugh. She shook her head, savoring in the warmth of his skin on hers. “So, off to Southwestern,” she mused, following the fragrance of Penn’s cooking down the hall. “What will that be like, I wonder?”
“Animals everywhere.” Kazuaki closed his eye, guiding his movements from memory, as he pulled forth what little he knew of the transformed Southwestern division. “Been a long time since I laid eyes on any of the old-world beasts.”
“Been a long time since you laid eyes on anything,” the woman retorted, motioning to the patch that covered his face. With a grin, she nudged him with her elbow. “Any advice I could use, for when we arrive?”
Kazuaki pried his eye open, smirking. Gods, he adored her dark sense of humor. “Advice?” he repeated, hitching a shoulder. “Watch where you step.”
“Ah.” Bermuda nodded as they slowed their pace. “The beasts there are stealthy then? Hard to spot?”
“No.” Kazuaki stopped outside the dining hall’s closed doors. “They just shit wherever they damn well please. Don’t want you to get any on your boots and track it back into the ship.”
The quartermaster allowed her entertained chuckle to leave her, as she turned to face him. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I got lots of practice. Won’t be much different than people, except the shit is more figurative than literal.”
The captain gazed down at her, drinking in the sight of her amusement. The way her eyes crinkled when she held in a laugh. The way she played an invisible flute that made his heart dance like a charmed snake. He slid his arms around her, pulling her toward him. When the heat of their bodies pressed together, he rested his chin atop the mass of brown hair on her head. “How did I get so lucky?” he mused quietly, as not to be heard by anyone but her.
Bermuda managed a smile, and she breathed in the scent of his long jacket. It smelled of battles, and sleepless nights, and lust, and agelessness. Of liquor, and gun smoke, and unwashed blood. And somehow, through everything that the article of clothing had endured, it still smelled like the sea. It was that which brought her the most comfort. That was Kazuaki Hidataka.
She was unaccustomed to his display of vulnerability. While the man’s grip around her increased, it still held a gentleness to it—likely a result of his awareness in regard to her frailty. Bermuda cleared her throat, realizing she hadn’t answered his question. “Fate has probably pitied you after witnessing everything you’ve endured up to this point,” she joked.
Kazuaki stared at the far off wall, opposite of where they stood. “If I had to do it all again …” All those countless centuries of languid existing. Witnessing the shortcomings of humanity. The losses of good men and women. The isolation at sea. If they were the price he had to pay, just to hold her, like this … “I would.”
Soft words with a brusque voice. Bermuda eased herself out of his grip and lifted herself with the tips of her toes. She slid her arms around his neck, and their lips met, as they had countless times since she declared her affection in that burning Northwestern town. She enjoyed the taste of him until a bout of turbulence shook the ship, and the aftershock rippled through her legs.
Bermuda cursed when her knees buckled. She felt the grip of Kazuaki’s arms tighten around her, catching her before she hit the floor. A tightness invaded her throat; a ravaging, horrible embarrassment. It sucked the joy of the moment from her, and she swallowed a mouthful of nothing, to ease the tension in her gullet. “I … should go see that the engines are properly maintained,” she forced out, her eyes everywhere but Kazuaki’s face.
“Bermuda.” The captain let her go, knowing full well that his instinct to catch her only emphasized her humiliation. “They’re fine. Let’s just have some wine, something to—”
“I’d better go double-check,” she cut him off, raking her hands through her hair as she cleared her throat. “Quartermaster’s duties. I’ll be back quickly. I promise.”
She excused herself before he got another word in.
Kazuaki felt the absence of her body. He stared after the path she took, fixated on her footsteps until the dining hall’s doors swung open. Turning to face whoever stood on the other side, the captain spied the former Southeastern Time Father. He straightened his posture to disguise his concern for Bermuda. “Nico.”
Nicholai blinked. His face must have paled. He felt it. Some dread existed in addressing the captain since he saw the final events of what played out outside of Bartholomew Gray’s estate. He knew he had to say something—anything—but for as long as he had played the conversation out in his mind, every poetic shred of practice he endured fell to the wayside. Instead, his tongue blurted out the obvious: “I saw you kill Darjal.”
Kazuaki arched a brow. He lifted his gaze, looking behind Nicholai, to see the others already gathering around the table. They didn’t seem to hear the conversation over their raucous laughter and shared conversation. He returned his focus to Nicholai, his expression unchanged. “No gratitude necessary.”
“I didn’t come here to—” Nicholai cut himself off when he realized he yelled his reply a bit too loudly. He cleared his throat, closing the doors behind him, as to remain in the corridor with only the captain. “I didn’t come here to extend gratitude,” he said again, quieter this time.
“Don’t be too judgmental, Nico.” Kazuaki’s voice tumbled out of him with his traditional unenthusiastic nature. “You killed him first.”
“Come on, Kazuaki.” Nicholai made a face and crossed his arms. “I’m not here to berate you about Darjal. I’ve made peace with your … ‘problem solving’ skills long ago.” The man sighed, shaking his head. “Look. What happened with Darjal—the state to which he fell, I just … I’m worried about you. As a friend. As you well know, the lot of us will not live forever. And should you find yourself in Mr. Wessex’s shoes one day … I struggle to believe that the other gods will like you enough to kill you.”
The god wrinkled his nose, showing no repentance. “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”
Nicholai uncrossed his arms long enough to drag his fingers through his hair. He gripped his curled strands in frustration before his hands dropped, and he let out a sigh. “I’m serious, Kazuaki. Just … think about it. I’d hate for you to find yourself praying to the very gods that Bermuda destroyed herself hunting just for a ticket into the afterlife.”
A low blow. Though Kazuaki knew Nico would never bring Bermuda into the conversation as a weapon, his statement still struck him as forceful. With a resentful nod, Kazuaki slid his hands into his pockets. “Duly noted.”
Nicholai winced. The conversation did not play out at all like what he had rehearsed in mind. Hopefully, it still made a difference. “Well, I’ll, uh … I’ll see you in the dining hall.” The man turned away, opening the doors once more before he slid back inside to join the others.
Kazuaki’s gaze followed him to the table before he turned his concentration elsewhere. Something Nico had said …
Praying to the gods. Hm.
That wasn’t an awful idea.
For as horrid as the omnipotent beings were, he could not deny their power. Once upon a time, Kazuaki thought the only way to bring a cure to Bermuda was through the Earth Mother—a being he had tracked from one end of the world to the other. The gods, though … he knew precisely where to find them.
Though throwing himself at the feet of the others made him physically sick to his stomach, he stood by what he told Bermuda on their walk to the dining hall …
She didn’t ask h
im to beg. She never would. But for her … if he had to … he’d get on his knees and start counting on that other hand.
With the same suddenness of a lightning flash, the walls of the airship disappeared from around him. The scent of Penn’s cooking was hastily replaced with the fragrance of fresh pine. Kazuaki did not know exactly where in Northwestern he transported himself to. Materializing his body became commonplace, with all the prayers that had poured in; but without an active venerator to serve as his beacon, he had no earthly clue where he ended up.
He just knew that he was in Northwestern. That was good enough.
He’d find them here. But who should he summon? Who would be appropriate to help Bermuda? The God of Healing? Or was it a goddess?
Kazuaki paced the pine needle covered terrain, grumbling to himself. Damn it, he should have brought a book with him. A resource, a guide. A shame that Bartholomew was still in Southern, though the man deserved the free pass. He would have come in handy right about now. Kazuaki bet the scholar knew a lot more about the gods than he did.
Shit. He didn’t even know their names. His ‘peers’. The very thought irritated him.
It should have been easy. Kazuaki had heard enough prayers in his mind to know how they went. How they were supposed to go. His heart told him what to say, the words that would bring the God or Goddess of Healing to him, but his stubborn tongue refused.
“Come on,” he mumbled to himself, closing his eye as he tilted his face to the sky. He loved her. He’d willingly beg for her wellbeing. If that was the case, why was groveling so gods-damned hard?
Kazuaki puffed out his cheeks before he breathed the cool Northwestern breeze in. He parted his mouth to speak—to plead—but feeling a presence behind him stopped his words. There was no sound … but that sensation.
He was being watched.
A gradual turn brought Naphine into the captain’s vision. He hadn’t expected her. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. “It’s you,” he acknowledged with a murmur, trying to keep surprise from infecting his expression.
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 136