Kekona blinked, almost as if she had forgotten the others were around. After glancing over her shoulder briefly, she returned her concentration to Granite and offered a coy smile. “I cannot say that I agree with all of their actions,” she admitted, speaking freely about them despite their proximity, “but certain proclivities can be adapted for a common good. Besides, I am a nurturing woman. Destruction is only in my blood if my loved ones have been harmed.”
Dry leaves crunched beneath Granite’s boots. His gaze jumped to the trees that flanked them. Countless animals, in all shapes and sizes, followed. They did nothing to hide their presence, fearing no man or woman as they strode alongside the crew. “You have many loved ones,” he noted, unsure of what else to say.
A sly smirk split across Kekona’s lips. Unhindered by inhibition, the goddess reached out, sliding her hand up Granite’s arm. “There’s always room for one more. In all my time, I have never taken a mate of my own.”
Was she insane? Downright mad? The man did not stop walking, though he did glimpse her hand before returning his gaze forward. “We have only just met.”
“Perhaps you have only just met me.” Kekona returned her arm to her side. “But I have lived your entire life. When I touched your arm, it felt as if I experienced all of those memories with you.” Her eyes sparkled as she drew a deep breath into her lungs. They filled with the same thrill she felt in her chest. “I have known your lifetime, Granite. I would not hesitate to enjoy the rest of your existence with you.”
Granite wrinkled his nose. He ducked beneath a tree limb to carry on to their destination: the location of the Time Father, Emont. He did however, steal a fleeting glimpse of the goddess as he walked. Her bare shoulders, her flawlessly carved cheekbones, the way the leaves were tied into her untamed, yet somehow perfect hair. Without a shadow of a doubt, the woman was insane. Undeniably beautiful, yes …
But insane.
Tearing his gaze from the display, Brack nudged Nicholai in the ribs and thumbed toward the two. “Feckin’ Granite has all the luck, aye?”
After recovering from Brack’s unintentionally violent nudge, Nicholai cocked his head. After analyzing the confusion in Granite’s face, he hitched a shoulder. “I don’t know that I would call Kekona’s aggressive acts of affection ‘luck’.”
A laugh burst out of Brack’s throat, and he shook his head. “What would you call it then?”
Nicholai paused long enough to reflect on his first encounter with Lilac. An uncomfortable look claimed him when he remembered just how long it had taken to gather the nerve to court her. Confidence came shortly after she made her mutual fondness known, but it was not something that Nicholai had been blessed with at birth.
Then there was Umbriel. Their unspoken feelings. Their unexplored emotions for one another. Things took far longer than they should have and ended in a most unfortunate way. Nicholai was no stranger to affection, just a stranger to instant attraction. “I suppose I’d call it … unfamiliar.”
Unfamiliarity: the cousin to awkward discomfort.
Brack gawked at Nicholai, slack-jawed as he tried to figure out what he was talking about. Unable to arrive at a conclusion, the man simply laughed and clapped his hand down onto Nicholai’s back. “Feck, mate. When we finish this thing, we really ought to get you laid.”
At the front of the pack, second in line only to Granite and Kekona, Bermuda kept pace at Kazuaki’s side. While the god used the spear he had pilfered from Kekona as a walking stick, the quartermaster tried to hide her labored breathing. She had been worn out from her earlier attempts to keep the animals at bay. Adding an arduous hike through the woods put a strain on her beating heart. “Are you sure Penn is going to be all right?” she asked, having only received a short briefing of the events that took place on the airship’s deck.
“Elowyn is with him,” Kazuaki answered, trying to erase the image of Penn’s horrified face from his mind. “If anything should go wrong, she’ll see to it that he’s fine.”
On the subject of things that went horribly wrong, Bermuda’s gaze drifted downward to Kazuaki’s hand. The bleeding had finally stopped; likely a combination of Elowyn’s clotting powder and the bandage that wrapped tightly around it. It was strange seeing him with a lasting injury, given his new omnipotent status. “Sorry I didn’t make it to the top,” she murmured, reflecting on all the times they had fought alongside one another in a well-choreographed routine.
With his uninjured hand holding tight to the shaft of the spear, Kazuaki pressed forward. It was peculiar how much his wound burned. He had felt the sting of bullets and knives before, but the throbbing left behind by a weapon built by the gods … it was positively inhuman. “There’s nothing you could’ve done,” he said, stopping soon after he said it. Realizing how terrible it sounded, he turned his eye down to Bermuda, to show her the regret that reflected inside. “That came out wrong.”
It didn’t hurt. She knew he would never utter anything that would bring her intentional harm. “Right or wrong, it’s the truth.” Bermuda shrugged, shoving her hair back, as she gazed up at him with a slow-forming smirk. “Though, let’s not forget, I have slain more gods than you. Statistically.”
“Statistically?” A grin tugged at one end of Kazuaki’s mouth. She was among the precious few who could pull a smile out of him. “Are you forgetting about Seacaster? As I recall, I did pretty well there.”
“That was one battle,” Bermuda interjected, holding up a single metal finger. “From which most of them fled, I might add. You forget that I spent an entire year chasing those bastards down.”
Kazuaki glimpsed her from the corner of his eye. His grin spread, and though his lungs were unaccustomed to making the sound, a genuine chuckle fell out of him. He parted his mouth to add another sarcastic comeback, but a crippling wave of voices struck him and silenced him.
It was only several inches or so that he lurched forward. The strained sound that escaped out of his throat was quiet. Controlled. Still, Bermuda heard it. Her brows came together, and she reached out to grab his arm. “You should go.”
Grinding his teeth, the captain righted his barely slumped posture. After pressing his finger into his temple for several seconds, he was able to push a majority of them to the far corners of his mind. Gods damn it. They were getting more difficult to ignore. “No.” His bandaged hand dropped back to his side. “We have more pressing matters to deal with.”
From the far back, Nicholai studied the pair with concern. He understood Kazuaki’s apprehension; it did not take a scholar to know the captain was unlikely to abandon his crew so shortly after almost losing them.
Still … Kazuaki’s negligent attitude toward the prayers … it worried him.
Stopping short of an abnormally large willow tree, Kekona turned toward the others. The long, draping vines packed together densely, disguising what hid on the other side of them. The frown the goddess wore let everyone know how worried she was. “Do not revile me for what I am about to show you. I did what I had to do for the benefit of the creatures.” She redirected her gaze to Granite and reached out to touch his arm. “Surely, you must understand.”
Granite surprised himself by not tensing under her touch. He studied her hand before turning his eyes to hers. What did she think he was going to do? Lob unsolicited judgment her way? No; that was Nico’s job. “All right,” he muttered, unmoving.
Kekona did not wait for the others to agree to refrain from chastising her; it was not their opinions she cared about. After summoning a deep breath, the goddess reached out, carefully pulling back the strands of the massive weeping willow. She held it open like a doorway and waited for the others to enter.
It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the surprising darkness that waited behind the tree’s tendrils. Only slivers of sunlight managed to pierce through the thickly packed branches that draped to the ground. Nicholai blinked the shadows away from his vision, unable to stop himself from releasing a short, hitching gasp when
he saw Emont tied to the trunk of the tree.
Vines, woven together for reinforcement, wrapped around the man’s ankles. They anchored him to the base of the tree. He sat in a crouched position, digging in the pile of leaves at his feet while shoving unidentified organisms into his mouth. His unkempt hair splayed around all sides of his head, merging with the filthy beard that clung to his jaw.
It was hard to see his eyes through the mess, but when Nicholai caught sight of them, they looked nothing but feral.
Upon seeing the others, Emont froze. The only things on his body that moved were the muscles beneath his eye and the twitching nostrils that sniffed at his visitors.
Nicholai felt his stomach drop. Was this what a person who spent too much time under the gods’ manipulations was destined for? It felt like a subconscious hand closed around his own throat as he remembered the time that Darjal had stolen his sanity away. It was with luck that Mr. Wessex’s arrogance had kept him from growing more powerful.
Gathering his wits, Nicholai cleared his throat and took a careful step forward. He caught sight of the Chronometer. The glean of silver, hanging around the wild man’s neck. “E … Emont?”
The attack was fierce. Quick. In less time than it would take to snap his fingers, Emont lunged forward. His untamed arms reached for Nicholai’s neck.
He wanted to kill him. Destroy the threat. Inches from Nicholai’s face, the ropes around Emont’s ankles pulled him back to the ground.
Upon the realization that Emont could not reach him, Nicholai relaxed his shoulders. They grew rigid from the surprise. He tried to keep the unflattering emotions from his face. He did not wish to admit it. Emont was difficult to look at. “He’s … he’s …”
“More animal than man,” Kekona finished, sparing him from having to announce it himself. “Yes.”
Nicholai cringed. His heart bled nothing but pity for Emont, as the man snarled and tugged at his ropes. “Can you stop manipulating his mind?” he asked, without removing his gaze from the creature before him. “Let him return to his normal self?”
Kekona’s expression shifted to one of disappointment. “I stopped long ago. He no longer has any human emotion left to influence. I’m … I’m afraid he has been feral for far too long,” she confessed, drawing her arms together over her torso. “It took an extensive effort to break him. His mind was strong, but constant exertion eventually wore him down. That was many, many months ago.” She tilted her head, gazing upon him with a look that was a mixture of affection and pity. “He only responds to one thing.”
It was an unsettling declaration. Nicholai shook his head, forcing himself to peel his gaze away from Emont and turn it to Kekona. “Which is?”
Preferring to demonstrate rather than elaborate, Kekona stepped forward. She loomed over the crouching man and gestured her hand outward. “Emont,” she ordered, gaining his attention, “what time is it?”
The Time Father’s response was automatic. No conscious thought existed as he operated on predisposition. His hand grasped the Chronometer, and his fingers wound it expertly as if it was the only delicate task he was capable of executing. When the object had been wound, he let it fall carelessly back to his bare chest, forgetting it once again.
Unable to keep the slivers of horror from invading his face, Nicholai pinched his lips together. “This … this is …”
“Barbaric?” Kekona’s word came out defensively, and her chin inclined. “Before you cast your stones Mr. Addihein, remember that the two of us are bound by a similar thread. We want what’s best for those we love. I happened to want it enough for my creatures, to pay this unfortunate price.”
The former Time Father’s gaze hit the earth. He knew he could not condemn her. The lines weren’t black and white; each day painted everything in more of a muddled gray hue. He too had done things that would make other men and women gasp in horror. Robbing an entire divisions’ worth of people their daily existence by freezing time for months—it was not among his very greatest of achievements. “We can’t leave him here,” he said, knowing full well that out of everything, he would not abandon Emont a second time.
Kekona nodded. “If you destroy his Chronometer, you are free to take him with you.” She glanced down at the savage man, her expression difficult to read. “I will no longer have a need for him here.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Nicholai shifted his attention to Kekona. “Does he have a chance of recovery?” he asked, his tone more hopeful than realistic. “Any chance at all?”
The goddess adopted a look of pity. “When I touch him … I no longer see the components of a human mind. The glimpses of civilized thinking are fleeting at best.” Her tone tightened, and she cleared her throat to recover. “I am sorry, Mr. Addihein. What Emont has lost can never be recovered.”
She was honest. Nicholai clenched his jaw, forcing himself to accept the answer. “We’ll take him to a facility in Southern,” he announced, looking at the others. “I’m sure Bartholomew and Kal can pull some strings and make room for him in a nice facility there.”
Rennington nodded, his hands on his hips. He stared at the earth, unsure of where else to rest his gaze. “Yeah, mate. Of course they will.”
With a deep breath, Nicholai turned once more to Emont. He scooted a foot out, edging closer. A slow hand stretched forward, trying to move at a smooth, calming pace, so as not to startle the wild man. “All right, Emont,” Nicholai whispered, “I’m just going to … take this here—”
Emont snarled when Nicholai reached for the Chronometer. Saliva flew from his mouth and dribbled down his chin as he swatted the hand away. His pupils shrank, and he kicked up dirt. Anything to deter Nicholai from approaching him again.
The former Time Father pinched one eye closed, shielding it from the soil Emont flung in his direction. After wiping his face, he lowered himself into a crouching position, resting his arms on his knees. Seeing Emont like this … it brought a fair share of misery with it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, old friend.” Nicholai tilted his head, trying to catch Emont’s attention. He kept his voice soft. Genuine. “I hope you know that what you did for us … for Southwestern … before all of this happened … it was truly invaluable.” He hung his head, staring at a leaf that lay between his feet. “Had I known it was going to turn out like this … I would’ve …” His words trailed off, and he shook his head. He had traded the wellbeing of millions of lives for a single life once before, and in his heart he knew it was an unjust and selfish thing. It was that memory that prevented him from running to Eastern to search for Elowyn when she went missing. That memory that prevented him from joining Bermuda on her crusade to track Mimir and attempt to find the missing Kazuaki. Seeing Emont now though, like this … it made him question his actions. “I was just trying to do the right thing …”
Kazuaki stared down at the man before him, his voice firm. “You did.”
Nicholai blinked, lifting his gaze to the captain’s eye. “I don’t know, Kazuaki. Look at him.” He returned his gaze to Emont and shook his head once more. “It certainly doesn’t feel like it.”
“What would you have done?” the captain asked, with his matter-of-fact tone. “Come on your own to find him? Even with a thousand footmen at your disposal, Southeastern would have still been frozen. Millions suspended in time. Again.” He flicked a brief, considering look to Kekona before looking back at Nicholai. “And you’d be dead.”
Leaning only inches forward, Emont sniffed at Nicholai. He blew out his breath and scratched behind his ear. His movements were jerky. Impulsive. His eyes twitched, and Nicholai knew he didn’t understand a single word of his apology.
Kazuaki was right. As painful as it was to have stayed in Southeastern, it was the least damaging thing he could have done.
That knowledge did nothing to ease his conscience.
Sighing, Nicholai reached out slowly, trying once more to remove the Chronometer from Emont’s neck. Emont responded by trying to bite him.
“Come off it,” Kazuaki grumbled, handing the spear to Bermuda before he walked over and secured the thrashing Emont in a headlock. “As if you could.”
Though the captain’s words sounded hurtful on the surface, Nicholai had grown perceptive enough of the man to know they stemmed only from his hidden guilt. Likely the same guilt that Nicholai grappled with, as he stared at the uncontrollable, flailing man that Kazuaki held. Gently, he reached forward once again, and though it took some doing to wiggle the chain out from under Kazuaki’s arm, Nicholai managed to slip it up and over Emont’s head.
Kazuaki released Emont as soon as Nicholai walked a safe enough distance. The wild man growled and retreated from the others, back to the base of his tree.
Swallowing his remorse, Nicholai held the Chronometer out to Kazuaki and tried to steady his voice. “From the humans, back to the gods. Given with full consent.”
Snatching it from Nicholai’s hand, Kazuaki wasted no time crushing it. He let the pieces fall to the earth. Bent gears and components were lost, embedding into the soil that would corrode them soon enough. “That’s that,” he muttered, retrieving the spear from Bermuda before he strode away.
The attention of the others followed Kazuaki out of the draping willow branches. As they all started to follow him, Nicholai stared at the pieces. “How can we get Emont back to the ship?” he called after them, lifting his mechanical arm. “I used all of my tranquilizers on the vipers, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, I think he’ll need some subduing if he’s going to make it to Southern without stress.”
As Nicholai’s concerns fell into her ears, Kekona strode over to the vines that bound Emont to the tree. Expert hands unknotted the binding, and she wrapped it around her hand to serve as a leash. “I will escort him for you,” she volunteered. “He is familiar with me.”
Kazuaki grunted and nearly fell to one knee as he gained more distance between himself and the others. Sheer stubbornness kept him from the ground. He closed his eye, squeezing through the throbbing relentlessness of the prayers pounding in his skull again. Screams. People were begging. What he would give to reach inside his mind and rip them out like the pests they were.
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 142