The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  “Good deal.” Nicholai grinned, walking alongside Revi as they trailed after the others. “You know, a wise man once told me that as time goes on, it’s less about waiting for the problem to solve itself and more about waiting for the head and heart to accept the knowledge that it won’t.” He stole a glimpse of Revi from the corner of his eye, catching sight of the knowing smirk that swept over the man’s mouth. “Your head and heart don’t believe this is one of those unsolvable problems, right?”

  A grim sound somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff departed from the man. Revi hoisted the bulk of the chest plate’s weight onto his shoulder as he walked. “Not yet.”

  “Great.” Nicholai’s expression broadened into a fuller grin. “Then you and I have something in common.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The creeping hold of panic grew harder to suppress. Nordjan paced the spacious room, his chin cupped in a fidgeting hand.

  Word came of Emont’s resurfacing. The Northern Father’s eyes in Southern had left no doubt in his letter: Nicholai had deposited Emont, of the Southwestern division, in Seacaster’s finest mental institution. He had been there for days. Presumably, time in Southwestern continued to tick.

  That only meant one thing.

  Nicholai Addihein had done it. Somehow, he had grappled with the raw elements of the Southwestern division, overcame the Goddess of Animals and stole Emont from the land that had prisoned him.

  Nordjan traipsed to his fireplace’s mantle and paused in front of it. The elder rested on the ornate frame that bordered the flames, leaning into the heat of the blaze. An orange glow molded to his face, highlighting the concern in every wrinkle.

  Southwestern had returned to its primal state. The power of the Chronometer had returned to Panagea with it.

  The Northern Time Father scowled. Nicholai was making his rounds. It seemed neither man, nor god, could stop him.

  The number of divisions that remained under the Chronometer’s control narrowed. As if mention of Emont’s severance from his division wasn’t bad enough, Nordjan’s emissary in Southern made it perfectly clear that after dropping the former Southwestern Time Father off in his new home, he saw the airship that carried Nicholai and the crew. It appeared to be heading toward Northwestern.

  Nordjan would have thought that, surely, the raw wilderness and bloodthirsty gods of the Northwestern division would secure Nicholai’s demise … but if the man had survived the elements in Southwestern, it was only fair to surmise he may very well find a way to rise above the obstacles Northwestern threw at him too.

  Only two divisions would remain then, two Time Fathers—Aggi Normandy of the Northeastern division, and Nordjan himself.

  Drawing away from the fire, Nordjan slicked his hands over the beads of sweat that accumulated on his skin. A mixture of adrenaline and heat promoted the slow leak of bodily fluids.

  He couldn’t send his men to Northwestern. That would be the equivalent of throwing able-bodied men into the bottomless gorge at Panagea’s center. What good would it do anyway, to hurl wayward individuals into a violent division filled with angry gods and goddesses? Even if his men found Vadim Canmore and managed to pry his Chronometer from him to preserve it, there was no guarantee they would succeed in escaping alive.

  No. He couldn’t send footmen to Northwestern. But he could send them to his old nemesis—the man with the iron will who once spilled the blood of Northern men in the border war—his neighbor, Aggi Normandy.

  Nordjan inhaled, having to remind himself to breathe during intervals of intense planning. Sending footmen to Aggi Normandy’s division was a gamble. If Nicholai managed success in Northwestern, it was a 50/50 guess as to where he would venture next—Northern or Northeastern.

  Narrowing his eyes, Nordjan tapped his chin. If they were plotting in terms of efficiency, Northern would be the next natural guess. His land sat smack dab in-between the rugged Northwestern terrain and Aggi Normandy’s Northeastern plot. If Nicholai wished to see Mr. Normandy first, he’d have to cut clear across Nordjan’s land. It seemed like a waste of time.

  Then again, the precarious situation in Northwestern would likely deplete them of resources and energy. They may very well pass over Northern to recover in the comfort of Aggi’s alliance before making the final push.

  “Damn it all,” Nordjan whispered to himself, the lone being in his large, empty chamber.

  He’d have to divide his army.

  Irritation rose through his legs and settled into his chest. He returned to pacing the room. Once again, Nicholai Addihein proved to be treasonous to all that the founding Time Fathers had built.

  Ridding the distance between himself and the closed door, Nordjan flung open the colossal entryway. Standing on the other side, an eager footman awaited instruction. It had been hours since Nordjan locked himself away in his chambers to think, and the time spent waiting in agony showed on the man’s face.

  “I want an army flanking Normandy’s estate,” Nordjan instructed, his aging muscles tensing as he leaned farther forward, “in the event they visit the bastard first.”

  The footman nodded, unwilling to argue. “Yes, sir.” He opened his mouth to ask a follow up question, but Nordjan’s impatience cut him off.

  “Do not let them know you’re there until you’re ready to kill them,” he said, his eyes wild. “I want the rest of Northern’s army surrounding my estate at all times. These men are dangerous, Soldier—a threat to the very existence of the Time Fathers. Recruit the footmen of individual towns if you must. Spare no man who can hold a weapon.”

  The soldier cringed but tried to correct the indecency before Nordjan took notice. “With respect, sir, we still need footmen on the streets. Circumstances have not recovered since the gods began their reign of terror.” He looked behind him, clearly uncomfortable, then refocused on his superior. “The people are jittery, always looking over their shoulders and accusing their brothers and sisters of being possessed. I understand your concern, sir, but we need footmen to keep the peace in towns over, and we’ll surely need them posted at the insane asylums to keep those who the gods have turned from any violent outbursts toward the hospital staff.”

  “The hospital staff, the people, they’re already in danger if the young Addihein gets the Chronometers. His efforts will send Panagea into unmanned chaos. I will spare minimal footmen,” Nordjan hissed, leaning back into the shadows of his room. “No more than four to a city. Those with smaller populations can get by with one.” Turning away, he kept his voice directed at the man behind him. “The people will have to understand that sacrifices must be made for the good of the whole. I need them here, Soldier.” He glanced over his shoulder to face him, his expression grim. “The existence of the Time Fathers and the safeties they ensure to the people are at stake.”

  Shuffling his feet, the footman righted his posture, adhering to the strict code of customs and courtesies Nordjan requested of his men. He ran his tongue over his dry lips, hesitating before clearing his throat. “Would it be so bad, sir, if Nicholai Addihein destroyed all the Chronometers?”

  It was as if those words had driven a pole through Nordjan’s spine. He twisted slowly, his aggressive glare falling onto the man before him. “What did you say?”

  The soldier tensed. The weight of Nordjan’s stare was crushing, but he was in too deep to withdraw and attempted to keep some semblance of confidence in his shaking voice. “It’s just, the other divisions seem to report it as a positive thing. The citizens are discovering new forms of government, acting as cohesive units to decipher what works best for their individual townships.” The man hung his head, until he realized it was a show of weakness and lifted his gaze from the floor. “It … It seems like people are really—”

  “People do not know what is good for them!” Nordjan dug his fingernails into his palms as he took an uncontrolled step forward. “They never have. What pleases one group is a curse for another, and that is why they need structure!” Pounding a fist into
his opposite palm, Nordjan’s nostrils flared. “One clear, singular vision. That is what’s needed, to guide them along the path that is most efficient for the world as a whole.” He raised an index finger. “One.”

  The speech siphoned the color from the soldier’s face. His lips parted to speak then clamped shut, and he nodded as his gaze diverted. “Yes, sir. Of course.” Swallowing down his nerves, the man froze. “I … I only thought—”

  “You tread on dangerous ground, Soldier.” Nordjan approached him, poking the man’s chest. “You do not need to think. That is what I’m here for.” Dropping his hand, he adjusted the sleeves of his suit. “Have I ever steered Northern wrong before?”

  Considering his words carefully, the footman shook his head. “No, sir.”

  The submissive reply seemed to please the Northern Father. He withdrew his oppressive closeness and nodded. “Then start the initiation of my commands. We’re running out of time.”

  Nordjan watched as the footman departed without another word. The Northern Time Father’s observant gaze followed him all the way down the corridor until he disappeared around a corner. When he was certain the man was gone, he withdrew into his room and closed the door behind him.

  It stung, depriving his people of the footmen they depended on. The timing could not have been worse, with the fear of the gods and goddesses still gripping the minds of his citizens. Nordjan leaned his head against the door, pinching his eyes closed. What a gift it would be, he thought, if Nicholai and his comrades succumbed to Northwestern’s hurdles. At the rate they were going, however, it was necessary to plan for their success.

  Those bastards. Trying to ruin a good thing. Trying to throw Panagea back into the dark ages, to a time of no group structure or goals. To a time when people reached for nothing other than their own selfishness. Was that what he wanted for people? Nordjan wouldn’t allow it. He wanted something better for mankind.

  They were on the precipice of greatness. Technology grew with each day industry thrived. Why, on Panagea’s great earth, would Nicholai want to take that away from them?

  Nordjan opened his eyes and stared at the Chronometer he grasped. His thumb traced the object’s crown. One simple pull. That’s all it would take to bring everything to a standstill. It brought Nordjan back to several years prior, when he froze Northern for a few seconds to try and stop Nicholai from moving forward with his earlier endeavors. It hurt, to betray his title so, to betray his people, his soldiers.

  The hurt did not eradicate the necessity.

  He stared at the object, stroking it with his thumb.

  Yes. One itty, bitty tug.

  It was a desperate move, but, as the days bled into night and cast a new sunrise around his life, he felt his noose tightening. Nicholai had relinquished his title. He was no longer a Time Father, no longer able to tread between the lands where time was stopped.

  Nordjan loved Northern with the whole of his existence. It was the epitome of all his achievements. Yet, if an opportunity presented itself where he could trap Nicholai here, trap the others here too, perhaps he could stop them once and for all.

  A great shame, though, that Northern would be lost in the process.

  Nordjan pursed his lips. His chest expanded as he inhaled a deep breath. A last resort, he reminded himself. The final option, if all other hope was lost.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The sun from above penetrated the airship’s walls, leaving the interior of Kazuaki’s cabin deliciously warm. It was quiet in his little haven. Only slivers of light penetrated the metal blinds hammered over the windows. Fragments of dust were caught in the rays, illuminating their slow float throughout the room.

  The hammock that held Bermuda and Kazuaki remained perfectly still. It had been two days since Olnos had sliced through the captain’s body with that supernatural sword. It was two days longer than Kazuaki wanted to stay in the Northwestern division, but, as the sting of his wounds moved outward, he found it difficult to move let alone command a crew.

  With the airship still anchored to the ground, nothing could jostle the netted bed from side to side. The captain held in his flinch as he slid his arm tighter around Bermuda’s body. Moving brought pain, but no amount of agony would keep him from savoring in the quartermaster’s touch.

  Bermuda tried to adjust her position, consciously aware of Kazuaki’s injuries—whether he admitted to them or not. Careful to remain on the side of his body that had managed to avoid Olnos’ sword, she rested her ear to his chest, content to listen to the sounds of his beating heart. “How long did you give Revi to do a final perimeter check before we leave?” she asked, banishing the silence that had enveloped them for the last several hours.

  A muscle twitched in Kazuaki’s jaw. He opened his eye. “Two more days. I know how much he wants to find that daughter of his.”

  “Of course,” Bermuda murmured, a small fleck of sarcasm in her tone. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you don’t have the energy to stand, let alone pilot an airship.”

  She was astute. Her comment pulled a small, amused grin from him. It was just about the only muscle he could move on his throbbing body that did not result in pain. Those omnipotent weapons packed a supernatural punch. “Two birds, one stone.”

  She had not heard the expression before, but the context clues alluded to an artful admission of his own inability. Surprising. Bermuda lifted her head. He must truly have been in horrid discomfort to come so close to verbally acknowledging it. “Will two days be enough for you to recover?”

  “It’ll have to be.” Kazuaki slid his hand up her back to rub relaxation into her bones. “I can’t stand the thought of lingering here any longer than that.”

  His words made Bermuda’s look of concern shift into one of devious mischief. “I understand,” she muttered, gently taping his chest with her finger. “It must be hard to loiter in the environment where your frail little lover saved your ass after you ordered her to stay on the ship.”

  Kazuaki regretted his chuckle the moment it rattled his aching ribs. His grin remained after, a ghost of his former amusement. “My orders were sound,” he replied, a thin layer of seriousness adhering to his enjoyment. “Given the circumstances, I like to hope you would have made the same decision.”

  Silence crept in, and it didn’t take long for Bermuda to reacquaint herself with the sting of her past behavior. The playfulness fell from her voice, and she tilted her head to catch his gaze. “You were right, Kazuaki. I’m sorry. I acted like a child.” The sincerity of her apology remained until a spirited smirk tainted it. “But I still saved your ass.”

  Massaging her shoulders with one hand, Kazuaki choked out another quick laugh. “You did. I owe you a debt of gratitude.” His hand slid up her spine, up the side of her neck, until it cupped her cheek. “Thank you.”

  Bermuda blinked, taken aback by his admission. “A thank you? Gods, how much blood did you lose back there?”

  “Not as much as I would have”—Kazuaki slid her hair aside—“had you not run Olnos through.”

  The look of satisfaction on the quartermaster’s face shifted into a very different kind of gratification when Kazuaki leaned in to kiss her. She savored in the taste of him, finding it just as delicious as she did the first time, up until the very moment their lips pulled away from one another.

  “So,” she started, finding his eye, “where to next?”

  Relaxing back into the waiting net of the hammock, Kazuaki turned his gaze to the ceiling. “We will bypass Northern and rest in the Northeastern division, under Aggi Normandy’s protection. After we destroy his Chronometer and everyone is at full health once more, we will complete our unfinished business with Nordjan.”

  Bermuda nodded several times. Her focus drifted across the room to the phonograph that sat in the corner. “Aggi, huh?” Her gaze traced the edges of the musical device before her face twisted into a wince. “I owe that man an apology.”

  Following her attention to the phon
ograph, Kazuaki tugged one of his shoulders in a weak shrug. “He willingly harbored a known lawless woman.” He resettled into his former position. “He should count himself lucky that his phonograph was all you stole from him.”

  A glaze settled over Bermuda’s eyes. Memories of the time she had spent in Aggi’s estate pushed themselves to the surface of her thoughts. It was enough to make her frown. The phonograph was only one of Aggi’s belongings that had found its way to the airship. The countless stimulants she had stolen—or manipulated the Northeastern army’s medical division into giving her—were another story entirely.

  “It wasn’t all I stole,” she murmured, her words lacking feeling.

  Kazuaki saw it immediately—her guilt. A woman of confident decision-making, the captain did not spy such an emotion on her face that often. He glanced once more to the phonograph, and though his body screamed at him for the effort, he carefully slid Bermuda out of his way and coerced himself into a sitting position.

  Furrowing her brows, Bermuda watched as Kazuaki pushed himself to his feet. One uneasy step after another eventually brought his damaged frame to the phonograph, which he leaned on for support.

  She sat herself upright from the hammock. “What are you doing?”

  The captain reached over to start the record. His gaze followed it while it spun, and the familiar tune bled from the instrument’s horn. The sound still had the ability to quicken his pulse, just as it had years earlier.

  Though it was quite clear it pained him, he corrected his posture and outstretched his uninjured hand. “Care to forget your troubles with a dance? I’m not even intoxicated this time.”

  A chortle followed as Bermuda rose. She abandoned the hammock and wrapped her arms around her waist. “You can barely stand.”

  “Ah, that’s lucky for you.” Kazuaki’s hand still hovered before her. “Or you’d have no other chance at keeping up with my fine footwork.”

  He earned a reply in the form of a smirk, and Bermuda reached to take his hand. Her skin was cold. Kazuaki folded his fingers around hers, hoping to drive warmth into them as he pulled her into his chest.