The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  As he tried to maneuver around the gods to find a rope with which to lower himself back to the ground, Revi caught Itreus’ penetrating stare. It was so audacious. So demanding of his attention. “What?” the man asked, scrunching his nose.

  Itreus excused himself from the waiting god with a polite hand gesture. With one foot in front of the other, he found himself before Revi, staring down at the man with something of a sentimental look. “I am a timeless being, Mr. Houton. I have never once, in the whole of my existence, thrust my hand out to alter fate. The Unnamed and I share that commonality.”

  That the god knew his name did little to startle the man. Revi had drudged through more omnipotent pitfalls in Northwestern over the year than he cared to admit. There wasn’t much a deity could do to throw him any further off the ledge of indifference he stood on. “But?” he asked, sensing there was more to the statement that Itreus hadn’t mentioned.

  Again, the higher being grappled with his decision. Should he? It felt wrong. For how wrong it felt, however … it felt impossible to keep it inside altogether. “But,” he said, his voice softening, “then I met your daughter.”

  Revi’s eyes exploded into wide, open circles. A paralysis invaded his legs, up through his calves and thighs. “Avigail?” he whispered.

  Itreus nodded. “Avigail.”

  His stomach twisted. Coiled. His breath left him, daring his chest to collapse in on itself. Steadying his weakened legs, Revi reached out. “Have you seen her? Where is—” He stopped. Horror washed over him in the form of a paling face.

  This being … this god … Revi had just stood before him on the deck, while he introduced himself as death incarnate. The God of Lost Souls. His throat tightened at the realization.

  “I’m afraid so,” Itreus whispered, answering the question that Revi didn’t dare ask.

  Stumbling backward, Revi hit the railing that snaked along the airship’s ledge. His hand reached out blindly, searching for something to grasp. To steady himself. To inject oxygen back into his deprived lungs.

  A muscle ticked in Itreus’ face. He considered an offer of sympathy, but his condition never quite understood why people wept over one of life’s greatest inevitabilities. Death hardly seemed like something to fear, particularly when the soul went to a place of humanity’s design.

  Still, the agony on Revi’s face … it was enough to compel Itreus to clear his throat. “There was once a time when all I saw for you was endless searching. I thought, perhaps, you might wish to do something else with your time, now that you have your answer … even though it is not the one you wanted.”

  Numbness invaded and remained. On some level, he knew. Revi slid down the railing, his limbs flaccid as he hit the floor. Instinct told him not to believe Itreus’ confession. To pass it off as a lie. Something about the god’s delivery, though … something about the sentiment in his words … he knew it was true. She would have come back. If not for him, then for her naïve crush on Nico. He knew, then.

  Avigail Houton was gone.

  “She was the one,” Itreus added, tensing at the memory of the one time he disobeyed the Unnamed’s rigid set of rules, “who I afforded the opportunity to go to the Unnamed’s afterlife. The only human soul ever gifted with the chance for an immeasurable nirvana. In some way, she moved me, Mr. Houton. You ought to be very proud of your daughter.”

  With a shaking voice, Revi directed his words to Itreus, unable to lift his glassy gaze from the airship’s floor. “You offered her access to both afterlives?” he asked, tightening his grip around one of the rails.

  Staring at the broken man, Itreus nodded. “To this day, I cannot say why I did it. Since the dawn of humanity, people craved the comforts of their designs too much to entertain the risk that accompanies the unknown; but, your daughter …” Itreus paused, drawing forth the memories of Avigail. “Yes. I broke the rules for her.”

  Revi held in his misery. Much of it leaked through his clenched teeth and showed in his hitching breaths. He tapped his fist on the ground, hoping the act would help to channel his unbridled rawness into something other than his chest. “And?” The single word was a choking gasp. He remained unable to look at god before him. “Which did she pick?”

  It was spoken as if it was common sense. As if Revi should have known the answer already. Itreus blinked once, and with a tone as steady and assured as one ever was, he said, “The one where she knew she’d see you again.”

  The Houton man pinched his eyes shut. He did not wish to put his frailty on display. Instead, he used his insufferable grasp on the railing to lift his frozen frame and steady his feet. For a long moment, he remained hunched over the rail, stabilizing his erratic breaths. Then he turned his words to Kazuaki. “Whenever you are well enough to leave, Captain, send word.” He pushed himself off the banister and took long strides toward the cabins, speaking as he went. “I will have us out of here in moments.”

  Itreus and Kazuaki watched him go. Unable to get a word in before the door closed behind him, the captain held his tongue. What was there to say?

  Nothing.

  Turning back toward the eager eyes of the other deities, Itreus stepped forward. “Where were we?” he asked, spreading his wings and gesturing the god from before to step toward him. “Yes. Come.”

  The crew watched as one after another, gods and goddesses stepped into Itreus’ all-encompassing wings. A gentle breeze ruffled the dappled feathers. It was the only movement spied while each idol was fully enveloped. By the time Itreus neatly tucked his wings behind his back, the deity who stood beneath his blanket of plumage was gone.

  Nicholai gawked with overwhelmed interest. His gaze fixated on every sad stare in each idol’s face before they vanished into the Unnamed’s afterlife. Their sorrow would have wounded his idealistic heart, were it not for the flickers of relief he saw. The fragments of hope. The release that existed in never having to worry about falling into the same state of suffering ever again.

  It must have been liberating.

  As the group of deities on the deck grew smaller and smaller, Nicholai turned a curious gaze to Epifet. “Are you going?” he asked, his tone soft.

  Epifet responded with a gentle beam. “No, child. Not yet.”

  Unspoken things lingered on her lips. He knew she would go eventually. He saw it in her eyes. “I know it’s selfish of me to say,” Nicholai started, placing his hat back atop his head with a discreet smile, “but I am glad to hear it.”

  The Goddess of Fertility’s chest swelled as she took in his relief. It felt good to be forgiven. “I was hoping you would be.”

  Overhearing the conversation shared between Nicholai and Epifet, Granite eased his concentration toward Kekona. He searched her face for answers, but when he couldn’t find any, he asked. “Will you be leaving?”

  Curious blinks trailed after his inquiry as Kekona looked up to him. “That depends,” she purred. “The animals of Southwestern have established themselves well. With no unnatural predators, they breed at an unprecedented rate. Their population will be secured for generations if mankind does not intervene again.” The confession showed in the form of pride but dipped away when she continued. “They do not need me anymore.” Kekona tilted her head, pushing hair out of her face as she locked eyes with Granite. “Do you?”

  The term made him cringe. “Need.” He tensed, his facial expression twisting. “That is not a word I am comfortable with.”

  Unaffected, Kekona smirked. “How about ‘want’?”

  Insanity. That must have been what it was. A lifetime of serving with Kazuaki Hidataka, and the chaos that followed the captain wherever he went, had surely left him mad. Staring down at the waiting woman, though—the one who had mauled a goddess for the blood of his that she had spilled—the one who walked with wolves and raw wilderness, far from the prying eyes of society … Granite felt something. Something he thought he’d miss if he were to be told that he’d never see her again. “I might be able to see myself … ‘want
ing’ … someday.”

  It was enough to brighten Kekona’s features. Her excitement crept up through her, making her stand on the tips of her toes. “Then I will stay, to see if ‘someday’ comes sooner, rather than later.”

  Watching her colleagues disappear one by one, Naphine caught sight of the God of Salvation across the deck. His unreadable appearance struck her. Pinching her lips together, she gathered her flowing dress and sauntered over to him, words waiting in her throat. “It’s the end of an era,” she said, dropping the flowing material back to her bare feet.

  Kazuaki remained locked in shock. He barely heard Naphine when she came up before him. Thrusting himself back into reality, he managed a nod. “Yes. I suppose so.”

  Naphine watched another disappear. A small smile swept over her, happy to see her companions find eternal rest. “I know the gods are not among your favorite beings, Mr. Hidataka. I can’t help but wonder if you will be joining us there when you find your time here has expired.”

  Feeling Bermuda’s anticipation rise at his side, Kazuaki tensed. “As I said to him”—he gestured toward Itreus—“I’d rather not.”

  Sweeping her hands through her hair while she patiently awaited her turn, Naphine released a wistful sound. “You wouldn’t be alone. That’s where my daughter went.” She felt it in her bones and her heart. “Know that there would be at least one familiar face.”

  Nicholai’s ears pulsed at the mention of her: Umbriel. It was as if his heart shot across the distance and landed at Naphine’s feet. So she went to the Unnamed’s afterlife? It was comforting to know her soul rested in what he could only imagine was a beautiful, indescribable place. His heart simultaneously broke, knowing that she and Lilac went to two different places.

  For as excited as he was by the prospect of comingling with Lilac’s spirit again … to know that his soul would never connect with Umbriel for the rest of his existence beyond this one …

  It was strangely devastating.

  Kazuaki relaxed at Naphine’s words. “Umbriel was a good woman. I owe her more than I have ever owed anyone else. As much as I would like to see her again to apologies for how things ended”—his face twisted in a pained way—“there are faces other than hers that I would like to see again, someday.”

  Naphine formed another smile and let out a knowing scoff. “I suspected you’d say as much." She turned back to watch the others vanish with Itreus’ help. “But come tonight, you may be one of the few gods left in all of Panagea.”

  An unfeeling shrug followed. Tension lingered with it. “That suits me just fine.”

  With the last waiting deity on deck gone, Itreus glanced at Naphine. He extended a hand. “Are you ready?”

  The goddess closed her eyes, filling her lungs with a cavernous breath. She stepped forward to take Itreus’ offering. “I have been ready since the day they forgot me.”

  Watching Naphine step into position before Itreus, Kazuaki felt his opportunity fading. With each god and goddess that disappeared, his hope for Bermuda’s recovery went with it. He did not wish to discuss it in front of the quartermaster—her desire to acknowledge her oblivion was nonexistent—but he was running out of time. “Naphine,” he called out, taking a pained step forward.

  The goddess peered at him from the corner of her eyes.

  “The situation we discussed”—Kazuaki held his fingers out—“when I first sought you in Northwestern …”

  Naphine looked remorseful as the captain’s words trailed off. “I am sorry if I misled you. I am the Goddess of Love, Mr. Hidataka. All I am capable of doing is giving vast life to affection.” She glanced back and forth between the pair and shook her head. “I could not possibly embellish the adoration you two already share for one another … and much as our poets and bards want it to be so … love does not conquer all.”

  Kazuaki flinched. He felt his stomach constrict in the same moment that Naphine felt Itreus’ wings wrap around her body.

  Nicholai watched the goddess peer at him through a small slit in Itreus’ feathers. He couldn’t see her lips moving, but her eyes were smiling.

  “I will tell my daughter you said hello.”

  It was the last thing Naphine said before Itreus spread his wings back out, revealing nothing behind them.

  Wiping the sweat that started to bead on his forehead, Itreus turned to the last remaining goddesses: Kekona and Epifet. “I have more work to do on the ground,” he informed, sensing they had no desire to depart yet. “Until we meet again.”

  In the length of a blink, Itreus transported to the forest floor, waiting before the line of gods and goddesses who had already formed to meet him.

  Sliding closer to Granite, Kekona hovered her hands over his healing wounds. She frowned. “As much as it pains me to leave, I should return to the forest as well.”

  Gazing down at the slender hands that waited above his injuries, Granite froze. He wasn’t sure why he felt a stab of remorse at her statement, but he asked anyway. “Already?”

  “You know what they say ...” Kekona drew her hands away from the heat of his cuts with a wry smile. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  The behemoth stared at her, trying to read her. His heart rate increased when she leaned in, standing on the tips of her toes, to rise as close to his face as she could. The goddess drew so near, he felt the warmth of her breath on his skin. Granite swallowed, opening his mouth to say something—but before he could muster a word, she was gone.

  Standing in the vicinity of everyone’s disbelief, Nicholai inhaled. He ran his tongue over his lips, once again in a position where he had more to process than any earthly man should.

  This time, he would not allow it to crush him.

  With one thing standing out as important for the moment, Nicholai managed a genuine smile. He held a hand out to Epifet. “Would you care to catch up?” he asked, his other hand tucked behind his back.

  The offer brought the goddess immeasurable delight, and it showed in her eyes. “I would love to.” She weaved her arm through his as he escorted her into the airship’s cabins.

  Arching an unimpressed brow, Penn sucked air in through his teeth and spat. “Right. Well … I guess I’ll start dinner.” It was odd. Very strange. He had been exposed to weirder. The man turned away, pushing his air of aloofness to the forefront. As he ducked into the cabins, and the comfort of the corridor’s shadows fell over him, his expression revealed the absolute comfort that came with knowing there was an afterlife … and that his parents were hopefully there waiting for him.

  Brack snorted, the former monk wildly unaffected by the strangeness of gods and goddesses. He swatted Rennington’s stomach with the back of his hand. “C’mon, mate. Let’s go get Revi drunk.”

  The Southern soldier rubbed the back of his neck, still put off by the events of the last several minutes. “He might want some time to himself.”

  “He can have all the time he wants.” Brack stepped up behind Rennington and forced him forward with a push. “After we get him drunk.”

  The two men departed, fearing nothing since the captain refused to go with the others. Bermuda did not share their nonchalance. She watched them go, her mind reeling with a series of ‘what-ifs’ and ‘would-bes’. Her gaze glided over to her lover, and she locked onto his sight. “Kazuaki …”

  That look on her face. Kazuaki knew what waited beyond her lips. The subject of death lingered there. The captain clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Eventually, we will die,” she said, throwing his declaration aside. “If you don’t go to the Unnamed’s afterlife, what waits for you here? If you do not answer the prayers of others, our deaths will guarantee that none will remain to sustain you.”

  Kazuaki’s arms became rigid. “Bermuda …”

  Her voice grew more forceful. “I don’t want to picture you in a condition that reflects anything like the state we found Olnos in on that mountain top. You should follow the gods. We won’t be togeth
er,” she choked out, her eyes turning glassy, “but you won’t suffer … and I won’t suffer, knowing you won’t wither away.”

  He didn’t want to think about it. Not about his own death; he was desensitized to that. The man thought about it nearly every day, for lifetimes. But hers. No. Never. It was too much. “I will make that decision when the time comes.”

  She saw his stress. His growing pressure. Bermuda tempered her need to arrive at a solid solution, paving the way for his needs to overshadow her own. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yes,” Kazuaki answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. Realizing the flaw in his response, he cupped her face in his hand. “I just … need a moment, if you please.”

  Bermuda leaned into the warmth of his skin, closing her eyes. “Of course,” she whispered, resting her hand on the outside of his before she pulled away. “I’ll see you back in the room.”

  A wind swept through him as she left him on the deck. Kazuaki heard the faint voices of deities below, still waiting for Itreus to take them to their afterlife. Moment by moment, more of them left.

  With the gods gone, Bermuda’s demise was written in stone. Man-made medicine could only sustain her for so long. If the myths, and legends, and magic of Panagea died, she would certainly die with them.

  It was a lot to shoulder. A lot to come to terms with. Feelings of helplessness—they were not in Kazuaki Hidataka’s arsenal.

  Light from the corner of the deck made him squint. Kazuaki grumbled, irritated by the bright flickering. His hand flew up to shield his vision as he peered in the direction of the source.

  What the feck was it? No oil lamp on the ship had ever danced with that much energy. The ball of light was around the same size—but far too bright. Almost blinding. Taking an investigative, yet grueling step forward, Kazuaki paused when the illumination died down enough to reveal the man beside it.

  The light—it lived inside an antique lantern. The lantern was held up by the arms of a stranger, he thought. Black, wild hair jutted out from all ends of the man’s head. Wide, grinning eyes stared at him, like two glowing moons with small, nearly discernable pupils hovering inside. Who was this crazed man? Kazuaki’s eye narrowed, and the stranger’s aura hit him.