The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  A glance in Revi’s direction did little to aid his worry. Though the man’s spirit was filled with a lively desire for vengeance in the death of Rennington Platts, his visible ailments did not match his wrath’s enthusiasm. One broken arm may not have seemed like much, but against the rugged charges of the Northern militia, any precious second wasted, was one that may mean the end of one’s life.

  Granite was still recovering from his impalement in the ribs.

  Elowyn looked lost in horrid visitations of memories best left forgotten.

  Penn looked scared as shit.

  Nicholai pinched his lips together, turning his gaze to Kazuaki. He hoped to find more inspiration in the unflappable captain’s demeanor.

  The god had acted strange several days prior. Broken, somehow. Against the history of Kazuaki’s sureness, it was unsettling. He had appeared to recover, with each additional cannon that they loaded onto the airship’s deck, while docked in Aggi Normandy’s division. Nicholai could not help but wonder if it was genuine, or a clever ruse.

  Fighting against the force of the squall, Nicholai inched himself forward, until he was at Kazuaki’s side. His voice rose, competing with the whipping winds. “Any last-minute change of plans?” he asked, squinting through an unexpected gust of charging snowflakes. “Not exactly suitable weather for a showdown in the air.”

  It wasn’t until Kazuaki turned to face him, that Nicholai saw a strange spark in the captain’s eye. “Are you kidding?” The God of Salvation’s nostrils flared, and he turned back to face the gales, absent of hesitation. “It doesn’t get any better than a storm.”

  Nicholai recognized the crazed expression. He had seen it before, on the old wooden ship. The former Time-Father’s shoulders relaxed. Whatever fear he had seen in Kazuaki’s eye back in Northeastern, it appeared to take a backseat to the unrestrained excitement that consumed him in the face of a wild tempest.

  “Do you think the footmen Aggi managed to convince will be enough?” Nicholai tried to catch the captain’s attention, in the hopes of gaining a realistic answer. No word had been received from Bartholomew Gray. Not after the initial letter, detailing Rennington’s death, nor after the second, explaining their plans to infiltrate Nordjan’s hometown of Toln by air. Whether the former Southern division leader was able to convince any footmen of his homeland to tread toward Northern for back up, was a mystery.

  “I’ve extended invitations to as many as I thought would come,” Kazuaki informed him, thinking back to the letters that he had forged in Nicholai’s name. It was a risk, not informing Nicholai of all he had summoned, but it was necessary to impersonate the former Time Father in his inquiries. The man had earned far better karma with others than Kazuaki Hidataka could ever claim to.

  Kazuaki had hopes, that out of everyone he had petitioned—the Southeastern division, where Nicholai had once reigned—the Eastern division, where Elowyn had previous clout—the Western division, under the wishes of the late Edvard Addihein’s son—even that Wulfgang fellow, who Kazuaki had surmised boasted some sort of military training—that at least some would show up to sway the odds in their favor.

  Even if they didn’t … they just needed to make it as far as Nordjan’s estate.

  Nicholai nodded, taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves. The last Chronometer. This was it. The final hurdle in freeing Panagea from anything that would blindly favor one person over another. The closing link in the chain that held mankind back from the perils of tyranny. Curling his iron digits tighter around the nearest cord, Nicholai squared his shoulders and steeled his jaw. “Kazuaki.”

  The captain granted him his attention, but only with a turn of his head. His eye stayed forward, focused on navigating through the whiteout conditions.

  “No matter what happens in there—”

  “Nico. Sail, ho.”

  The man’s brows furrowed. “What did you call me?”

  Kazuaki leaned into a violent spin of the wheel, pulling the airship portside. “Sail, ho!”

  “What does—?” Nicholai narrowed his eyes until the sound of additional spinning blades met his eardrums. They were hard to hear before, lost in the splitting madness of the blizzard-like conditions, but as soon as the former Time Father spun, he saw it: the large, gray balloon. The churning propellers. The enemy airship, quite similar to their own.

  Nordjan was prepared. It appeared he had no intention of going down without a fight. The realization made Nicholai sigh.

  “Granite!” Kazuaki’s voice cut through the air, like a blade through flesh. “Man the chase cannon! This is it!”

  The behemoth plowed his way to the front. He loaded the bits of shrapnel that they had gathered back in Northeastern into the mouth of the booming weapon.

  Brack leaped down from a higher deck, landing on Granite’s opposite side.

  In the short time it took for the Rabbit to correct his posture, the first shot from the enemy airship fired.

  Hearing the projectile soar through the air, Brack howled, throwing a shout over his shoulder. “Bring a spring upon her, Cap! I see more a’comin!”

  Nicholai instinctively ducked, when a projectile rumbled the side of the airship. To keep his cool, he held tight. It would give Kazuaki one less thing to worry about, by ensuring he did not fall to his death. “How much farther until Toln?”

  Kazuaki threw his weight into the wheel again, stopping it from spinning any further. “We’re in it!”

  Of course. Nicholai whipped his head back in the direction of the enemy airships. Smaller ornithopters had appeared alongside the more massive vessels: reinforcements in littler forms. It was hard to see them through the snow, but the Northern division emblem almost seemed to glow on their sides.

  He knew they were close. That they had managed to get to Nordjan’s home town without being detected by other ornithopters was nothing short of a miracle, assisted by Elowyn’s knowledge of the division, and Kazuaki’s strategic route.

  Here, now, in the thick of the borders that Nordjan called home … running from prying eyes became an impossible feat.

  “Fire in the hole!” A shot rang out, as Brack laughed through his newly deafened ears. A piece of shrapnel cut through the thick canvas of one of the smaller ornithopter’s wings. Brack followed it downward, watching as the pilot struggled in vain to keep it aloft. It wasn’t until it crashed into a large snowbank that the Rabbit spied the movement down below.

  They looked like small fragments of coal dust, from the height that separated them. Through the ashen clouds surrounding the terrain, Brack saw the bodies. The fight. The onslaught. It was too far down to make out any specific details, but the man had seen enough battles to know what he was looking at. “Oi! It seems your letters found their way to the right places, Cappy!”

  Too distracted trying to keep them alive to follow Brack’s gaze downward, Kazuaki gritted his teeth. “Reinforcements?” He jerked the airship again, narrowly avoiding a shot from one of the two massive vessels that circled them.

  Unable to hear Kazuaki after the deafening cannon blast, Brack returned his focus to the forefront of the battle. He helped Granite shove more debris into the cannon, preparing for another shot.

  Bermuda and Elowyn took to the highest deck. Each woman waited for the right moment to unleash the wrath of their blunderbusses. The quartermaster attempted a shot at a passing airship’s balloon, but the enemy was prepared for such things. Reinforced material bounced the bullet off as if it was nothing.

  Revi pushed through the jostling ship, his acclimated legs and perfected balance carrying him over to Kazuaki and Nicholai. “We’re losing altitude, Captain!” His breath tumbled out of him in white mist and was quickly swallowed by the rushing air. “I don’t know what the feck they filled their airships with, but this damn cold is affecting our zeppelin!”

  Scanning the ground for the tip of Nordjan’s gothic estate, Kazuaki scowled. “As long as we stay airborne long enough to make it to him.”

  There.
There it was. Almost too easy to spot in the white tundra land that encased the black mansion: Nordjan’s home.

  “Rabbit! Granite! Cannon fire downward! Blow the gods-damned roof off!”

  Still deafened from the blasts, Brack and Granite aimed at one of the gargantuan ships instead. Waiting until the best shot arrived, they fired, striking one of their opponent’s sides.

  “Take that, ya bastards!” Brack shook a fist at the opposing airship, cackling all the while.

  “He can’t hear you—” Nicholai threw up an arm to shield his eyes from the wind, squinting at the sight of Brack and Granite’s backs. Without waiting for instruction, he pushed across the deck, toward the two men.

  Nicholai was nearly there when another brutal hit shook the airship. It felt as though his feet were pulled out from beneath him. His stomach struck the floor with a grunt. Rather than wait around to see if the blast had caused irreparable damage, he dragged himself over with his elbows to Granite’s ankle and grasped it.

  The towering man glanced down, a startled look on his face.

  “The roof!” Nicholai pointed downward, exaggerating each word with his lips. With luck, Granite would understand him, even if he could not hear him.

  Success.

  Veins burst up in the man’s arms, as he forced the cannon down, in an unnatural direction. When Brack realized what was going on, he nodded, leaning over to shove everything he could into the cannon’s barrel.

  Their weapon discharged simultaneously with their adversary. Nicholai’s fingers splayed flat to the floor, as the airship jostled.

  A snap rang in his ears. One of the cords around their zeppelin had been compromised.

  The twang of the snapping cordage was unmistakable, and even if it hadn’t been—the unnatural tilt of the now unbalanced ship, as it squealed to an angle, made it all the more obvious what had happened.

  “Feckin’ cock!” Brack leaned over the side, watching as the blizzard gusts dragged the unsettled dust away from the impact near Nordjan’s roof. “We didn’t even make a hole!”

  “Again!” Kazuaki’s hostile bark was loud enough, forceful enough, to penetrate Brack’s compromised hearing.

  In the time it took for the two men to reload the cannon, another shot from an enemy airship punctured their side. Chunks of shrapnel flew through the air, as the railing near the blast screamed, and bent.

  “Gods-dammit!” Kazuaki readjusted his footing, pulling the wheel in violent jerks. The cut down his torso screamed from the movement. Enough days had passed to allow him the luxury of ignoring it.

  Evading one of Northern’s tactical airships was difficult enough, but two—and the handful of smaller ornithopters that flew alongside them, spraying bullets—it was damn near impossible.

  Another thunderous boom met his ears. The captain cursed. How much more damage could the ship sustain before it gave out? When his vessel did not creak from the blast, his head snapped back. The discharge had stemmed not from their enemies, but Penn, who took up space behind one of the various cannons outfitted on the ship’s sides.

  The scrawny arms of the cook and cooper looked strange beside the hearty iron tube of the cannon. As Kazuaki followed the direction of Penn’s aim down to the roof of Nordjan’s home, he saw that the man had managed to puncture the weakened stone of the vaulted ceiling.

  He wanted a larger opening. A larger target, to ensure a successful drop. As another explosion from their adversaries mortars destroyed another cord bounding the airship’s balloon, Kazuaki scowled. The luxury of waiting did not seem in their favor.

  Revi dodged several crates that slid across the uneven floor. His narrowed gaze flew to Kazuaki. “She’s not going to make it, Captain!”

  Yes. He knew. Another farewell, in a series of recent goodbyes. At least this one was easier than the last. Kazuaki watched, as Granite and Brack managed to get in another shot. Impressive that they hit their target, even as the airship balanced unevenly on broken cords, and lost altitude at a rapid rate.

  Without looking to see if the hole met his standards, Kazuaki shouted. “Big enough!” Even if it wasn’t … it would have to be. Throwing a pointed finger to the ropes anchored around the railing’s side, he barked, “Go!”

  Holding tight to his beret, Penn abandoned his cannon. He skidded and slid over to Kazuaki’s side, with the others. “If you think I’m staying with the ship this time, you’re mad!”

  Kazuaki rushed the others toward their ropes, watching as Brack, Granite, and Elowyn made effortless plunges into the widened hole in the Northern estate’s roof. As soon as they landed within the relative safety of the crumbling building, he turned to Penn. “She’ll be joining her predecessor, I’m afraid.”

  Shoving the rope into Penn’s grasp without further delay, Kazuaki shoved the man over the ledge. His upper body strength was no match for the others, but his adrenaline would provide enough power to keep him from plummeting to his death.

  In the halo of the firefight around them, Nicholai stumbled over to Kazuaki. The Northern footmen in the airships became wise to their movements, and sprays of bullets began to fire near the opening to Nordjan’s home.

  Cringing, Nicholai grabbed a rope in his hands. The touch alone brought flashbacks to the last lost ship. His face twisted as he peered over the ledge. “Not this again.”

  He saw Penn had made it. If fate had favored the cook, he hoped there was some good fortune left for himself.

  Taking in a deep breath, Nicholai wrapped the rope once around his mechanical arm, closed his eyes, and leaped.

  The friction of the fall instantly heated the rope. The metal of his palm birthed smoke from the cordage as he slid down. It held.

  He felt several bullets fly past him. The sound made his stomach jolt. Nicholai landed with a grunt, his knees hitting the debris-covered floor of Nordjan’s home, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Above, Kazuaki glanced at his mangled comrade. “Revi?”

  The man scoffed, dismissing the unspoken question that hid in the captain’s mouth. “I’ve still got one good arm.”

  Without another word, Revi seized a rope. Fearing no recourse from the skin that split apart during the descent, he joined the others at the bottom.

  Spinning, Kazuaki took in the sight of the dying ship. The edge of the deflating zeppelin glowed orange, a reflection of another blast from the enemy’s attacks.

  It was an embarrassing thing, for a captain to lose two ships in several years. More embarrassing still that he refused to go down with either of them.

  It wouldn’t have mattered. It wasn’t as if he could die with them, anyway.

  A bandaged hand reached out to Bermuda. She accepted without hesitation. A lingering feeling of weakness tried to invade her, as she willingly slid down into Nordjan’s home with Kazuaki’s assistance. It was a hard habit to break.

  As the woman landed and righted her posture, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She’d rather die weak, than stupid. To think of all the moments she had made more difficult by her stubborn perceptions of strength.

  Chunks of debris fell from the compromised vaults and flying buttresses of Nordjan’s home. Revi stepped aside, as a larger piece of stone nearly crushed him.

  The flooring was compromised beneath the opening. Every piece of ground that fell within the hole of light from the sky threatened to give way at any moment. Nicholai clamored to the railing that ran alongside the upper floors, peering over to spy the ground level, from the balcony-like viewpoint his high position granted him. He thought he’d see more footmen. It appeared as though they were all outside, protecting the door.

  When he lifted his gaze from the ground floor and redirected his focus out ahead, he saw him—staring, wide-eyed, through the open door to one of his many rooms. Nordjan stood in the frame, a look of sheer disbelief plastered to his face.

  Above, another cord snapped on the airship. And another. It wasn’t long until the balloon could no longer be cont
ained by the remaining few cables, and broke free from the base of the airship. As it floated up, the ship headed down.

  Held up only by the force of the few steam thrusters that remained undamaged, the ship careened to the side. Its wheel spun wildly, untamed as its pegs looped round and round over the other, fast enough to turn its action into nothing more than a blur.

  From inside the building, the crew could not see where it landed; but the booming roar that shook the ground from the inside told everyone that it had crashed just outside the estate.

  Kazuaki followed Nicholai’s gaze to Nordjan.

  The Northern Time Father’s face drained of its color. He put all of his men on the ground, and in the air. He felt safe with his barriers, as he hid on the highest floor. Who would have thought to also protect the roof?

  Nicholai scanned the man’s eyes, seeing the terror inside, even from the distance that separated them. He spied each critical assessment. Each tick of the man’s panicking brain.

  Nordjan raced outside of the room. His fingers wrapped around the balcony railing, as his concentration flew to the front door. Where were his footmen? Surely they would try to regain access to the building if they knew he needed them inside.

  Screams could be heard from outside the walls. Screams, and the loud pounding of soldiers, who tried in vain to open the door. With the foundation of the building warped by consecutive cannon blasts and the damage that the fallen airship had caused, the entry’s frame had bent. It was nearly impossible to open.

  The Northern Father’s heart squeezed in his chest. His pupils shrank, as he turned them back over to Nicholai.

  Options were gone.

  His efforts offered him no reward.

  Only one way out remained.

  Sucking in a quick breath, Nicholai tensed. He recognized the look. The desperation that Nordjan wore on his face. He’d seen it before. “He’s going to stop time—”

  In the time it had taken Nordjan to release his white knuckles from the railing and remove the Chronometer from his pocket, Revi had drawn his gun.