The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  It was difficult when the prayers stopped. More than he thought it would be. But it was not as difficult as it was when the lives of his crew members began to fade away, one by one.

  Revi had been the first to die. The life he led after the last Chronometer was shattered was not one without pain, but some agony had been dulled by Kal Rovanas’ efforts to find his children. The former ambassador managed to reunite Revi with one of his sons and one of his daughters. The others were never seen or heard from again. It did not stop Revi from searching for them until the day he died of a heart attack.

  His children had his eyes. Kazuaki remembered them from the funeral. It was difficult to see through the glassy tears that shrouded them … but yes. They were the eyes of Revi Houton, living on in his remaining son and daughter.

  Granite had gone on to live out his life with the Goddess of Animals. A half-grin stole over Kazuaki’s face. They were a strange pairing, but the behemoth seemed happy with his choice. Far away from the grasp of the people that Granite never seemed to understand, he resided in content seclusion, with only Kekona and her beasts for company.

  Kazuaki still remembered the day that he and his aging batch of comrades went to Southwestern to partake in Granite’s memorial service. Kekona was inconsolable, knowing she wouldn’t get to see him in her afterlife. Another frown replaced the weak smile from before. Kazuaki knew her grief all too well.

  Penn’s death came as a shock. The youngest of the crew, they had expected him to outlive them all. A band of thugs outside the cook’s home had other plans. Kazuaki always wondered why Penn hadn’t prayed to him for help as they beat the life out of him. Part of the god suspected that he wanted to die to be reunited with his parents.

  The god’s chest inflated as he took in a deep breath. He had found them anyway: Penn’s assailants. When one had all the time in the world to go hunting, tracking them down became a delightful distraction from the monotony of every day. There was some frustration in not being able to enjoy the satisfaction of strangling them with his own hands … but years of his condition birthed a certain ‘creativity’.

  There was no salvation for those men.

  Elowyn had returned to Eastern. She was unable to pursue greatness in the form of leadership, but the advances she had made in medicine remained unprecedented. Her efforts opened more doors for the women of Eastern to be viewed as capable individuals.

  The medic denied each day that she and Wulfgang shared anything more than camaraderie, but Kazuaki recalled the soldier looking particularly gutted the day she died from a pulmonary embolism. He absently wondered if they were something far more than what Elowyn claimed.

  Bartholomew and Kal had earned a happily-ever-after. Perhaps the only ones who truly did, Kazuaki thought. The two men remained powerhouses in the Southern division. Kal was the first to go of the pair. Natural causes. Bartholomew did not last long after. Death by a broken heart, no doubt.

  Brack was, by all astonishing accounts, the last to go. Elowyn’s quick thinking had saved his life in the crumbling Northern estate decades ago, when Nordjan ran a bullet through his neck. Suffering too much damage to the vocal cords, Brack ‘the Rabbit’ Joney never spoke again. He did, however, learn some very inventive sign language skills that carried over into his love life. Kazuaki recalled a lot of jokes about the wondrous, magical things he could do with his fingers …

  “Can you believe it, Kazuaki?” Nicholai broke the silence between the two by giving life to his thoughts. “I know we helped shape it … I know we lived in long moments of it … but when I look out that window, I can’t help but think the world staring back at me seems like an entirely different place than the one we grew up in.”

  Kazuaki arched a brow, peering through the glass. Streamlined, high-rise buildings began replacing the older structures. The architecture wasn’t the only thing that changed. Fashion had taken a shift as well. Gone were the oxygenated masks, the formality of suits, ties, and fitted bodices. They had been replaced with coverings of comfort rather than functionality.

  “You get used to it,” the captain murmured, sweeping his long, black hair from his eye. “After a while, you stop being surprised by what can change in one year, let alone a handful of them.”

  “Yes.” Nicholai nodded, trying to hide a pained groan as he readjusted his position on the bed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Leaning forward, Kazuaki rested his elbows on his legs. He peered at Nicholai, feeling the pressure of his question weighing down on him. For years, he’d wanted to ask. It never felt like the right time. Now, with Nicholai edging closer to his death with each passing second, he seemed to be running out of opportunities to delay his inquiry further.

  “Nico …” Kazuaki cleared his throat, feeling the unpleasant thrum of discomfort in his chest. “Can I ask you something?”

  Slowly craning his neck back toward his friend, Nicholai smiled. “Of course.”

  A placating half-smile swept onto Kazuaki’s face for a second before it disappeared. “Does it bother you …” he started, with memories of Kekona’s inconsolable wails trickling through his mind, “that you’ll never see Umbriel again?”

  A flicker of sadness passed through Nicholai’s features. He disbanded the emotion, swiftly replacing it with a contented one. “I’ve made peace with it.”

  Classic Nico. A muscle ticked in Kazuaki’s jaw when he sat up. As much good as he felt in knowing it was possible to make peace with such a thing, the glaring difference in their circumstances remained. “At least your Lilac Finn is waiting for you in your afterlife. And the crew.” He gestured toward Nicholai with a nod of his head. “That must bring some comfort.”

  For the longest time, Nicholai said nothing. He only stared at Kazuaki with a serene, yet scrutinizing expression. “And you, Kazuaki?” he said, finally breaking the quiet. “Do you think you might find someone again? You have some free time, you know … to pick and choose.”

  Nicholai’s poor attempt at humor did little to amuse the captain, but he maintained a polite tone. “No …” Drawing his shoulders back, Kazuaki inhaled, resting one of his arms over the back of the chair. “There may have been enough room in your heart to love two different women, but …” His tenor darkened, and he fixated on one of the patterns sewn into Nicholai’s duvet. “ …there isn’t enough room in mine.”

  After taking a moment to process the captain’s reply, Nicholai nodded. Though he cringed when he shifted, his enigmatic smile remained. “Of all the things in the world that I could have had too much of,” he said, trying and failing to find a comfortable position, “I am glad that mine was love.” The light in his eyes vanished for an instant, and his serenity faded. “Even if I didn’t get to love either of them long enough.”

  Stillness invaded the room. It stretched out to every small corner. Through the thin walls, voices could be heard outside. Over the roar of engines, both automobile and flying contraption alike, laughter made its way to both men’s ears. Laughter and music.

  It was the music that shoved life back into Nicholai’s eyes. “I almost forgot.” A bony hand reached over to a drawer at his bedside. “I have something for you. It seems these new technologies have their perks.”

  Kazuaki winced through Nicholai’s coughs, wondering if he should offer to help. It felt like a small eternity passed before the man removed the object he sought from the drawer and held it out to the god with trembling hands.

  “What is it?” Kazuaki asked, reaching forward to relieve Nicholai of holding onto the odd rectangular-shaped box, and the peculiar attachment that came with it.

  Amid his coughing, Nicholai removed a pocket square from the front of his suit vest. The object covered his mouth until the fit subsided. He frowned at the specks of red blood that splattered on the cloth when he pulled it away from his lips. Saying nothing, he crumpled it into his hand and pointed to the gift. “Those are the headphones,” he explained, trying to moisten his throat. “Go on, put them on. The little sof
t, circle things are meant to be up against your ears. When they’re on, give that button a press on the box. The one that says ‘play’.”

  Doing as he was instructed, Kazuaki slid the headphones on. It took some finagling to get his thick hair out of the way. Once they settled into place, he stared at the box, twisting it around in his hands before he located the proper button. As soon as he pressed it, a familiar tune poured into his ears.

  It had been years since he last heard his and Bermuda’s song. It sounded just like it did a lifetime ago, filtering through the phonograph in Aggi Normandy’s chambers. Exactly as it did when she played it for him in the airship after.

  Kazuaki forced his eye shut. Every gripping crescendo was there. Every upward inflection of each note, down to the scratches that played on the record. Just like when she’d play it on the phonograph. His heart quickened at the memory. When he could no longer stand thinking of her without risking the feeling of a hand crushing his heart, his thumb tapped another button, and the music stopped.

  “I had a hard time tracking down the original song,” Nicholai admitted, coughing several times more into his hand. “But I found it. I believe the kids these days call it a cassette player. You can rewind it and listen to it as often as you’d like now.”

  Kazuaki felt his stomach hollow out. He stared at the object with some affection, before sliding it into the deep pocket of his long jacket. “Thank you, Nico.”

  A thank you? The brows on Nicholai’s face sprung up. He had not heard vocal gratitude from the captain in the entirety that he knew him. It brought another smile to his pained, aging face. “You’re welcome, Kazuaki.”

  Before more words could pass between the two men, another body appeared in the room. The warmth of her light spread into every corner, and the goddess stepped up to the bedside with her hands clasped in front of her.

  Nicholai managed a contented look. “Epifet.” He tried to reach a hand out toward her, but thought better of it upon recalling the blood-soaked kerchief in his palm. “It’s always a delight to see you, though I trust I know the circumstances of your arrival.”

  The goddess responded with a loving smile. “I gave you my word that I’d be here when your time came.”

  A charming grin stole over Nicholai’s face. “I don’t deserve you, my dear.” Absolved of fear, he tried to sit up. The struggle the simple action took was evident in his strains. “I trust Itreus is on his way then?”

  Epifet nodded. She reached out to help him, propping a pillow behind his back. “He is.”

  “Got the God of Lost Souls to make a house call to escort you to the afterlife?” Kazuaki fought through the discomfort of watching Nicholai fade away by trying to replace his dread with dark humor. “Fancy.”

  A weak laugh fell out of Nicholai’s mouth when he settled back into the pillows. “Yes, something like that.” Out of breath from the small shift, the man strained to fill his lungs with a satisfying amount of oxygen. “Death. Such a strange phenomenon. Some walk into it with fear, and others …” He tried to chuckle again but hadn’t the strength to pull it off. “Fate is cruel, isn’t it, Kazuaki?” Nicholai glimpsed the god, smirking. “When I met you, you were seeking death. Now, here you are … still searching.”

  Uncomfortable with the topic of demise while staring at Nicholai’s fading body, Kazuaki cleared his throat. “Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

  “Why not?” Nicholai attempted a shrug. “It’s not as if the subject itself will kill me.”

  Glimpsing Epifet, Kazuaki tightened his lips and stared down at the hands he clasped in his lap. “I guess it wasn’t death that I wanted. I’ve been offered an afterlife several times over and spurned each one. In hindsight, I don’t think I was chasing death … as much as chasing death on my own terms.”

  A considering sound rumbled in Nicholai’s throat. “Isn’t that what everybody’s looking for?”

  Kazuaki gazed out at his rapidly deteriorating comrade. “Yeah.” He swallowed. “I suppose so.” A breath hitched in his throat when he inhaled, but he tried to recover his composure. “What about you? Are you going out on your terms?”

  Exchanging glances between the two who had gathered to spend his final moments with him, Nicholai smiled. “I couldn’t imagine it any other way.”

  Kazuaki nodded aggressively, fidgeting in his chair. Why was this so difficult? He had seen men die before. And Bermuda. If any passing should have hardened him, it should have been hers. He ran his tongue over his lips and twisted in his seat again. Best to focus on Nico in his final moments. “I don’t want you to worry about me,” he said, his eye shifting down to his calloused hands. “I know how that damn mind of yours works. The absence of prayer will leave me weak, but … I’ll figure something out.”

  When Nicholai did not reply, Kazuaki looked up. “Nico?”

  Epifet loomed over the man, stroking his hair. Gentle fingers closed his still-open eyes, and she leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Goodnight, my child.”

  Kazuaki felt his chest constrict. It was a pleasant distraction when Itreus appeared in the room.

  The golden-haired god traipsed over, staring down at the husk that once housed Nicholai’s soul. “He’s ready?”

  With a nod, Epifet sighed. She slid her hand off Nicholai and turned to Itreus. “He is.”

  Unable to sit still any longer, Kazuaki flew up from his chair. He paced the room, his hands behind his back as he ground his teeth.

  The last one had left him.

  The last piece of his crew.

  It came on suddenly and unexpectedly. The crushing weight of isolation.

  He had admired Nico. He should have told him that. Kazuaki’s spine became rigid, and with his back to Epifet and Itreus, he closed his eye. He managed a question to distract his mind from the moment. “Will you be leaving with Itreus then, Epifet?”

  Kazuaki felt the commanding presence of the goddess as she came up behind him.

  “Not without giving you this,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  When the captain spun around to face her, he saw the object in her other hand. A lantern. It glowed with an ethereal brightness. Where had he seen such a thing before? “What is this?” he asked, flicking his gaze to Epifet.

  “I believe you mean who,” she corrected, handing the lantern to him.

  The memory slapped him across the face. Of course. The last time he had seen a lantern glow with such a supernatural light, it had been clasped in the hand of Mimir, housing the soul of the commander, Jernal. “No.” Kazuaki shook his head, slicing the air with his hand. “Tell him to go to the afterlife. Tell him to be with Lilac.”

  Epifet smiled lovingly. “Nicholai accepted an eternal existence with only one of the two women he loved …” She continued to hold the lantern out. “But he could not accept that your eternal existence would leave you with none. He begged me, Kazuaki. Prayed for me to convince Itreus to let his soul remain here … to sustain you with his soul’s prayer, just as Mimir is sustained by Jernal, until you find your way to the afterlife of your choosing.”

  Stiffening, Kazuaki pinched his eye shut. He felt Epifet force the lantern into his hand. Something inside him—the hope of having more time to find a way back to Bermuda and the crew—was the only thing that made his fingers curl around it. “That sounds just like you,” he grumbled to the lantern. “You feckin’ bastard.”

  Stepping back to join Itreus at his side, Epifet held fast to her tranquil expression. “Farewell, Salvation. It has been a pleasure. For the sake of your heart and your eternal happiness”—she tilted her head to the side—“I hope we never meet again. May you find a swift way to the human’s afterlife.”

  Kazuaki watched, wordless, as Itreus wrapped his arms and wings around a waiting Epifet.

  The God of Lost Souls turned his head to the captain after spreading his wings back open. He revealed the empty space where the Goddess of Fertility once stood and tucked the feathered appendages behind his ba
ck. “If you change your mind …”

  With the lantern tight in his grasp, Kazuaki remained silent.

  Itreus grinned and nodded. “You’re right. You won’t.” The god turned, his attention flying out the window beside Nicholai’s bed. “I’m sure I will see you again, Salvation. Death lurks around every corner. For as dangerous as the world can be, I trust that Panagea will be in good hands.”

  When Itreus vanished, Kazuaki remained. He took a moment to absorb the situation before lifting the lantern to stare at the soul inside. “What in the name of the gods did you do?” he asked, twisting the object around.

  Words rattled in Kazuaki’s thoughts. Disembodied and far away, but clear. They sounded just like the prayers he used to hear before, except this time, they matched the unmistakable inflections of Nicholai’s voice. ‘Nothing I like to think you wouldn’t have done for me.’

  Kazuaki lowered the lantern. A strange feeling invaded him. It disbanded the isolation that stabbed through him minutes prior. Stepping up to where Itreus had disappeared from, the god gawked through the thin glass window, soaking in the sight of the outside world. The people. Carrying on with their lives, absent of magic.

  Gone were the imbued objects of power. The gods who once answered their prayers. The myths and legends that he hunted down, once upon a time. If there were any left at all, they were far from the reach of many. Kazuaki’s grasp around the lantern grew a little tighter as he gazed at the people.

  They all had the same time, with no fear that it would stop. Whatever happened from here on out, they had only themselves to blame. If a moment arose where they needed salvation, perhaps he’d be the one to bring it. With any luck, now that Nico stayed to sustain him, he might find some for himself someday.

  Nicholai’s voice reverberated through his head once more, seeming to engulf the lantern in an even brighter light. ‘To eventual salvation.’

  Kazuaki smirked. He drew his shoulders back and nodded. “To eventual salvation.”

  A Note from the Author