The Time Father’s rage bubbled over. Jernal feared he might suffer an aneurysm, but the mention of the church basement switched Darjal’s expression to one of concern. “What were they doing in the church basement?” he whispered, a hint of panic in his tone.
Confused by the tonal shift, Jernal’s expression changed to one of perplexity. “They were raiding an old room. A hidden one. We spoke with the priest, he was the only member of the Avadon church who seemed to know of its existence. They made off with some books, nothing more.”
“Some books,” Darjal wheezed, trying not to succumb to his unforgiving emotions. He straightened his posture and adjusted the chain of his Chronometer around his neck. “Do you know what titles?” he asked.
“Ah,” Jernal paused, rifling through the interior pockets of his uniform. “Yes, the priest cataloged the library’s contents. He said you'd want to know. Various titles from the myths and folklore sections, some philosophical journals, one medical text, and ... it appears some of the political pieces were pilfered as well, as relating to Time Father’s and such.”
Darjal tried to make sense of it all in his brain. “Kazuaki Hidataka has been a thorn in Panagea's side on and off for years,” he hissed. There existed many instances in the past where the captain made himself a nuisance, not just for Darjal, but for Time Fathers long dead. His crimes were insurmountable. Between the various thefts and murders of anyone who stood in his way, he helped himself to treasures that should have been the property of the divisions. Worse yet, he risked exposing these myths as a truth to the public. He stole criminals from Panagea and spared them from their necessary prosecutions for hundreds of years. Darjal loathed the immortal Kazuaki Hidataka.
As hard as it was to keep the captain’s existence from the people, it was harder still to catch him. The Time Fathers preferred the public to continue to see Kazuaki as a myth. Whatever black magic or archaic god crafted the immortal captain, the Time Fathers wished to conceal it. Old world expectations finally died out. Technology finally replaced omnipotent beings. The power to grant wishes fell into the hands of the people, not the whims of the gods. They didn’t need the public trying to pull temperamental deities back to the surface. Man outlived his need for false gods and they intended to keep it that way. It made it that much easier for Darjal to convince the people of Southern that he, himself, was to be revered as the only god they needed.
But silencing Kazuaki’s actions proved difficult. Since the supercontinent of Panagea connected all divisions, traveling by sea was not a necessity. It was more fruitful modernizing the whole of Pangaea's roadways and perfecting air travel than engaging in seafaring. They needed nothing from the ocean. The Time Fathers knew of only a small handful of nearby islands, and they served their purposes well, but maritime exploration was a low priority. Because of this, they hadn’t crafted a vessel that could compete with Captain Hidataka’s ship, let alone know a man experienced enough to operate it. The knowledge of the sea died long ago. For everyone except Kazuaki Hidataka.
“I have a list of the exact titles,” Jernal said, holding a piece of parchment out to Darjal.
He snatched it from the soldier’s grasp and his eyes scanned it over. “The Earth Mother,” he uttered under his breath, lowering the list from his sight. If anybody possessed the wherewithal and the equipment to find her, it was Captain Hidataka. And now he knew of her existence too.
Jernal stood, patient and apprehensive. The meeting didn't go as he envisioned it in his mind. There was something the Time Father was not telling him but he didn't dare ask what.
Darjal took a deep breath, stopping to feel his lungs expand in his chest. He released it, trying to collect his thoughts. “Jernal,” he closed his eyes, “you mentioned this man's appearance twice: the one who ruined your efforts at capturing the deserters. Surely you did not let him escape twice ...”
There it was. He waited for it. Standing tall, he accepted his fate. “He managed to escape, my Lord. He and Hidataka's men exited to the coast through a series of catacombs running underneath the church.”
Darjal’s eyes snapped open. The catacombs. The only ones who knew of their existence were the Time Fathers. His brain clicked. Things fell into place. With an eerie craning of his neck, he looked in Jernal’s direction. “Did you identify this man?” he asked.
His scrutiny was nightmarish. Jernal fluctuated in his impeccable posture. “Ah,” he stuttered, surprised by the vehemence of Darjal’s stare, “I believe I heard the captain reference him once. It was difficult to hear in the firefight, but, I think he referred to him as Nico.”
The Time Father’s eyes glazed over. “Nicholai Addihein,” he muttered to himself. He thought if the sinner tried to leave Southeastern, he’d take refuge in his own father’s division. Edvard Addihein would’ve been Nicholai’s best bet at living longer, though Darjal hoped the Western Time Father would have put his son down as his duty dictated. But no, the devil crept up to his doorway. A demon roamed through his perfect land, and his blood boiled at the thought. The cement grounds of his flawless world had no room for impurities. He needed to cleanse the entire city of Avadon now. It was a shame he couldn't do it with the blood of the damned. Nicholai was long gone if he fled with the captain at sea.
“My Lord?” Jernal spoke up, unable to stand the crushing weight of the silence. “What are your orders?”
Darjal Wessex seethed. The Southern Time Father looked back at the parchment sitting on his throne. He needed Jernal; he had to let the cat out of the bag. “We’ve been instructed to dispatch men to Southeastern’s borders,” he started. “Nicholai Addihein has frozen his division’s time. It is my belief he and your ‘Nico’ are the same man.”
The news came as a shock. Jernal never thought he’d see the day where a Time Father froze his division’s time. It was reprehensible. The crime not only robbed men and women of their free will but affected Panagea as a whole. Though Jernal was not privy to the Time Father’s knowledge of the goings-on in the world, he was not an unintelligent man. Anyone with enough mental capacity felt the gravity of the situation. He did not know the specifics, but he ventured a guess Nicholai’s actions caused the increase in tremors and earthquakes. Chunks of land disappeared into the sea at an unprecedented rate. The unnatural state of a huge portion of land, frozen and immobile. It wasn’t just a crime against the Time Father’s code, it was a crime against all of Panagea. He couldn’t believe he let him get away. Twice. “I’ll send my best men,” he said.
“No,” Darjal held up a hand, garnering confusion from Jernal. “Nordjan may think he knows what’s best, but the lamb will rarely approach the wolf. We must go to him. Send competent men to Southeastern, but save your best. I will commission a warship. We will hunt Nicholai Addihein at sea if we must. The capture of Kazuaki Hidataka will merely be a bonus.”
Jernal shifted uneasily. “A vessel of that size would take months to build, and the cost alone—”
“—will be covered in full,” Darjal finished for the soldier. He had no qualms in depleting his division’s finances dry if it meant the capture of Nicholai Addihein. “You do not have months, Jernal. You have weeks. I don’t care if you pluck every engineer and capable hand from all the factories in Panagea, you will get it done, and you will get it done on schedule.”
It seemed like an impossible feat. The soldier felt doomed to Darjal’s merciless behavior before the project even begun. “A large ship is difficult to hide, your Grace. If the public sees us crafting an ironclad, they will suspect something is amiss.”
“Tell them they are doing their god’s work!” he shouted. “Go, Jernal! Let my will be done!”
The sound waves died out around the men. Jernal knew when to call it quits and nodded. “Yes, sir.” With that, he motioned his men to follow and set off to perform his futile orders.
Once Darjal was the only one who remained in the stillness of his cavernous room, he approached his throne. His fingers curled around the parchment, tak
ing no care when it wrinkled under the force of his grip. He walked over to the fireplace, standing before it as the orange light flickered over his facial features. Nicholai threatened the world Darjal built for himself. For his people. Though the other Time Fathers’ desires rested in manufacturing and advancing the abilities of mankind, they did not understand the vital importance of religion. The power that accompanied it. But it didn't matter. His people already revered him as a god. Darjal needed no help in growing his immaculate, uncontaminated world. At their leisure, they would soon see that land without purity, advanced and industrious or not, was still land that was an insult to him: the man who rose to omnipotence and became their one true god.
But it wasn’t just Darjal's perfect world Nicholai threatened.
With the knowledge of the Earth Mother’s existence in their hands, Kazuaki and Nicholai could upset everything the past Time Fathers worked to achieve. The destructive forces of nature and the gods that accompanied it had always been a hindrance. It took many years, but long gone were the days where merciless root systems plunged into and destroyed the sewage pipes running below ground. No longer did trees as tall as towers fall onto nearby houses, businesses, and facilities in storms. No more forests dominated entire portions of land that could be used for more purposeful efforts. The annoying creatures that dwelled in the environment almost died out too, eliminating all the issues that accompanied them. No more diseases spread through vile vermin, no more poisonous creatures prepared to attack. Most important of all, the lesser gods and goddesses of mankind’s creation fell away. No longer did they have to bend to the whims of false deities for help. There were no more unanswered prayers from fickle idols. Man was in charge of his destiny now, and his destiny belonged to technology and the true god: Darjal Wessex.
They eliminated every inconvenience of nature. Save for one. Though she was less of an inconvenience and more of a necessity—kept alive only to serve in creating oxygen through her trees in an oxygen-starved world. She had her purpose, and she had her place, and it was not on Pangaea.
Darjal needed to find them. He did not dedicate his life to his religion to see it fall to the wayside. He wouldn't let his people dabble in the sinful ways of the past. Those gods would not starve him of the attention he deserved. The thought of purposeless orgies, of wine and debauchery replacing the dignified effort of honoring him in a church was infuriating. He would not allow his sheep to stray from his flock. Their souls depended on it.
Darjal stared at the flames of the fire as they reflected in his eyes. “My wrath is revealed, and every sin brings its punishment with it. You can hide from the eyes of the world for as long as you can, Nicholai Addihein ...” He hurled the crumpled parchment into the fire. It did not last long. The edges curled in on themselves and withered away into nothing but blackness and ash. A small puff of smoke billowed out of the fireplace, creeping around Darjal’s body like an ethereal, translucent snake. “For I am the eyes of god ... and you cannot run from me.”
Chapter Nine
Life onboard a ship did not come easy. When one lived on land their entire life, adjusting to the wind and the waves took time. Seasickness was a common pleasure of ocean life, coming on violent and unexpected, like a storm. Nicholai missed the little things, like the earth not moving beneath his feet with every step. Or the absence of crippling cabin fever. Or not dwelling every day in the company of murderers and thieves. Yes. The little things.
He tried to keep his head down for the last two days, holing up in the small room Kazuaki gifted to him. He used the term ‘gift’ loosely. His roommates were an old metal bucket and a sorry looking mop that should've been thrown overboard. It was less of a small room and more of a large supply closet with a cot. But the Time Father couldn’t complain. Not out loud. It was a lot better than a prison cell in Avadon, or a gravesite where the other Time Fathers dumped his body should they catch him after his treachery.
After using the last of the candle he found in his room, Nicholai ventured with caution toward the main deck of the ship. He needed a light source to study the political text he took from the library. The sun was as good as any, the oldest light source of all. It lingered high in the sky at this hour, providing ample brightness.
It felt good to stretch his legs. Save for slinking into the galley half a dozen times to take scraps of food from Penn, the ship cook, Nicholai did not leave his room at all. He became a man obsessed with scouring the transcripts for anything he could use to save Lilac from her unfortunate fate.
A plank of wood creaked under the weight of his boot as he started down the narrow corridor that led to the stairs. A familiar voice followed the noise, coming from an open door to his right. “E.P.? That you?” Rennington called from inside the room.
Nicholai hesitated, unsure whether he should ignore the man. It wasn’t in his nature. Even still, he remained curious about how Rennington faired after suffering the onslaught of the footmen several days ago. “I—I’m afraid not,” he said, peering his head into the open doorway. His eyes fell on Rennington, still bound to the bed due to his injuries. Without a tunic, Nicholai saw the bandage around his arm and shoulder, along with many scars scattered across his entire torso. Old battle wounds, he suspected. “Just me. I could try to find E.P. for you, but I don’t know who that is.”
“Good man,” Rennington grinned and sat up in bed. “You haven’t met Elowyn yet? Haven’t you been on board here a few days now?”
Nicholai looked over his shoulder, feeling awkward for blocking the hallway, though there was nobody behind him. He crept into the room where Rennington lived, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, a few days, but, I ... I haven’t left my room much.”
“A fearful sort we are, aye?” Rennington chuckled but regretted his display of jubilance, and he grabbed his hip with a wince. He brushed it off and continued, “Captain Hidataka gave you a room? He offered you a position on board then?”
“No,” Nicholai retorted quicker than he should have. “I don’t think I—he—would enjoy that much,” he said with a small, forced laugh.
Rennington shrugged the shoulder that didn’t have a bullet hole in it, returning to an older topic. “E.P. is Elowyn. Elowyn Saveign, but she’s practically a sister, so Iani and I, we made her an honorary Platts. You’d like her. I mean, not at first, but over time, if she’s not being a total wench. That’s her, there,” he said, pointing to an old, framed photograph hanging on the wall above her bed.
Nicholai looked at the photograph. He tilted his head when he saw the young woman. There was a huge smile on her face. She stood, dressed head to toe in the traditional garb of the Northern military’s medical unit. “Oh, her. She’s the medic in your crew, then?” He recalled she was the one who swept Rennington away to tend to his wounds when he arrived back on the ship after their escape from the footmen. The Time Father squinted, noting the woman’s arms wrapped around the shoulders of two smiling men. They wore Northern military uniforms. The photo quality wasn’t great. Nicholai had a hard time discerning their faces but assumed they were Rennington and Iani. “Forgive me for prying,” he started, “but I thought you and your brother had belonged to Southern’s military.”
“Oh,” Rennington’s expression altered to one of concern. “Yeah, mate. Iani and I, we’re Southern born and raised. That ain’t us in the photo. That’s E.P.’s blood brothers. The three of them served Northern all together a good handful of years back.”
“I see,” Nicholai wondered how three upstanding looking individuals fell from the grace of a powerful military and onto the rotting decks of a criminal sea vessel, but he did not ask. “Are they onboard the ship as well?” he asked, trying to make conversation to fill the silence.
Rennington paused. “I suspect they are,” he uttered, staring at the photograph. “Onboard and alive in E.P.’s heart at least, but they’ve been dead a good long while now.”
Nicholai’s face fell. He engaged in a conversation all of three minutes and already
put his foot in his mouth. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he offered with sincerity. Criminal or otherwise, nobody deserved to lose a sibling.
“Sorries make no sense in death, mate,” Rennington stretched in the bed that held him captive. “Might as well apologize for getting wet after it rains. It’s just a part of life. Speaking of, I owe a debt of gratitude to you for saving mine and my brother’s.”
Nicholai took a step back and held up his hands. “Please, it was no trouble. It’s—” It’s what Lilac would have wanted, he wished to say. But the words didn’t come out. “It’s no big deal,” he finished.
“It is to a Platts brother,” Rennington said with a grin. “I don’t often trust newbies, Nico, but I happen to think I’m a pretty good judge of character. I’ll make it up to you.”
Nicholai shook his head. “That’s not necessary, really.”
Rennington maintained his grin. “Well, I won’t keep you here any longer, no sense in two of us having to hole up here in the land where time stands still.” Though he made a joke, his choice of words caused Nicholai to adjust his stance. If only Rennington knew the irony in his statement.
Nicholai looked back out the door, feeling the weight of the book in his hands. It called him to go back to his task: scouring for loopholes that could help Lilac. He appreciated Rennington’s candor. Save for Brack and Iani, he remained the only one aboard the ship who made any effort in welcoming him. “If you need anything,” Nicholai said, “just let me know. A book to pass the time, perhaps? You guys have quite a bit on board now after that library raid.”
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 13
