Waybound (14 page)

“Probably some holy mumbo jumbo,” Micah offered. Pale, carved pedestals poked up from the floor like headstones, punctuated here and there by empty metal crates. Other than glittering heaps of what looked like chain-link spiderwebs, the space was bare. “There's nothin' here, Plumm.”

“But there used to be,” she said, touching one of the alcoves. “Something sat here. Search them all. Look for a white star.”

“Like what the Ona said?”

“Exactly,” she said. “If one of these shelves has a star carved on the wall, maybe it will show us the way.”

“Kind of a stretch…” Micah said, scrunching up his face. But Phoebe marched intently around the chamber, and Micah had no choice but to follow her with his light.

Something rustled at Micah's feet, and he leapt back, gun waving. A loose scrap of foil. Thinking of the bizarre langyls, he nudged it with his muzzle, not taking anything for granted.

Nope, it really was just a loose scrap of foil. He picked it up and saw that it was marked with more mehkan writing. The top had a blue insignia—a curved line arching over three dots. The same symbol was stamped on the crates scattered about.

“Over here!” called Phoebe.

She stood before a stout altar that was about chest high, its edges lined with gear teeth. Atop the worn and battered surface was a relief sculpture patterned in tarnished gold details. It showed a figure cloaked by delicate fins and encircled in veils, graceful arms raised in an exalted gesture. Its partially obscured face was depicted in an expression of rapture.

“The Ona,” Phoebe said.

“But she looks different.”

“Younger.”

The molten image of the Ona that had appeared to them in the Hearth had been hard to make out, but Phoebe had seen her eyes, and they were heavily wrinkled. This image of the Ona, on the other hand, showed a childlike face.

“
You alone can. Make the descent
,” Phoebe mumbled to herself. “
To the heart of prayer
.”

“What's that?”

“Nothing. I'm just trying to figure this out.”

Micah scratched his head. “I mean this is interesting and all, but we gotta keep moving.”

“There's something here,” Phoebe insisted.

“What?”

“I'm working on it.”

“Like I was sayin' before,” Micah said as he wandered over to his bulky red costume to put it back on. “No way we're gonna find this thing with a buncha dumb luck.”

Phoebe glared at him.

“Face it, Plumm. This is a dead end.”

“But there might be a clue.”

“Doubt it,” he said with a groan as he took a seat. He detached the light mounted to his rifle and held it out to Phoebe. “You just let me know when you're ready to split.”

She snatched the light from him.

“Thanks for nothing,” she said.

“Welcome,” he yawned.

Phoebe marched back to inspect the shrine.

But she, too, suspected that whatever clue might have led them to the Occulyth was either beyond their grasp or long gone.

D
ollop paused beside a rusting tahnik to catch his breath.

“Und-derguard Cya?” he called out. “A-a-anyone?”

Again, he struck the salathyl prong that Orei had given him and plunged it into the ground. He waited, and he hoped. And again, there was no response.

He could see well enough in the dark, but night transformed the Hy'rekshi jungle into a frightening phantasmagoria. Luminescent pinpods grew everywhere, and when they puckered, they looked like blinking, glowing eyes. There was a djintra nearby too, its eerie, creaking groan like a restless demon.

How had he managed to screw everything up?

For a while Dollop had kept up with the search party, hobbling along using his elongated arm as a crutch. But on the uneven terrain, he hadn't been able to keep up the pace, and before long, he had lost them. The Underguard had said they were planning to regroup, but he couldn't recall where. Even if he knew the location, how would he ever manage to find it?

He was hopelessly turned around.

Dollop had sworn to Orei that he would find Loaii and Micah. Nothing was more important, and he would give anything to bring them back. But he had already failed. What kind of imbecile could manage to lose a search party?

Who was he trying to fool? The Covenant didn't need him. Despite every attempt to be useful, he was only a burden. They were better off without him.

He was about to try his salathyl prong once more, when he heard a rustling sound. Dollop leapt and almost fell to pieces. Was it the Foundry? Were they hiding out in the jungle, hoping to finish what they had started back in the camp? Or perhaps there was something even worse lurking in the shadows.

Uaxtu. He had heard nightmarish tales of the ember-reapers his whole life. It was said the ravenous specters haunted places of death, hunting for lost embers to devour.

Dollop had to get away. He scrambled through the tangled undergrowth. Once he was far from the fearsome Uaxtu phantoms, away from the ruthless Foundry, he would try again to summon a salathyl. But everywhere Dollop turned, he thought he saw ghosts. He felt their chill at his back. The jungle seemed to be writhing with them.

Why had Makina spared him? He thought of all the brave Covenant warriors who had gone to rust back in the camp. Yet somehow, undeserving Dollop had survived.

He knew he must honor his brethren. They were gone, but their embers would live on—the Way was quite clear on this matter. As he tried to recall the well-known verses, his mind cleared. The fear did not vanish entirely, but it did recede.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice a celebratory echo ringing from the white city, just around the next hill.

Aimlessly, he fled. Desperately, he prayed.

Makina adored Her creation, yet still was She not content, for Her children lived their limitless cycles without consequence. And lo, they did stray from Her, and there was cruelty and malice among them, and none would heed Her Way.

Again, She spake.

“RUST” was Her command, and so it was that Makina delivered death unto the world.

And thus did the Mother of Ore decree:

“Know this. Thy embers belong to Me eternally. And I shall tend to them in my Forge according to the merits of your spans.

“The wicked who revile their Mother, who sow fear and enmity, for thee there is no eternal home. I shall douse thy embers that they may vanish forever, that thy foul deeds may be obliterated.

“The humble who strive to follow My Way, who long to find your function, those of My children for whom righteousness is an aim not always achieved, to thee I offer the mercy of another span. Thy embers shall be stirred, that ye may return to the Ore whence you came and live again to seek the light of My Way.

“And you, the vital components of My sacred machine, you who love My creation most of all, who spread interlocking harmony amongst My children—beyond the Shroud, My fires shall light for thee. Thy embers blaze eternal.”

With her decree, the Great Engineer did smite the Mirroring Sea, and from it rose a mighty wall of impenetrable mist. This She named the Shroud, for it hid the world of the dead from that of the living, home of embers, heart of Her Forge.

Thus, Makina created the Shroud, not to punish Her children with death, but that they might cherish their spans and those of their brethren. Their phases numbered, mehkans wasted not, but instead strove to find their functions.

For when their cycles were at an end, and the rust took them, their embers traveled beyond the Shroud, and the children returned to the eternal bosom of their Mother of Ore.

And lo, the Great Engineer was pleased.

Accord V: Edicts 01–06

Phoebe reluctantly gave up on the shrine and slipped back into the celebration with Micah. They fought through the throng, climbed out of the crater, and navigated the paths snaking among ivory bluffs.

Between the buildings, they saw the sparkle of the ocean. A placid plane of liquid silver stretched as far as the eye could see—and Phoebe didn't want to see any more of it than absolutely necessary. That was easier said than done, as every other winding avenue seemed to end at a dock where hefty barges bobbed, their decks overflowing with revelers.

The city's glaring whiteness reflected the lanterns a dozen times over, so that Phoebe forgot how late it was until she glanced at the sky, where vibrating threads of stars shimmered.

The kids stopped to rest beneath a quiet bridge stretching between two massive ripples. Micah lifted his puffball headdress away from his face and gasped for air.

“So…dang…hot in this thing.”

“Don't take it off yet,” Phoebe warned, glancing around.

“Just how long are we gonna keep this up?”

“Until we find what we're searching for.”

“I dunno, Plumm, we been—”

She waited for him to finish his thought, but he looked dumbstruck. It took her a second to realize why.

The music had died.

It was as if the city were holding its breath.

Then there came a steady, far-off thud. It got louder. Phoebe and Micah didn't dare move. The rhythmic drum beat pounded, rising until it filled the streets.

A blast of wind whisked through the passages, forcing the kids to shield their eyes as they tried to make out the shape.

An army of marching soldiers.

Searchlights slashed down through the alleys.

The Foundry.

Phoebe and Micah broke into a run. Some costumed mehkans stood petrified, others scattered. Doors slammed. Lights puffed out.

Running in their disguises was nearly impossible. Micah's pink puffball wouldn't stop sliding off, and Phoebe kept tripping on her feathered coat. They elbowed through the crowd and clambered up inclines then down again, traversing the enormous ripples of the pale city. Their legs sizzled with exhaustion.

The kids looked back to see magnetic barriers being erected around the crater, sealing it off. Aero-copters and deviously quiet Gyrojets descended. She hadn't heard any shots fired, but rows of black troops advanced down the streets, bellowing orders in Rattletrap through echoing Amplifones.

Nearby, the purple-coiled tip of a Mag-tank rolled into view.

Phoebe and Micah plunged down another street, made a hairpin turn, and climbed a carved stairwell. Confused mehkans clustered in groups and huddled in doorways.

At the end of an alley, Micah caught a glimpse of a massive, scaly caterpillar beast passing by. He stopped short and let out an excited whoop. Before Phoebe knew what was happening, he grabbed her arm and sprinted off to catch up with it.

The creature hauled a tiered freight platform that rolled on gelatinous tires. Micah ducked behind the bulky cargo and hopped on to the back. Phoebe scrambled up beside him.

“What are we doing?” Phoebe hissed.

With a grin, Micah gestured to the cargo. It was a heap of metal crates emblazoned with that same blue insignia they had seen before—a curved line arching over three dots.