Waybound (16 page)

Where my Bearing once lay
. The Ona had lost her mask, and wherever it was, that's where they would find the Occulyth!

“That's it!” Phoebe cried. “Does he have the Ona's Bearing?”

The Agent interpreted, and the Mercanteer discussed it with the others. They appeared confused.

“What you seek not be in the possession of His Splendor.”

“Well, where is it, then?” Micah shot back irritably.

The Agent asked and received an abrupt answer.

“If the Ona ever existed, she died long ago,” the Agent explained. “All traces of her be lost to the epochs.”

A searchlight flashed across the wall.

The Mercanteer hurried to the end of the chamber, which opened upon a great balcony. Everyone followed.

The view hit Phoebe with a jolt. The Mercanteer's tower sat at the end of a wharf, bowing out over the silver sea. The shining expanse was punctuated by a scattering of nearby islands, but beyond that it looked infinite. To one side was the city of white waves—it seemed to be festering, teeming with black Foundry maggots on the ground and shiny Aero-copter flies in the sky.

The Mercanteer clattered harshly to his entourage.

“His Splendor requests that I escort you out,” the translator explained. “The Assembly of the Grand Mark eagerly awaits his recommendations for how to deal with this Foundry occupation.”

“Grand Mark?” Micah asked.

“The old meaning of the name Bhorquvaat,” the Agent explained. “The Waybound claim that this was once a city of sin. They believe that Bhorquvaat was formed by the Great Engineer when She came down from the sky to smite the wicked.”

Phoebe looked down at the crater with new eyes, its edges now glowing purple from the Foundry's barricades. Long ago, a mighty force had liquefied the ore. The splashing spikes, cresting waves, and the rippling ground—this entire city was evidence.

Bhorquvaat was a crystallized explosion created by Her hand.

There was no doubt in Phoebe's heart.

Makina had been here.

P
hoebe leveled her eyes at the Mercanteer.

“Your Splendor,” she declared. “I am Loaii. I serve Makina, the Mother of Ore. I come to beg for your aid. You must help us.”

The Agent interpreted, and the Mercanteer's gnarled mouthparts folded back like the legs of a gem-encrusted crab.

“His Splendor advises that you not outstay your welcome,” the translator said. “He has generously offered his assistance, but he does not possess what you seek.”

“Then let us hide here while we look for the Covenant,” she cried, stepping forward. Micah held her back. “If you don't, the Foundry will find us, and we will fail.”

The Agent spoke. The Mercanteer turned away.

“His Splendor…” The translator paused reluctantly. “He says that not be an option. You not be worth the risk.”

Phoebe pulled free of Micah's grip and strode up to the freylani. The group of mehkans clinked, and the Mercanteer's silver eyes popped wide. She grabbed his little jeweled hand and dropped to her knees. Based on the silence that fell, she knew that she had committed a grave offense.

“
Mehk
is worth the risk,” she pleaded. “It doesn't matter what you think about the Way. If what the Covenant is doing might help you, if there's a chance it could save the people of Mehk, then it IS worth it!”

The Agent interpreted, and the Mercanteer tore his hand away from Phoebe, caressing it as if it had been burned. The translator bowed humbly and continued to beseech in hurried tones. The Mercanteer did not like what he was hearing. Nor did the other freylani, who flew into a chattering frenzy.

“What did you say to him?” Phoebe asked.

The Mercanteer barked to the Agent, who bowed even lower. The translator grabbed the kids and drew them away from the balcony, followed by the stares of resentful silver eyes. The trio of fibrous guards that had caught them stepped aside.

“I'll take that,” Micah said, yanking his rifle from the guard.

The Agent escorted them back through the relic collection.

“We can't leave until we get his help,” Phoebe pleaded.

“And you have it,” the translator replied. “Hurry, before His Splendor changes his mind.”

“For real?” Micah asked.

“There be one who might aid you,” said the Agent, “a source that His Splendor hardly ever calls upon, only to find the rarest of treasures. She be a font of knowledge, ancient and feared.”

“What do you mean, ‘feared'?” Phoebe asked uneasily.

“She be a dread of legend—a great deceiver, a dealer of wretched schemes and lies.”

“Sounds perfect,” Micah grumbled.

“Then how do we know we can trust what she says?”

“You don't, Loaii. Entreating her be an ordeal, not a thing one would choose. But choice be a thing you sorely lack.”

“Who is she? How do we find her?” Phoebe said grimly.

The Agent led them back to the elevator, and they mounted the platform. “Her name be unpronounceable, even in me own language. Could I manage it, speaking her name would take us until the rise. Mehkans know her only as the Erghan word meaning ‘to gorge.'” He looked at the kids with one of his independently moving eyes. “This word be Rhom.”

“To gorge,” Phoebe mused darkly.

“You will find her in a reef system known as the Talons.”

“Boy, this is gettin' better by the minute,” Micah huffed.

“His Splendor has generously offered you the use of one of his barges, which will provide you safe passage across the flux.”

“You mean…” Phoebe asked hesitantly, “the silver ocean?”

The Agent nodded.

She clutched one of the knobby vines of the elevator. A barge on the open sea? Her skin felt clammy at the thought. Would it be as bad as riding the vellikran back in Tendril Fen?

They returned to the grand atrium, and the translator hurried the kids across the chamber to a different elevator.

“This was your idea,” Phoebe said suddenly to the mehkan. “You asked him to help us, didn't you?”

The Agent smiled, his golden gear teeth flashing, but in a way that was sincere, even humble. Phoebe wondered how she could have ever mistaken him for Mr. Pynch.

He was about to speak when a commotion drifted in from outside. Someone was pounding on the courtyard gates.

“The Foundry be here,” the Agent growled. “Hurry!”

The translator tugged a vine, and the elevator began to sink.

“I must remain to speak for His Splendor,” he said. “Go to the base. It leads to the dock where his barge awaits you.”

“But who will—” Phoebe started to say, but they dropped beneath the floor, and the Agent vanished from sight.

They were in a narrow white shaft, descending through the tower at an angle. They drifted past oval windows that gazed out at the night and the silent silver sea.

“Can you handle it?” Micah asked. “The water, I mean.”

“Like he said. We don't have any choice.”

“I know, I just…” He struggled with the words. “Just wanna make sure you won't…that you're gonna be…”

She looked at him strangely. A tentative smile crept across her lips. He looked at his feet and took a step closer, scrabbling around in that silly brain of his for the right thing to say.

Voices echoed above. Humans.

The ivy elevator eased to a quivering stop.

“No,” Phoebe whimpered. “No, no, no.”

The kids strained their ears, but they couldn't make out the muted words up above.

“What do we do?” she asked.

“Wait, I guess.”

“What if they call the elevator back up?”

Micah glanced around the wide, circular platform. Dozens of creepers and pulleys grew out of it, running up and out of sight. He threw the rifle strap across his chest, set the gun on his back, and shinnied up a vine to the nearest window ten feet above.

“What do you see?”

“Hrmmm…” he said, straining to hold on while he peered out. “Come see for yourself.”

Micah climbed off the vine to perch on the window ledge while Phoebe made her ascent. She grunted with the effort, recalling that the rope climb was the very reason she always skipped gym class. She swooned as she stepped onto the ledge beside him. It was a sheer drop down to the vast, reflective sea.

“Don't suppose you're up for a swim,” Micah said.

“I don't think so. Flux looks like”—she peered down at the silver infinity—“mercury. That stuff can't be safe.”

“But if we climb down, we can get to those rocks and—”

“We can't. The wall is totally smooth. There's no way to…”

Phoebe looked at the vines wrapped around the wide seed casings. She tested the lines, chose the fattest coil, and slid out her Multi-Edge. With an adjustment of the dial, the segments of her tool clicked to re-form a hacksaw, and she went to work.

“Leave it to Plumm.” Micah laughed, shaking his head.

She severed the vine, and the elevator lurched. The sliced tendril recoiled back toward the seed casing, but Micah grabbed it, unspooled the vine, and tossed it out the window. Its loose end splashed into the flux below. Phoebe looked down nervously.

“Piece o' cake,” Micah said as he grabbed on to the vine and climbed out the window. “Just do me one favor. Don't let go.”

He vanished over the edge and rappelled down the tower.

She grabbed the vine, fought down her sickening fright, and stepped off the window ledge.

With the vine clenched under her arm and held securely in her hands, she used her feet to ease her way down the tower. The air was crisp, but free of any briny scent or the sound of crashing waves. And yet, somehow it was worse. The tide was a warning—the growl of an enemy you knew was nearby. The flux, however, with its antiseptic smell and its ominous silence, was a clean killer—one that didn't want you to know it was there.

Her arms were straining, but she was in control. Almost there. Just one step at a time, that's all it was. One step at a—

The vine began to retract.

The elevator was ascending.

“Slide down! Slide!” came Micah's hiss from below.

Between her frantic legs, she saw Micah leap off the line and cling to the bluffs at the base of the tower. She clambered hand over hand, but it wasn't fast enough. The vine was carrying her back up. Phoebe eased her grip and slid down. She cinched her hands and tried to control her descent. But the end of the retracting line was coated in flux as slippery as silver grease.

She couldn't stop.

The vine slithered free from her hands.

She dropped, hit Micah. His arms flailed, and she clawed for him. Her body slammed against the bluff. She clung, hands digging into the surface, boots scraping to find purchase.

Micah reached down to her, but it wasn't far enough.

She heard the Sea of Callendon crashing around her, the taste of foam and bile in her mouth. The murderous undertow. Hands thrusting her onto the rock—her mother's last touch.

Micah lowered the butt end of his rifle, and she took it. With all his might, he heaved her up, and she collapsed beside him.

“I ask you…to do…one thing,” he panted with a smile.

But she was shattered.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

Shaking, she waited for the daze to pass.

They caught their breath, then shuffled around the base of the tower, staying away from the edge of the bluffs. Poking their heads around the corner, they spied a curving shore with a dozen bone-white outcroppings that served as docks. At the far end, a lone barge marked with the Mercanteer's logo bobbed in the flux with a group of mehkans waiting beside it.

Waiting for Phoebe and Micah.

Before the kids could start climbing down, a speedboat materialized out of the night. It rumbled up to the nearest outcropping, cutting off their path to the barge. A team of Foundry troops poured out and stormed the docks.

“A stinkin' Sea Bullet!” Micah huffed.

Phoebe felt sick. She squatted up against the tower and hugged her knees. It didn't matter what they did. At every turn, the Foundry was there—always just ahead of them, always right behind them. How were she and Micah ever supposed to—

Micah ran.

He scrambled down the bluffs and hustled along the docks. Out of sight of the barge, he vanished inside the Sea Bullet.

Phoebe stood rooted in place, dread laced with fury. Only a stone's throw away, the Foundry soldiers had their rifles trained on the mehkans. They hadn't noticed Micah, but if they turned…

Before the worst-case-scenario part of her brain took over, Micah popped his head out of the boat and waved her over.

This was wrong. This was madness. She climbed down the bluff and rushed along the pier to join him.

The Sea Bullet was a deadly black knife in the flux, about thirty feet long with a low, covered cabin. Hating Micah, hating herself for following him, she stepped onto the boat. The rhythmic sway immediately sent her head spinning.