Waybound (21 page)

Dollop was whisked into the air as the cavern rang with jubilation. They reshaped into a long spiral slide and released him. He whooshed around and around, breathless with laughter. Just before he splashed back into the lagoon, he was lifted and swung, end over end, across the cavern like a trapeze artist.

At the peak, they let him go and he spread his arms. He was flying, plummeting through the vesperfalls, sailing among sapphire stars—free.

Amalgam would catch him. He had no doubt.

And they did, as if he were landing on a cloud. Appendages accordioned beneath him, cushioning his fall and returning him to the ground. The titanic mass splintered into a hundred faces and bodies, all linked like paper dolls, cheering and applauding.

“Ag-again!” Dollop hooted. “Again!”

“Of course,” replied the amalgami.

“Endlessly,” said another.

“Always.”

“It-it's…I—I mean, you…” he struggled to form the thought. “Yo-you are all interlocking. It's, um, it's what the Mo-Mother of Ore intended for Her children.”

The amalgami just stared at him with curious, blank smiles.

“Wh-what I mean is…You-you are perfect, is all.”

“Not
you
. We,” they cooed in chorus.

“You are us,” suggested another.

“And we are one.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” he asked.

“Think with a thousand minds,” voices said.

“Feel with a thousand hearts.”

“Live without anger.”

“Be without fear.”

“Or loss.”

“Only boundless love.” The last word was repeated by every one of Amalgam's smiling mouths.

“We share all.”

“Every body.”

“Every dream.”

“We are one, everlasting.”

Amalgam released a hundred contented sighs. Myriad arms lifted Dollop off his feet. He was carried into an anatomical sea, tumbling through waves of smiling, ever-changing faces.

He closed his eyes and savored the warm, all-encompassing sensation. Dollop had a sudden urge to let himself go, to separate his pieces and return to the ecstatic flow of Amalgam.

Yet something in him resisted.

With great tenderness, Amalgam set Dollop down again. A tethered figure grew from the mass and skipped up to him.

The mehkan was a perfect duplicate of Dollop—his misshapen build and lopsided stature was identical, right down to the embarrassingly pink segment on his belly. And yet something about this mirror image was different.

The twin reached out and took Dollop's hands.

“Do not be afraid,” the twin sang.

“I'm n-n-not,” Dollop said. “It's just…”

“You are as strange to us as we are to you.”

“Everything is so—so familiar. You, th-this place.”

“You are us.”

“I kn-know. But it was s-s-so long ago.”

“Time is nothing to us.”

“N-no,” said Dollop, shaking his head. “I mean, I ca-can't remember m-much of anything. I'm t-t-too—”

The twin placed a finger on Dollop's mouth. Slowly, parts began to peel off the amalgami's body, segments extruding from him like pieces emerging from a puzzle.

That's what was different about this duplicate.

Whereas Dollop's anatomy was a mishmash of parts interrupted by gaps and fissures, his twin was complete and whole—a fully assembled version of Dollop.

Pieces fluttered down the twin's arms and shivered across Dollop, sending him into a fit of giggles. The little bits wriggled all over his body, each seeking out its matching gap. Then with soft little nudges, they wedged into place, adhering with the same strange force that held his limbs together.

As each missing piece found its home, an invigorating jolt hit him. He felt alive in a way he had never thought possible. The last of the segments flopped around and slid into position.

Dollop gasped.

He wavered and fell back, but Amalgam caught him, cradled him. A rush of sensations. Unharnessed thoughts.

He lost track of the world around him.

“What…” he began.

Dollop clutched at his head, feeling a softly pulsing tether of pieces connecting him to Amalgam.

His mind was being stretched. Compressed. Expanded.

Perfected.

A raging rapid of thoughts crashed into his consciousness. Ideas he could touch, comprehend, and categorize.

“…is…” Dollop breathed.

Awake. Present.

Alive.

“…happening?”

The words came out of his mouth, but he barely recognized them. His mouth was moving without hesitation.

His stutter. Gone.

His body. Whole.

“This is me,” he said, marveling at how easily he spoke.

Amalgam celebrated in a thousand voices, a music so glorious that it caused the entire cavern to vibrate.

The dam in his mind collapsed under a deluge of memories.

Phoebe­Micah­Makina­Jungle­Covenant­Foundry­Citadel­Soldiers­Makina
Furnace­Jules­Gauge­Pit­MrPynch­Marquis­Living­City­Makina­Tilbury­Rekindling­Plasm­Foundry­Liodim­Vellikran­Syllks­Fuselage…

Dollop receded, plunging weightlessly into his past.

Lost in the brasslands. Phoebe and Micah saving me in the Chokarai. Serving the Ascetic, suffering abuse. Trying to befriend chraida but scorned. Fleeing across plains, running. But running from who? The Foundry. They slaughtered my friends. Who were my friends? A traveling band of kulha. Taught me to forage, how to survive in the wilds. Wandering again, alone. But why?

For so long, his life had been an infuriating patchwork, more holes than recollection, but now his past came crashing in, spilling over the gaps.

Why was I alone? Because I left the Housing of the Waybound to spread Her message. Axial Sha taught me the endless wisdom of the Way. Prayers and ceremonies, kindness of the axials. Their gentle guidance as they adopted me. Teaching me Haizor, and Bloodword, and…Rattletrap. I didn't even know Rattletrap.

The tether attached to Dollop's head shuddered. So did Amalgam, its pieces bristling stiffly on end.

And how did I get there? Axial Sha found me lost. In the swamp. Near rusting, starving. Before that, I was in a nest. Black wires, beautiful music. The rumble of unfurling wings.

Snapping pincer jaws.

“Vaptoryx,” Dollop gasped. “It attacked us. Grabbed me and tore me away from you and—”

Amalgam detached its tether from Dollop's head, and all the newfound pieces that completed his body wriggled out of him, retracting, returning to their places in his twin.

“Took you from us,” the amalgami agreed in unison.

Dollop felt his mind collapse, and the memories, which had seemed so clear only ticks before, faded into faint outlines.

And then they were gone.

“B-b-but—” Dollop began. His mouth was slow and stupid, crippled again by his uncontrollable stutter. He felt weak and inadequate—a half mehkan. “P-please, a f-f-few ticks mo-more.”

“You can have an eternity,” said the twin, deconstructing before Dollop's eyes. His pieces folded in on themselves, then withdrew to Amalgam.

“You are home, little one.”

“Where you may stay.”

“If you choose.”

Magnificent waves rose within Amalgam, splitting into fractal patterns of arms and legs and faces, all smiling and laughing.

“Yo-you mean…” Dollop said, “I can j-j-join you? Ag-again?”

Amalgam spun like a cyclone, a dancing column frolicking across the lagoon. The symphony of voices repeated that same phrase until its words were indistinguishable from the echoes.

“We are one.”

“We are one.”

“We are one.”

T
he Sea Bullet had traveled far enough from shore that the horizon was identical in all directions. The afternoon suns and swirling atmosphere reflected in the Mirroring Sea so seamlessly that above and below merged into one infinite field.

Phoebe leaned over the side of the boat and threw up what had been sitting in her gut. As she collapsed back into her seat, she noticed a placard bolted to the railing.

WARNING: FLUX IS EXTREMELY TOXIC. IN CASE OF DIRECT CONTACT, SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION AT ONCE.

Great,
she thought.
This stuff is even worse than I thought.

Were the fumes poisonous too? Probably not, since Gabriella wasn't wearing a mask. Still, the thought of drifting aimlessly on an ocean of toxic liquid metal was not pleasant.

Even more unpleasant was the fact that Micah had no idea what he was doing. He kept gunning the engine, tossing Phoebe around, and lurching to a stop. Then he would check the console compass with a curse and zip off in another direction. She suspected they had been going in circles for hours.

While Micah was definitely being a jerk about it, she understood his confusion. The compass was an obsidian orb the size of a tennis ball half-sunk into the control panel. At first glance, it looked normal, with the cardinal directions indicated as one would expect. But this compass had
two
needles. Time after time, Micah had lined them up to try and navigate, but after a few minutes, the independent needles would go haywire, and he would have to start all over again.

How long could they keep this up? It was growing bitterly cold the farther they traveled, and a brisk wind nipped incessantly at her skin. Which would they run out of first—food, water, or battery power? Or would a Foundry patrol just discover the stolen boat doing donuts out in the middle of the ocean?

She had to make Micah listen to reason, but what Gabriella said about knowing his sister had really sent him over the edge.

Phoebe had barely known Margie. She only came home from the Military Institute of Meridian on holidays, and she was always so polished and polite that Phoebe avoided her. Really, the only thing that stood out about Margie was how much more attractive she was than the rest of the Tanners.

Maybe she was adopted or something.

“What the…” came Micah's voice from the helm. It was the first thing he had said without swearing all day. Phoebe headed into the cabin and glanced through the windshield.

Something peeked over the indistinct horizon, a gray ghost interrupting the hypnotic illusion created by the Mirroring Sea. It was vast, an impossible span across their field of vision. Yet it wasn't land—it was an intangible, gray wall.

Then Phoebe knew.

“Praise the gears,” she whispered in awe.

Micah looked at her askance. “Huh?”

“I know what that is,” she said, unblinking.

“Looks like a big ol' nasty fog bank.”

“The Shroud.”

He laughed, then registered her expression. “You're serious?”

“Axial Phy described it. She told me it's a real place. I didn't believe her at first”—Phoebe swallowed—“but that's it.”

“You're talkin' crazy.”

“Remember what Dollop said at the Rekindling? The Shroud is where we go when we die. Where our embers are judged at Her Forge.” A revelatory chill shook her. “That is Makina's home.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That's the Shroud. I know it is.”

“Funny. 'Cause heaven ain't labeled anywhere on the map.”

Phoebe stared at him coolly. He didn't understand.

“Aw, come on! You gotta be kiddin' me!” he screamed, pounding his fist on the control panel as the compass needles began to whiz around in circles again.

Phoebe buzzed with nervous energy. Who cared what Micah said? First the Grand Mark of Bhorquvaat. Now the Shroud. If these things were real, what else about the Way was true?

The boat swerved as Micah violently adjusted their course. Phoebe clung to the rails, feeling her stomach squirm. If Micah couldn't get them on course, they would never get to Rhom.

Grabbing a steel case of rations, she headed down to the engine room. She carefully removed the pipe from under the lavatory door handle, opened the door, and turned on the light.

There was Gabriella, bound and the worse for wear.

Phoebe unlatched the box and took out the water bottle. She held it to Gabriella's dry mouth and let her take a long drink.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

Phoebe sorted through the foil SCM packets. “Braised short ribs and rice, or herb chicken noodles?”

“Noodles,” Gabriella said with a relieved smile.

Phoebe pulled the activation tab and felt the packet heat up.

Gabriella sat in an awkward position, hands and feet tied behind her back. “How am I supposed to eat?” she grunted.

“Sorry,” Phoebe said, shaking the pouch. “I can't untie you.” She detached the disposable fork from the container, tore it open, and dug into the steaming meal.

After a gentle blow to cool the food down, Phoebe held out the laden fork. Gabriella looked at her, a weary mix of reproach and humiliation, but she ate.

“Gabriella. I need you to tell me how to use that compass,” Phoebe said, gathering up another forkful.