Waybound (37 page)

Feel the pulse of the Aero-copter long before I hear it.

Joy floods me. My not-skin burns with it.

A searchlight dances across the mesas. I leap from my shelter. Wave my arms, shout, “Here I am!” in bubbling sounds that no one but I can understand. The light bathes me. Blinds me.

I raise my arms to the sky.

The chime of a targeting system. The whisper of the Aero-copter's Dervish turrets pivoting into place.

Sounds no man can hear. But I do.

And I know what they mean.

I dive for cover, crawl back into my crevice before the gun erupts. The world lights in explosive flashes. The mesas shudder.

But I am not hit. Not this time.

Why? Why are they shooting?

The confusion is a blip. Survival smothers it.

Men coming. I taste them on the wind. Hear the scrape of steel clasps as they descend the cables. Six of them. No, eight.

I know this maneuver. When I was a man, I led strikes like this. They come from two sides to pin me in. If I run into the open, the Aero-copter will cut me down. Must be a sniper nearby too.

The crevice is not deep. Nowhere to hide within. The walls on either side are sheer. Dig my fingers in, feel the ore soften to my touch. Climb up like a lizard.

I wait.

They think they are silent. Cannot hide their heartbeats.

The assassins press in, edging along the walls, guns ready. Their commander signals. They spin into view, ready to kill me.

But I am not there. Delicious panic.

I drop.

A storm of hot blood.

Bullets punch the wall. A round enters my armpit. I breathe pain. It flows through my blistered veins. I do not fear it.

Charge.

They are well trained, but not for me. I pulp one against the wall. Another empties his rifle at me. Peel him like an orange. The last knows there is no point in fighting.

He is right.

Spotlight of the Aero-copter finds me. Opens fire.

I dash across the open plain. Hot rounds tear into me. I leap, grab one of the cables the soldiers used to rappel down. It gums in my hands, my weight stretches it. Must go quick.

A shot. Shell bursts through my leg. Incandescent pain, beyond solar. I roar. Cling to my rage. Climb.

They wait for me inside.

I smash, I maim. I hurl a soldier out the side. The pilot is helpless. Squeeze his helmet until it flattens under my touch.

Grab the controls. Find the sniper.

In a nest, a divot at the top of the mesa. He sees what I am doing. He has nowhere to run. I steer the Aero-copter at him.

Plummets from the sky.

I jump.

The night comes alive with flame.

I hit the ground hard, roll off the cliff and fall. Hit the ground again. Lay still. Stare up at the fire tasting the sky.

I do not want to believe. But I know it's true.

They knew I was here. Must have been ordered to come to this place and kill me. Ordered by the man who sent me here.

Mr. Goodwin.

But he promised me.

Confusion is drowned by sorrow.

Feel it digging into me like the Greencoats' needles. Drawing my life from me, replacing it with stinging ice.

Why? Why would he do this?

I am the Dyad. His creation. He gave birth to me. In return, I gave my life to him. He knows I am his to command. Knows I would carry out his every order without a second thought.

Like the directors, slaughtered them at his request.

Perhaps that is why…

I see it now.

Mr. Goodwin turned me into a monster. Used me to rid himself of his enemies. Now I am inconvenient. Needs to dispose of me.

So he has named me an enemy of the Foundry.

I pound at the ore, carve into it with my jutting bones.

Sorrow is burned away by rage.

I make a promise of my own.

Mr. Goodwin.

I promise I will taste your blood.

E
vening had fallen, and the place was packed with Foundry.

Micah tried to yank his hands out of the digital manacles as a team of paper-suited men marched him around the edge of the blight. He knew it was pointless—even if he could slip out and split, he wouldn't get far. Micah dragged his feet, figuring every second of delay improved Phoebe's odds, but they were having none of it. The men shoved him forward, hurrying him toward a spot marked by red flares blazing on the ground.

A ton of Watchmen were standing sentry at the edge of the Furrows. Micah knew they were just stupid brainworm robots, but he wished they felt fear—he wanted them to be terrified that the Aegis might pop out any second and waste them.

He saw a bunch of footprints, irregular dents in the ash-gray ore, running from the lip of the crater into the winding maze. Micah instantly knew what it meant. Phoebe had made it out of the blight, and the Foundry had followed her.

Had she reached the Ona? Had she gotten away?

Then he saw the body bags.

Four, five, six of them. And blood. The Aegis must have taken down the men that were pursuing Phoebe.

A spark of hope.

A curtain of camouflage cloth was pulled aside, revealing a passage. Foundry workers examined the mehkan fabric, cutting samples and inspecting it. Micah was prodded through.

More Foundry workers and Watchmen lined the winding, flare-lit channels. Footprints twisted this way and that. He kept his eyes fixed on the smallest ones, recognizing the tread of his boots—the ones Phoebe was wearing.

Micah was led around corners winding into the Furrows.

He froze.

Even before the man turned around, Micah knew him. His broad back, impeccable suit, and bone-white hair were unmistakable. Goodwin filled the passage, a pin-striped mountain blocking the way. The crimson flares glittered in his eyes. Behind the Chairman, Micah could see a small alcove, a dead end.

“It is done,” Goodwin stated, his voice black and brittle as the CHAR. He towered over Micah, looking down his nose at him. The corners of the Chairman's mouth were upturned, not in joy, but with some hint of self-satisfaction.

“Where's Phoebe?” Micah said, his body hot with alarm.

Goodwin's shadowy smile vanished. He considered the boy for a long moment, then stepped aside to reveal the alcove.

She was on the ground, crumpled like a discarded sack of laundry. One hand was flung out, as if reaching for Micah. The rest of the alcove was empty.

No.

Micah mouthed the word, but no sound came out. He stepped toward her, and no one stopped him.

Her eyes were half open, staring up, seeing nothing. Her lips were parted, tongue slightly protruding between her teeth, lips curled back in a blank expression of disbelief.

“No.” This time it came out as a feeble rasp.

There was a dark bruise wrapping her neck.

Micah fell to his knees and grabbed her shoulders to rouse her. Her skin was loose and cold. He tried to speak a third time.

All that came out was an incoherent howl.

She was not unconscious.

She was not breathing.

Phoebe Plumm was dead.

accord
one of several sacred texts that form the scriptures of the Way.

Aegis, aka “Emberguard”
the group of deadly and mysterious mehkans that serve as the Ona's personal guard. It is said that they are silent and able to vanish into thin air.

Ahm'ral
one of the oldest mehkan cities, considered sacred by the Waybound.

aio
a secretive mehkan species with a sinister reputation as hired assassins. The aios are distinguished by the black, membranous folds of their bodies, which obscure their features.

Albright City
capital of the nation of Meridian, Albright City is the wealthiest and most resplendent metropolis in the world.

Albright, Creighton (1597–1646)
creator of the Foundry, and widely considered the father of the modern age. Centuries ago, he was the owner of a struggling mining company, when he stumbled upon the portal that leads to Mehk. He kept this discovery a secret and transformed his company into the Foundry, using it to reap tremendous profit and usher in a new era of technology.

Alloy War
a global conflict that lasted from 1630 to 1646. Many nations united against Meridian, afraid that the Foundry's technological advantage was becoming insurmountable. More than thirty million people died during the long and bloody war.

Amalgam, aka “the amalgami”
an isolated, idyllic community of cave-dwelling mehkans.

arch-axial
exclusive title for a mehkan high priestess of the Way.

The Arcs
a vast mehkan geological formation of stair-step ravines and natural land bridges, carved by the elements over the millennia.

augurweed
a mehkan grain that is fermented to produce viscollia.

axial
a mehkan priestess of the Way.

balvoor (e.g. “Mr. Pynch”)
a boisterous mehkan species with a highly developed sense of smell. Balvoors are known for their expressive emotions and colorful way of life. Their talent for languages makes them uniquely suited as diplomats and politicians.

Bearing
holy mehkan vestments worn by the ancient Waybound.

Bhorquvaat
a mehkan port city whose name roughly translates to “The Grand Mark,” the ancient landmark around which the city was built.

bleeder
the mehkan term for a human.

blight
one of a number of quarantined zones in Mehk that has been rendered useless due to the lingering effects of CHAR.

Bloodword
mehkan term for human language.

The Board
the ultimate authority within the Foundry, elite and anonymous overseers known only by their voices.

bonding round
white chemical bullets designed by the Foundry to incapacitate and kill mehkans, striking their target in a semi-liquid state and hardening upon impact.

Callendon
a wealthy southern state in Meridian, known for its luxury beach resorts.

CHAR, aka “Colloidal Hypo-Amaroid Retroacid”
a Foundry-made chemical weapon that dissolves metal, invented specifically to assault Mehk. The Foundry has banned the use of CHAR due to its permanent and cumulative corrosive effects.

Children of Ore
a term used by the Way to refer to all mehkans, who they believe were created by Makina.

Chokarai
a dense mehkan forest of pipework trees that is home to the chraida.

chraida (e.g. “The Ascetic”)
arboreal mehkan species with a fierce tribal culture. They are hostile toward humans due to the Foundry's incursions on their land.

chusk
knobby mehkan vegetation eaten by grundrulls and used by langyls to create metallic textiles.

Citadel
an ancient mehkan palace, once home to the dreaded emperor Kallorax, now occupied by the Foundry. It is widely reviled for its façade, which is covered in melted mehkan corpses.

click
a mehkan unit of time, roughly equivalent to an hour.

Coiling Furrows
a natural mehkan maze formed by tectonic pressure that forced rippled sheets of ore to the surface.

Com-Pak
a small, versatile communications device made by the Foundry.

Control Core
a massive tower in the Depot that serves as the new center of operations for the Foundry in Mehk.