Jules studied the glowing Scrollbar screen, the words reflecting in his spectacles. “I swear to you. This isn’t what you think.”
“Then explain. We do not have the luxury of time.”
A long silence descended, punctured only by the cold creaking of Kaspar’s leather gloves as he flexed his hands.
“The truth…The truth is, I’ve had enough,” Jules said in a broken voice. “I can’t do this anymore. Ever since Olivia…” He took a heavy breath and tried to compose himself. “I was seeking asylum in Trelaine for Phoebe and me, and these calls you intercepted are of me trying to arrange safe passage.”
Goodwin assessed Jules with a calm and unyielding expression.
“I’ve been suffering, James. I was looking for a way out.”
“I am sympathetic to your hardship, I always have been. I, too, am no stranger to suffering, but it is inevitable—an unfortunate fact of life. Sometimes even necessary, when it is in favor of the greater good.”
Goodwin strolled behind Jules.
“Take Kaspar.” He laid a hand on the soldier’s armored back. “Think of what he has volunteered for, what he has willingly endured and suffered for the Dyad Project, for the benefit of the Foundry. And yet he doesn’t go crawling into the eager arms of our enemies. His loyalty remains unbroken.”
“I am not Kaspar. I am a husband. And a father.”
“What did you offer them in exchange?”
“My life’s savings.”
The Chairman narrowed his eyes at Jules. “You expect me to believe they have no interest in your tenure at the Foundry?”
“I secured diplomatic immunity. My secrets are protected by Trelainian law,” Jules said defiantly. “I knew my actions would make me a fugitive, but it was never my intent to become a traitor. I have been loyal every day of my life.”
“To whom?” The kindness that had warmed Goodwin’s words was gone. “What about last month? April the twelfth and twenty-third, were you loyal to us then?”
Jules did not answer.
“The work you did to cover your tracks was ingenious. It took a data team several days to decode the phony paperwork, but there is no account of your true whereabouts. Whom did you meet with, and what did you tell them?”
“I told you, I haven’t said a word,” Jules said defiantly.
Goodwin leaned in to study Jules’s gaunt face. “You force me into an unfortunate position. What would you have me do?”
“Let us go to Olyrian Isle. Give me an early retirement. I understand I’ve forfeited my civilian life, but in the protected isolation of a Foundry settlement you can rest assured that I’ll have no contact with the outside world.”
“The Isle is for those who have earned the privilege of enjoying their remaining years in peace after a lifetime of devoted service. Do you deserve such an honor?”
“Then at least send Phoebe there. All I care about is keeping her safe.”
“Would that I could.”
Jules opened his mouth to say something, but Goodwin took the Scrollbar from his hands and called up something else on the screen. It was a grainy surveillance video playing in a short loop. Jules stared at it, and his brow furrowed. It took him almost a full minute to comprehend what he was seeing.
That momentary hitch in his voice, those tears that were brimming in his eyes only moments ago, they had all been quite convincing. Yet as Goodwin read the man’s face now, blanched and panic stricken at this unexpected horror, he knew for certain that it had all been a ruse.
“The children have been lost in Mehk for nearly a day,” stated Goodwin.
“How…how could this be?”
“Like her father, Phoebe appears to be resilient—and foolhardy. There is no guarantee we will be able to locate them in time.”
Jules could not tear his eyes from the monitor. His hands were shaking. Goodwin sat down beside him and pulled his chair close.
“If you truly care about your daughter, then cooperate. Tell us the truth about your exchanges with the Trels. Then you can lead the charge to find Phoebe. We will broadcast your voice across Mehk, blanket the territories, and the children will be sure to come to you. But we must act fast,” Goodwin said, finishing his last drop of wine. “The scales are tipping.”
Jules sank in on himself. He nodded almost imperceptibly.
“That will be all, Kaspar,” the Chairman said.
The silent soldier offered a bow and tossed something onto the table in front of Jules, an object that had been balled up in his fist. Kaspar left the two men on the balcony, and Goodwin poured himself another glass of wine.
Jules was focused on the crumpled object as it unfolded before his eyes. It was a battered piece of black leather with a silver strap. Phoebe’s shoe.
“I am listening,” Goodwin said.
hen the train tracks finally came into view, shimmering beneath rust-red mesas on the horizon, Phoebe and Micah felt no victory. A ravenous hole had yawned open within them, a profound emptiness worse than hunger or thirst. They kept to the brass thickets that sprouted alongside the rails, remaining out of sight in case a train came rumbling past. The three of them had not exchanged a word since the oasis. As they walked in unison, their feet scuffing rhythmically in the brush, Phoebe grimly recalled their marching song.
“Meridian cast off all her bonds
When Creighton Albright forged the bronze
With ball of lead and sword of steel
We’ll crush our foes beneath our heel…”
Their childhood rhyme was a cruel joke. Creighton Albright’s face gazed down from lofty statues throughout Meridian and graced every single coin. He was idolized as the greatest inventor of all time, father of the modern age.
But the Trinka told the real truth.
Those nuts and seeds in the Chokarai didn’t just look like hardware. It was no coincidence that the rust slug she had sniped Micah with resembled an electrical plug. And of course the chraida had been so eerily familiar. Their wheeled clamp hands and the lithe grace with which they swooped on their zip lines were the very essence of Cable Bikes.
Their dying screams still clawed at her memories.
The vetchels and the trelligs, every mehkan that Dollop had shown them and every one they had yet to meet, from the kite birds overhead to the brass reeds underfoot—these were Albright’s true discovery. He was no inventor. Every gadget she had ever desired, every thrilling new convenience, the flashy vehicles and the magnificent buildings, they all belonged to Mehk.
Phoebe’s city, her country, her very life stood on a metal foundation built from the bones of a murdered world.
Everything is a lie.
“It’s not fair,” muttered Phoebe.
They looked at her.
“It’s not fair,” she repeated.
“Yeah,” Micah said to Dollop. “Why don’t you guys try and stop them?”
“Th-they have CHAR,” he whispered helplessly.
“Say what?” asked Micah.
“Un-undying d-d-death. It’s a t-terrible weapon that dissolves metal forever. Where CHAR has been, th-there’s no life, only bli-i-ights that no mehkan can ever, ever approach. Ever.”
“But I mean, there’s gotta be millions more of you than them,” Micah argued. “Why is nobody fighting back?”
“W-w-we are. The Covenant is sworn to defend Mehk.”
“Come on, Dollop. I’m bein’ serious.”
“I—I—I am too. Very serious. I never jest about th-the Children of Ore. Their sacred mission is to, um, return us to the W-W-Way.”
“Then where are they?” Phoebe asked.
“Th-they are, it’s just that…Well, they are a secret army, s-s-so they have to be…secret,” he tried to explain. Micah just rolled his eyes.
“I don’t understand,” Phoebe
said. “How did the Foundry take over like this?”
Dollop sighed wearily. “The axials t-teach that many phases ago, the Way united M-M-Mehk. W-we were at peace. Uh, but we strayed from Makina’s p-plan. The Ona, may her golden ember blaze, tried to w-warn us. She—er, the Ona, that is—was the Great Engineer’s most faithful m-m-messenger. She told us not to, um, f-forsake the Way. But we did.”
His voice quavered. “We t-t-turned our back on Makina. That is why the b-bleeders came. Why the CHAR came. The bleeders k-killed the Ona, and when w-we needed Makina most of all, She was gone.”
He was on the verge of tears but maintained his composure.
“It-it-it’s our fault. W-we broke the heart of our dearest M-M-Mother of Ore. If we hadn’t shun-n-ned Her, She would have protected us. But Sh-She left, and the Great Decay began. The interlocking harmony She sh-showed to us rusted away. N-now mehkans fight mehkans. Hate an-and fear drive us apart. We have all, um, forgotten our f-f-function. Now Her s-sacred machine is being taken away from us piece by piece!”
Dollop ran off ahead, unable to take it anymore. Phoebe considered going after him, but she hadn’t the faintest idea what she could say.
“I wanna know what really happened,” Micah mused as soon as Dollop was out of earshot.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Dollop’s great and all, but does he really expect us to believe all that Way mumbo-jumbo? Makina and Oona? And the Covenant? Gimme a break! He’s nuttier than an outhouse rat. Nuh-uh, I wanna know what the Doc’s got to say about all this.”
“My dad’s not a part of it.”
“You kiddin’? He’s a big shot at the Foundry. They’re all in it together!”
“But they kidnapped him. He did something to make Goodwin mad.”
“So?”
“So that means that he’s against them. I’m telling you, he’s not a part of it. I know him better than anyone. He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t.”
Her face hardened with certainty, and he backed down.
“Maybe,” Micah said with a shrug.
Despite how sure Phoebe sounded, a sliver of doubt remained. All she could think of were her father’s long absences. And every time he returned, the smell of smoky grit and iron—the breath of Mehk—clung to him like a shadow, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
The expanding halo of suns sank toward the horizon as the end of the day neared, turning the liquid blue sky raw and enflamed. The amber hills of the brasslands grew piebald and sparse as the travelers neared the mesas. Clustered white formations like crystallized cauliflower forced their way up through the cracked, clay-red ore, dotting the landscape like a fungus.
Because they no longer had much cover, they had to hike on the other side of a ridge to remain out of sight. And that’s when they saw it—a split in the train tracks up ahead. Two separate paths led off into sweltering haze.
“Ain’t that perfect!” Micah huffed as they came to a halt.
Phoebe tried to shake the weariness from her head.
“And it ain’t like the stinkin’ sun’s any help neither. If it would just rise in the east and set in the west like a normal sun, we could at least figure out some kinda direction to head in. But no! In Mehk, it’s gotta set everywhere!”
“B-beautiful, isn’t it?” Dollop gushed. “Sunfall is my fav-v-vorite part of the cycle.”
“Yeah, yippie! It’s just dandy-rific!” Micah hollered.
“Come on,” Phoebe rasped disapprovingly.
“WHAT?” His eyes flashed.
It sure doesn’t take much to set him off, Phoebe thought. She swallowed the dryness choking her throat and struck an even tone.
“Look, I get it. I’m starving too. But we can’t start losing it now. We just have to figure this out.” She saw the heat in his eyes begin to cool. “Preferably soon, before night. I’d rather not be stuck out in the open once it gets dark.”
Micah grumbled and exhaled sharply like a snorting bull.
“Deal?”
He nodded.
Together they assessed their surroundings, but there was nothing to suggest which way to go. Phoebe thought about asking Dollop’s advice, but they couldn’t afford to waste time on another wrong path.
Which left her with a simple choice: right or left.
“What’s that?” Micah said, pointing off in the distance.
Smack-dab between the two sets of train tracks, perched on a far-off ridge, was some sort of structure. It stood alone, huddled in the multiple shadows of the setting suns.
“Whaddya think?” he asked.
She looked to see if there were any better options, but there were none.
“Let’s move fast. There’s nowhere to hide down there if a train comes.”
Micah agreed. They made their way down the slope and glanced along the rails to make sure the coast was clear. The three of them hopped the first beam and crossed the twelve-foot span of track. Phoebe wondered how many had been killed to create this expanse of steel. What mehkan was butchered, its carcass used to construct those massive trains?
As they hurried across the open plain and toward the structure, a gaggle of little iron balls with shifting segments rolled across their path, squeaking like frightened field mice. They zipped around the kids’ feet and vanished into tiny holes in the ground. Dollop slowed his gait and gazed at the bubbly white formations, which were growing in tall stands like piles of giant soapsuds. Many were broken and shattered on the hard, cracked ground.
“Oh, aren’t they l-lovely!” Dollop sang. “They’re called…uh…whatsit…er…Hold on, it’ll c-c-come to me.…”
The companions mounted the ridge, their aching thighs screaming as they climbed. The thought of a place to rest drove Phoebe on, but she held out the fleeting hope for a drop of water or a bite to eat. She thought about her last meal back at home, that mountain of food she had barely even touched—Parmesan quiches, blackberry pancakes, pork hash, and cinnamon toast. She swallowed her tasteless, rubbery Honeygum at long last, trying to convince herself that it was a bite of gooey pancake dripping with warm maple syrup.
They crested the rise, and the building came into view. It was in serious disrepair, layered with haphazard shingles.
“Weird place to build a house,” Phoebe thought aloud.
“Chusk! Th-that’s it,” Dollop cried, poking at one of the white nodules on the ground. “It’s, uh, called chusk. W-wonderful stuff, so many uses.”
“Ain’t a house,” Micah said as they approached the structure. “It’s a gambrel-roof barn. Dontcha know the difference?”
“You’re such a hick,” she said with a little grin.
Micah was about to shoot back, but Dollop interrupted with a chuckle. “Oh-oh! You know who, uh, loves to eat ch-chusk?”
The barn moved.
With a ponderous groan, the giant pile of grating metal sheets picked itself up and turned. A horrifying clutter of saw-toothed appendages emerged from a gap underneath, hacking away at a hunk of chusk while its slobbering mouth devoured the pieces that flew off. The monster’s extremities splayed open to reveal black eyes glittering from the inside knuckles.
Phoebe was the first to scream. Micah was the first to run. Dollop nearly fell apart as he scampered away at top speed.
The mehkan charged after them, extending eyeball-laden legs and dragging along its sheet metal shell in an earsplitting screech. Every frantic step made Phoebe’s injured foot blaze with pain. She could barely keep up as her friends raced around looming chusk growths. The rampaging creature smashed through the barriers like toothpicks, almost on top of them.
They hurled themselves down a slope, sliding and skidding to the bottom. The beast slowed at the crest, eyeing the decline cautiously, but it did not attempt to clamber down after them. Instead, it retracted its legs and began the laborious proces
s of turning its massive body around. The trio wheezed and caught their breaths, watching the horrendous mehkan above them lift its rear end and let fly a splattering explosion of grayish feces. The rancid stench hit them full blast.
“Yeah, right back at ya, pal!” Micah burst into laughter.
“Ugh! Disgusting!” Phoebe said, covering her mouth. Between the overpowering smell and her throbbing wound, she felt close to collapsing.
“Y-y-yup, that’s a grundrull all right,” Dollop said as the giant mehkan finished its business and shambled away. “They’re a little t-t-territorial.”
“Ya think!?” Micah shouted.
“W-wait. This is g-great news! Grundrulls are tended by langyls, who—who harvest chusk from their stinky. L-l-langyls are a, um, lovely people.” Dollop clasped his hands together in excitement. “I b-bet they’ll be happy to help us!”
“Happy to help humans?” Phoebe asked skeptically.
“W-w-well…”
“Wait, are you tellin’ me these langyls are crap farmers? You mean, like, picking up poop is their duty?” Micah snickered at his own pun.
“Sounds like your kind of people, Toiletboy.”
“Th-this way,” Dollop chimed. “L-looks like a lang town up ahead!”
“Hey!” Micah called after Phoebe, who giggled as she limped off. “You said you wouldn’t call me that! What happened to rule number two?”
They followed Dollop toward a settlement nestled deep in the sunken basin. The setting suns lined the horizon like a row of fiery bullet wounds, bleeding out dusky swirls of maroon and magenta. As the lip of the valley rose around them, the vanishing light made it hard to see. At least none of the buildings looked like they might get up and attack, which was a start.
But with every approaching step, it became more and more clear that something was wrong. Chusk grew abundant and unmanaged, forming tumorous reefs that they had to clamber over. Signs of destruction began to mar the terrain. There were craters gouged into the ore and lumps of scorched shrapnel scattered like refuse. The streets ahead looked more like a pile of rubble than a settlement.
The First Book of Ore: The Foundry's Edge Page 15
