The villagers quickly gather their belongings. A grin creeps to my lips as they race like ants, scurrying to find shelter. While the peasants have never witnessed the extent of these machines’ capabilities, they’ve experienced enough to know better than to challenge them. One cross look from an indignant commoner promises pieces of their burnt corpse scattered throughout Lohr.
The four escorts perch on the tower peaks above my balcony as the leader, Kommandt, hovers at the window. Its metal wings send a light breeze through the room.
“Status report,” I say.
Kommandt bows its head. Its gears grind as the machine speaks. “We have not found the king.”
A flicker of anger erupts within me, but I stay calm. “And why not?” I ask.
“We’ve encountered some resistance, which we assumed was protecting the king, but he was not among them. Only a few have escaped, but we are on their trail,” it says robotically.
My jaw aches as I clench my teeth. “You will find Osbourne and bring him to me. I don’t care how many are killed to make that happen.”
“I understand, but you ask much of my troops,” Kommandt says. “I’ve lost many. Your open disregard for their lives are noted. Mind yourself or you shall find yourself on the other side of our battle.”
“Is that a threat?” I say, seething.
Kommandt bares its razor-sharp teeth. “My legion is loyal first to the Bloodred Queen,” he says. “She’s made no orders to kill the innocent. Enough blood has been shed on your behalf.”
“You will do as I say or you’ll find yourself melted into a rubbish bin,” I order.
Kommandt growls. “I answer to the Bloodred Queen. You may wear the halo, but you will not win. With it, we can do no harm to you, but your time is coming. You will not rule my army for long.”
“We’ll see about that,” I say, hiding the fury building within me.
“Yes, you will,” Kommandt says, before calling to its court in a song of monkey-like grunts. With the speed of a steam train, the Haploraffen race into the horizon.
My vision blurs and tears stream down my face. The pain in my arm is excruciating. Although my body no longer has the intense burning feel, the stinging sensation remains at the injection point.
Wood splinters as a thick branch strikes Ginger’s metal armor, but she races forward at a dizzying pace. I’m grateful to be out of the field of poppies, but I can’t help but wonder what other dangers lie ahead of us on the Emerald Isle.
A rumble in the distance roars across the valley. I feel the heat before I see the flames. The sky ignites in an orange glow as a plume of fire rises in the distance.
“What is that?” I ask, slipping the mask from my face.
“That is Ozland,” Ginger says. With me still cradled in her arms, she breaks into a sprint faster than any hovercycle I’ve seen. I try not to get sick as with each step, she covers nearly five meters, and within minutes we are several kilometers from where we began.
I’m rendered speechless as we reach our destination. A single tower stands before us, made of green marble and stone. It looms ominously, casting eerie shadows beneath the flames rising above it. Metal statues of soldiers scatter the grounds, positioned as if in battle. As I pass by one, a young woman wielding a sword, I almost feel as if she’s watching me.
The entrance of the tower is a sheer face made up of coal-colored machine parts. Gears, wheels, springs, and chains spin in opposing directions, sending a rumble through the earth beneath my feet. The clank and squeal of metal upon metal does not deter from its foreboding facade.
My heart slams in my chest as a sound like thunder rattles the ground again, but this time fire bursts from the top of the wall. I shield my eyes from the bright flames that illuminate hundreds of charred and broken skeletons embedded within the machine. Brackets snap over long bones that appear to have once been arms and legs. They serve as levers for the moving parts of the machine before us. Wires string through rib cages, keeping them from tangling with one another. Empty eye sockets from skulls serve as grooves to hold moving gears.
Horror replaces fear as I make out the few skulls within the components of the wall. How many people have endured the field of poppies and deadly insects only for their lives to end encapsulated within this machine? Clearly, we are not the only ones who have attempted to enter Ozland.
The flames die down, leaving smoke billowing from the top of the fortress. Only the whir of the wall’s metal elements can be heard, and an uneasy feeling grows in my gut. But that lasts only a moment. Lights spark behind two windows made of etched, colored glass, casting an emerald-green glow over Ginger and me.
As fortified as the tower is, I have no doubt that King Osbourne is inside.
“Keep quiet and, for the love of my father, I certainly hope you’re better with that bow than you are battling butterflies,” she says.
Pulling an arrow from my quiver and nocking it, I take aim. “If that thing is as horrible as those butterflies were, you better believe I’m taking this one down before it gets me.”
“Trust me, this is far deadlier.”
“Deadlier?” I say as a sickening feeling stirs in my gut.
Ginger grins. “Hold on to your britches. This is going to be a tough battle.”
Swallowing hard, I stand shoulder to shoulder with Ginger.
“Why have you come to Ozland?” a deep, gruff voice grumbles from somewhere deep within the machine.
“We’ve come for King Osbourne,” Ginger announces.
“It has been quite some time since anyone has come to see the king. Who seeks his company?” the machine asks, its words muddled beneath the clank of its parts.
“Ginger, daughter of Bok, King Osbourne’s closest companion and royal keymaker,” she says. “I’m here to bring King Osbourne back to Lohr.”
“I am the Guardian of the Gate, created to protect the king,” the machine says. “No one sees King Osbourne.”
“My father and the other Zwergs, your creators, built you to protect the king until his release was imperative,” Ginger says, unmoved by his dismissal. “That time is now.”
“A claim made by others who have come before you. Where is your proof?” The deep, haunting voice surges through me, pulsating under my skin.
Ginger pulls the decorative key out from beneath her shirt and holds it up into the firelight. The initials cast a shadow onto the doors: OZ.
A moment passes before the machine responds.
Fire blazes into the sky and the ground shakes. “I shall consider your request. Return here tomorrow to hear my answer.”
Lifting my bow, I aim for an opening in the center of the moving part. “We don’t have that much time. We’re leaving with King Osbourne today.”
“So much for keeping your mouth shut,” Ginger says.
I don’t care that I’ve broken her rules; the idea of waiting another day is too much to bear. We’re so close.
“How dare you make demands of me,” the voice growls. “Leave now or face the consequences.”
Again, I have the sensation we are being watched as I turn my attention to the statues throughout the garden. While they remain still, I could swear they have moved. No longer in the same location, their poses have changed.
“We are not leaving here without King Osbourne,” Ginger says, tucking the key back into her shirt. She flips switches on her console. Her mechnosuit whirs to life, gun barrels slapping into place on her arms. Two cannons rise from the shoulders of her armor. She almost looks like a steel-clad tank, and for an instant I’m jealous of her weaponry.
“You’re not leaving,” the voice says. “At least—not alive.”
The gears squeal to a sudden halt. Within seconds they reverse direction. Parts of the wall shift, moving out from the surface. Another section lifts, giving it the appearance of a metal forearm. A leg extends from the fortress and settles on the ground.
Other components at the top of the wall shudder. I go cold as the machi
ne swings from the face of the castle. The head of a warrior stares at us through what I thought were extravagant windows. Now the green glow narrows, one spotlight on each of us. The enormous soldier steps from the wall. When it is no longer a part of the tower, it slams the base of its spear to the ground. The force of it throws both Ginger and me to the earth.
“No one challenges me and lives to tell about it,” the machine says. It slams its spear into the ground repeatedly, a rhythmic quake with each strike. “My purpose is to protect the king. Many have come for King Osbourne and none have passed. You two are no match for me.”
The earth quakes again, sending stones from the castle’s edifice barreling to the ground. Metal gears grind behind us. From where I stand, it is clear that the courtyard soldiers are as machine as the Guardian of the Gate.
Ginger unclips a strange-looking gun from the arm of her suit. Constructed of a glass tube, a coil heating element, and long metal double barrel, the weapon looks deadly and sleek in her hand.
When she slaps at a switch on the roof of her suit, a compartment opens in the back. Inside is an arsenal of weapons. With another push of a button, a grisly-looking bow juts out from the compartment, along with a quiver of barbed arrows. The weapon is not like anything I’ve seen before. Made with polished steel, it reflects the firelight in a fiery blaze. Decorative gears on either end of the bow keep the string taut. Curved spikes protrude from the front of the bow for what I assume is hand-to-hand combat when ranged is not an option.
Ginger snatches the weapon with her mechanical claw and hands it to me. “That little toy bow and arrows you’ve got isn’t going to take that thing down,” she says, motioning to my old bow. “This one is made of steel, and those are diamond-tip arrows.”
“Thank you,” I say, admiring the weapon.
The soldier lifts its spear and drives it into the earth next to us. Standing at least four meters tall, the tip of the spear slices through the dirt with ease. Beyond the dirt and stone that rain down on us, the statues spin and face us, armed and angry.
“Stay close,” Ginger says, breaking into a sprint toward the tower. Her mechnosuit whines as she races to the entrance, but it doesn’t compare to the metal footfalls of the statues that follow close behind. We dart past the enormous legs of the soldier, barely dodging the machine’s weapon as it swings by us. “And try not to get hit,” Ginger yells as a throwing star whizzes by us. Although the massive gates to the tower are only fifty meters from us, it feels like safety is kilometers away.
When we reach the entrance, I have a fleeting sense of relief. There are no handles, and when I push the door, it doesn’t budge. A gilded metal stamp in the shape of a heart is embedded into the metal door where the handle should be.
“You think it’ll be that easy?” Ginger says, spinning around to send bullets and missiles at the mechanical soldier and the dozens of statues. “Those doors aren’t opening until that big guy is dead. The handle to that door is the heart of that machine.”
The soldier’s spear glows red as he tilts it in our direction.
“Watch out!” Ginger shouts. The hands of her suit reach for two levers affixed to metal panels that make up the armor of her legs. She snaps them up, using them as shields as she dodges in front of me.
Liquid fire shoots from the end of the Guardian’s spear. Ginger battles the jet stream with the two shields, barely able to hold her ground.
I try the doors again, but they don’t budge. “There must be another way in,” I say, scanning the entrance.
Ginger snorts and continues to fire. “You’re welcome to search for yourself, but until that scrap of metal is disarmed and we get the handle, those doors aren’t opening. So quit talking and start shooting!”
Spitting jets of hot metal and nearly knocking us over with each drive of its spear into the ground, the Guardian approaches us. Surrounding him, the metal statues aim their weapons at us. I haven’t a clue how to destroy the machine without being turned into courtyard decor.
Wrapping my hands around the grip, I nock an arrow, aim, and fire. The arrow flies from my bow like a missile, striking the machine in the neck. Roaring, the Guardian rears back.
“Nice shot,” Ginger says, impressed. “But it’s going to take more than one arrow on this big guy. Keep shooting.”
Between Ginger’s hits and mine, dozens of small holes and arrows riddle the contraption, but it doesn’t seem to slow it down. The inner workings of the machine rattle and spin, churning like an engine, and are barely exposed by minor gaps we’ve managed to create.
Surveying our situation, I have an idea.
“Distract it,” I say, slipping the bow over my head and shoulder. I climb the pins that held the Guardian’s gears to the wall. My braids whip in the wind, swiping against my face. Halfway up the wall, a shout freezes my ascent.
Ginger grabs two blasters from within the console and quickly climbs out of her mechnosuit as the molten metal hardens the legs of her armor. The Guardian aims and shoots again, this time entirely consuming her suit.
With her exposed and in the open, I know I have to work fast. I scale the castle wall quickly, my hand slipping only once. When I reach the top, I stand on a marble ledge, far above the ground. The height is dizzying, but I shake off the sense of vertigo, fixing my stare on the Guardian of the Gate. Shouting, I wave my arms, trying to get its attention. The soldier takes aim and spits a column of liquid metal at Ginger. The smaller statues draw close to her.
“Ginger!” I shout, but it’s too late. She ducks into a crevice within the marble wall. As the metal strikes, it quickly cools, sealing her in the crack.
Drawing the main soldier’s attention, I take a breath, suddenly nervous. I glance a few times at Ginger’s tomb and weigh whether I should save her first or defeat the monster.
But then the Guardian roars a terrifying battle cry, creating gusts so strong I nearly lose my balance on the narrow shelf. With fierce force, the soldier drives its spear onto the earth, rocking the tower. I cling to the stone walls.
When the dust settles, I ready myself. I’ll only get one chance, provided I’m not turned into metal myself. As the machine draws closer, the gears at the joints of its jaw drop, unhinging what was already a terrifying mouth. It occurs to me that I never considered how the skeletons became a part of the machine, or why, for that matter. Judging by the way the Guardian glowers at me, I’m certain I’m about to find out. By the end of this I’ll either be another forgotten skeleton in the pile or I’ll have defeated them all.
The machine aims for me, ready to strike. Just before it does, I jump.
Seconds slow and my surroundings blur as I lunge toward the Guardian. My right hand catches hold of something as my body slides off the metal. Grunting, I struggle to pull myself up. When my eyes fall upon my handhold, I nearly lose my grip to see my fingers wrapped over a bony spine anchored with steel bolts. Quickly, I pull myself onto the chest plate of the creature. The machine shudders, attempting to shake me free, but I hold tight.
Where the left plate attaches with bolts and screws, a gap reveals a melon-size engine. Chains snake from within the hunk of metal and trail off to other sections, giving the illusion of blood vessels. The links disappear into piles of metal and human bones. Clipped to the top of the machine is a piece of metal with loops and swirls designed in the shape of a heart. An ornate handle attaches to it. It is more decorative than anything else on the machine. I can only conclude that it must be what opens the door. I slip my hand into the crack, but it’s just out of reach as my fingertips graze the metal handle.
I slide my bow off my shoulder. Grateful for the curved spikes on either end of it, I carefully lower the bow into the torso of the dragon. When the spike catches hold of the heart-shaped key, I pull it up and tuck it into my quiver.
The Guardian of the Gate roars and shudders, but I hold the bow once more over the opening in the metal plates. With as much force as I can muster, I plunge the spiked end of the bow into
the torso of the beast.
The ferocious roar that bursts from the Guardian rattles within me. Each part, one by one, disengages, catching on the metal shaft of my bow. Bits of hardware clank against the hull of the Guardian’s body as it howls.
A violent tremor erupts from the metal man and my bow shakes lose. It plummets to the ground. Although the Guardian holds tight to its weapon, fire blooms in its chest as it lists to the right. We barrel to the ground, our demise only moments away.
Gauging the distance to the ground, I wait until I’m closer before I release my grip. I fall hard. Pain crawls through my left shoulder, but I’ve never been so grateful for the discomfort and its assurance that I’m alive. The Guardian of the Gate strikes the earth in an explosion so tremendous that the world quakes beneath the sky. As I watch the remains of the Guardian smolder, my attention is drawn toward noise coming from the tower wall. At the top of the fissured stone, chunks of the seal crumble to the ground. I race to the crevice, dodging the fallen metal statues that now remain motionless, no longer controlled by the Guardian. Picking my bow up along the way, I chisel through the cracked metal with its steel curved tip. Finally, Ginger and I manage to create an opening wide enough for her to fit through.
Grunting, Ginger pulls herself through the small opening and hops to the ground. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I watched her imprisoned in the wall with dread, sure I’d never see her again. I should’ve known better. As determined and resourceful as she is, it’d take more than being enclosed within a crevice of the tower wall to seal her fate.
She dusts herself off. Loose red locks hang in her face, having fallen from her ponytail. She lets out a long sigh. “Now what? That handle was our only way in. It could take days to sift through the wreckage to find it,” she says, taking in the fiery scene.
Reaching inside my quiver, I pull out the heart-shaped knob.
Ginger grins. “Nice job, kid. Ready to rescue the king?”
Ozland Page 12
