The First Book of Ore: The Foundry's Edge (14 page)

“Oh no!” she gasped.

There, among the fallen leaves and tire tracks, was a slender metal limb. Dollop's severed forearm. She covered her mouth. Micah came up beside her to see, and a grim expression settled on his blunt features.

“Poor Dollop,” she whispered.

The forearm twitched. The kids recoiled as it slithered off, bumping into roots and foliage to find other wriggling pieces. They fused on contact to form an elbow and shoulder, then hopped away. Astounded, Phoebe and Micah followed the limb over to a slipshod Dollop, who was partially reconstructed and hobbling as fast as he could. The rest of his parts clumped and stuck to him until he was complete and running away at top speed.

“Dollop, wait!” she cried.

The terrified little creature skidded to a stop and looked back, his luminous eyes glinting and reflecting back at the kids in the dim light.

“Please, we need your help. The Citadel, we—”

An engine growled nearby. They looked through the trees—approaching headlights, lots of them. The Foundry was combing the forest.

When they looked back, Dollop was gone. Her heart fell.

“Come on, Plumm. Forget him. We gotta go!”

Micah pulled her sleeve down to cover the glowing Trinka, and they sprinted away from the lights slashing between the trees. The rumbling hum was growing louder, accompanied by the crunch of wheels on metal foliage. More searchlights up ahead. Micah looked around in a panic. A fallen log lay decomposing and rusted in the undergrowth nearby. He shoved Phoebe inside the decaying pipe and crawled in after her. Then he gathered up arms full of leaves and debris and used them to cover up the hole.

It was black inside, but flaring light sliced through cracks in the log, so the kids peered out through the slits. Heavily armed vehicles rolled past, their headlamps revealing a platoon marching among them. Wind blasted and shook their cover as an Aero-copter shuddered past.

Had they left any footprints? Would their tracks be easy to follow, or would they be lost among the fallen foil leaves?

Through the glare, Phoebe was able to make out one of the figures. He wore mottled gray-and-rust-colored army fatigues with bandoliers of magazines strapped across his armored chest. Beneath the helmet and gleaming face shield, she recognized that vacant, haunting expression.

These were Watchmen soldiers.

After what seemed an eternity, the lights and vehicles moved away, growing fainter and fainter until they were gone.

The forest returned to silence. The kids lay in the dark for a long time, their minds reeling and their bodies numb.

“Micah,” Phoebe whispered.

“Yeah?”

“The chraida…We brought the Foundry right to them. They…they died because of us.”

He yawned and she could smell his sour, hungry breath. Her eyelids were sticky with sweat and getting heavy.

“It's their own dumb fault. It ain't like we asked to be tied up and taken to their stupid village anyway.”

“But all of those innocent people.”

“What
peopl
e
? All I saw was a bunch of monkey machines that wanted to kill us.”

“You know they're not machines. You saw them.”

“They shoulda known better than to nab us,” Micah said.

“That doesn't give the Foundry the right to murder them.”

Did her father know what the Foundry was doing to the chraida? He couldn't even bear to squash a cricket—instead, her dad would catch it in a jar and set it free outside. He would never stand for this.

She couldn't fight off fatigue any longer. Sleep was taking her. Their hiding place was painfully uncomfortable, but her body demanded rest. The Chokarai forest all around them was quiet as Phoebe drifted off.

But her head echoed with the screams of dying chraida.

 

hen Phoebe roused after only a scant few hours of rest, she wondered if it might have all been some sort of insanely vivid fever dream. But between the dim slivers of dawn sifting into their shelter, and Micah's raucous snores, she knew it was all very real.

Outside, she could hear the Chokarai stirring. Metallic hoots and ratcheting cries percolated all around her, mingling with the melodious tinkling of leaves in the breeze. This forest was alien, yet its morning ambience was soothing, even rejuvenating. She savored the sensation, basking in its serenity.

At last, she shoved the foliage aside and crawled out of the hollow log. Fireworks of pain exploded across her body. Her back was knotted and sore, as were her arms and legs. Muscles she didn't even know she had screamed for attention. Her wounded foot throbbed, made all the worse by the fact that she was woozy with hunger.

Why, then, did she feel such a tingling sense of exhilaration?

Phoebe thought about everything that she and Micah had done. They had eluded a thousand Watchmen and infiltrated Foundry Central, the most powerful organization in the world. They had discovered a land made of living metal and narrowly escaped being killed by its savage creatures. And had any human throughout history ever met the Ascetic?

Maybe one,
she mused darkly as she recalled his skull mask.

But Phoebe had survived all that. How many times had she told herself she couldn't do it? Yet here she was. Every time she hit the wall, every time she thought the pain was too much, Phoebe had overcome it and faced down everything thrown her way. That quitter, that spoiled brat who couldn't be bothered to lift a finger, was no more. Her father didn't need that coddled little girl right now—he needed a savior.

It was all up to her. Okay, her and Micah.

She pushed past the stiffness and pain, stretched her aching muscles, and inhaled the earthy iron scent of the Chokarai. The branches of the silvery forest were draped in a peach-colored mist that was starting to burn off. Everywhere she looked, tire tracks cut rutted trails, and boot prints meandered in all directions. There were big circular stamps the size of manholes made by some massive machine she couldn't recognize and hoped to never see.

Her foot was bothering her, so she leaned against the log to examine it. She peeled off a blood-crusted sock and saw a puncture wound on the ball of her right foot. It was sore and red, but she was relieved that it didn't look too serious. Still, it was only going to get worse the more she had to walk.

Phoebe limped around, scanning the forest floor for something she could use. She found a strip of metal bark and gathered up a bunch of fallen foil leaves. With the bark as the sole of her makeshift shoe, she wrapped her foot and ankle in layers of the crinkling foliage. She searched her sniping pockets for her coil of wire, but as she dug around, her fingers grazed something else. She gasped when she realized what it was.

Honeygum! She had hidden the snack in her pocket for class and completely forgotten about it. Her stomach howled at the thought of sustenance. She dug out her wire and used the strand to bind the leaves and bark securely around her foot. The ragged boot wasn't comfortable in the slightest, and it looked absolutely ridiculous, but it was better than nothing.

Once that was out of the way, Phoebe poured rich strawberry Honeygum syrup into her mouth, drop by sumptuous drop. It was the best thing she had ever tasted in her life. She was relishing the candy, delighting in the sensation as it gelled in her mouth, when Micah blasted out a husky snore.

It would be so easy. She could gobble up the rest of the candy and secretly spit out the gum once he woke up. She wanted to—more than anything she wanted to—but despite the growling protests of her empty stomach, she saved half of the Honeygum for him. He needed his strength as much as she did, and any little morsel would help.

Phoebe poked her head in the hollow log to find Micah passed out with his mouth hanging open, oozing drool. The opportunity was too good to pass up. She looked around for something that might do the trick. There, on the wall of the pipe log, she spied some sort of slithering critter. It was about the size and color of a plum and covered in nubby feelers like wavering fingers. It was clearly made of metal, but as she gently prodded it, she discovered to her astonishment that it was the consistency of congealed bacon fat.

Whoever heard of squishy metal? And yet it was undeniably true.

A long neck protruded from the critter's squelching mass, bulging out in a lumpy head. It had three antennae, two flat ones on top and a round one centered below, like an electrical plug made out of snot. It used these nodules to probe at the rust on the log. She scrunched up her nose as she plucked the thing up. It was heavier than she expected, and its wet feelers wiggled around to touch, maybe even taste, her skin.

It didn't seem dangerous, but it was thoroughly revolting. And perfect.

Quiet as a cat, she crept over to Micah and carefully peeled up his collar. She eased the rust slug off her hand and let it slink down the front of his shirt.

His snores stopped abruptly. He twitched and giggled and flopped like a little child being tickled. Then he lay still again. Phoebe bit her lip as the bump continued to roam. With a shrill squeal, Micah jolted upright and clanged his head on the pipe. He tore out of the shelter and pawed at his body, contorting himself and dancing spastically until the rust slug came sloshing out a pant leg of his overalls.

Micah was just starting to calm down when he noticed Phoebe doubled over in a fit of hysterical laughter.

Now he got it. His face melted into red-hot, freckled fury.

“Gotcha!” she managed to squeak out in between snickers. “That's for the train tunnel. A cave slug for a cave slug.”

He charged at her, but before he could say anything, she presented him with the half-eaten container of Honeygum.

“Breakfast is served,” she said with a sweet smile.

The sight of candy disarmed him. He whipped it out of her hand, slurped it down in one gulp, and chewed voraciously. “Where'd you get this? You got any more?”

“Sorry, Charlie. That was it.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Why you bein' so nice?”

“I'm not.” She shrugged. “I just don't want you to faint on me.” Phoebe didn't know why she couldn't simply thank him for saving her life the night before. She wanted to, but something in her resisted fiercely.

“Guys don't faint,” he said, chewing his gum with his mouth open.

“Yeah, well, guys don't do that dance you just did either. What do you call that move anyway?”

“Laugh it up. But watch your back, 'cause this ain't over.”

“Not by a long shot,” she agreed with a twinkle in her eye. “But unless you got something better to do, we should probably get going.”

Though Micah was surely just as sore as she was, he worked the kinks out of his muscles with an ease that Phoebe envied. He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck with a quick jerk. With a few glances, he assessed their surroundings—pipe-work forest in every direction.

“Where to?” he asked.

“I was hoping you might have a clue.”

“Well, looks like the Foundry headed off in that direction,” he said, pointing down the most rugged and pronounced swath cut by the vehicles. “Question is whether it leads to the Citadel or not.”

“N-n-not.”

The kids jumped at the unexpected voice and ducked behind a stand of silvery trees. Foliage rustled nearby as an asymmetrical form poked out from behind the underbrush, bulging amber eyes fixed warily upon them.

“Dollop!” Phoebe came out of hiding and took a few steps toward him, but the little guy scampered farther away on four wobbly legs. “You came back.”

“I—I did. That is, I was told to.”

“By who?” Micah asked suspiciously.

“The Great Engineer. Everseer. The M-M-Mother of Ore.” Dollop stroked something on his chest. “Makina.”

The kids exchanged a look. “Say wha?” Micah asked.

“It-it is said in accord fourteen, edict two, m-mark twenty:
‘
Thy savior is thy m-master. Serve those who giveth themselves unto you, for um, only then shall you be served by-by Me in turn.'
Or is it, um, edict two, mark twenty-two? I-i-it's definitely one of those,” Dollop stuttered. “Th-the Ascetic saved me first, bu-but you bleeders saved me most recently. I think that c-c-cancels out the previous time, especially because the chr-chraida mock the Way…a-along with everyone else. Of course, we c-c-can't be certain without consulting an axial.”

The kids didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

“I—I ran last cycle, err, because I was afraid. Of you. B-because you're horrible,” Dollop explained matter-of-factly. “But I p-prayed for g-guidance, and She has placed me in your s-s-service. For wh-what purpose, I'm not quite sure yet. But the Way is quite clear on this matter.”

“Well, whoever
She
is, thank her for us,” Micah said, cracking his gum.

“Does that mean you'll take us to the Citadel?” asked Phoebe.

At the sound of the word, Dollop hid himself once again, and for a few tense seconds, they thought he had run off. But then he hesitantly reappeared just long enough to motion them to follow.

Dollop led them away from the Foundry tracks, keeping far ahead and safely out of reach. He vanished into shadows and shimmering shrubs but paused every now and then to make sure that they were close. As the kids walked, they marveled at the Chokarai. The forest teemed with unfamiliar calls, chirping and chattering and screeching in the canopy. Rays of sun broke through the silvery treetops and dappled the ground, which shone with clumps of gritty, unrefined ore. Poking up through the underbrush were tiny tubes no bigger than straws. They were new growths, sparkling sprouts just starting to stretch toward the sky.

Phoebe chewed on her Honeygum and stared at the shoots in wonder. More of that gray powder, the same stuff that blasted up from the big tree, was drifting down and settling on the little tubes. Was the big tree feeding these little ones? Or was this maybe some kind of pollen or spore?

Dollop popped his head out from behind a shrub, startling the kids.

“Wh-why don't you cruel and evil bleeders know how to, um, get to the Ci-Ci-Ci-t-t-t…” He trailed off, unable to say the name of the place.

“We ain't exactly from around here,” Micah noted.

“B-but Foundry is in the Ci-Ci-Ci-t-t…in there. Bleeders are F-Foundry, so why don't you—”

“We're not with the Foundry, I swear,” said Phoebe.

Dollop stared at them, his massive amber eyes blinking in befuddlement. Then they bugged out in sudden horror, and his limbs began to rattle.

“Th-then don't go there. No, n-never go. It's, um, a terrible place. Hor-r-rible things happen there, and that. Ancient, evil, uns-s-speakable things!”

“You don't understand. We have to get to the Citadel,” she pleaded. “The Foundry, they took…someone. And we have to save him.”

“They nabbed her pa,” Micah chimed in.

She shot him a warning look, but he just shrugged in reply.

“Y-your people?” Dollop asked delicately. “Your clan?”

“My father,” explained Phoebe.

“But why?” Dollop was confused. “Why d-does Foundry hunt bleeders?”

She winced. “We don't know. And actually, if it's not too much trouble, would you mind not calling us ‘bleeders'? It's kind of gross.”

“Oh-oh.” Dollop rubbed a cavity in his forehead. The kids hadn't noticed it before, but now that he was closer they could make it out clearly. His body was oddly patterned with different kinds and colors of metal, but his head was like a badly assembled jigsaw puzzle. And right in the middle of it was a dent or a missing piece. “Wh-what do I name you, then?” he asked.

“Well, we're humans,” she said. “But I'd rather you just call me Phoebe.”