Waybound Read Free Page B

you can do the same for your own country. Do it now. You’re the Chairman of the Foundry, are you not?”
    It hit him like a sucker punch. There was no way Saltern could have known, but still the words wounded. Goodwin hid his fury behind a professional smile.
    â€œI will begin the transfer process this very day.”
    â€œThat’s more like it.” Saltern knocked on the window, and an agent opened the door. Goodwin was abruptly dismissed.
    â€œOh, and James,” the President called. “Step out of line again and there will be real consequences.”
    The door shut, and the convoy sped away.
    â€œReturn to Mehk.”
    â€œChairman Obwilé has a new assignment for you.”
    Goodwin’s icy eyes stared after the Autos.
    Chairman Obwilé. He was not ready to accept those words. That conniving little worm had seized the opportunity and stolen his title. This was not how things were supposed to be. Not at all.
    The bruised sky growled, and a warm rain fell. He huddled his shoulders and pulled up his collar against the downpour.
    Deputy Manager Goodwin waited for his driver, who was nowhere in sight.

T he Covenant camp was submerged in a canyon overgrown with bulbous, branching growths that looked like a network of pitch-black neurons. A few beams of sunlight and the ghostly glow of cocoon lanterns painted everything in mournful shadows. Hundreds of mehkans were assembled in silent reverence, crowded into the temple courtyard. They dotted niches in the walls and perched on cast-iron vegetation that filled the canyon.
    Movement caught Phoebe’s attention, and she turned her bloodshot eyes upward. The camp was hidden at the base of a primeval jungle, concealed by a camouflaged roof that mimicked the surrounding undergrowth. She watched the silhouette of a beast lumber across the canopy and envied the wandering creature. All she wanted was to be free from this place, from this moment—to vanish into the jungle without a trace.
    Phoebe was a husk. She hadn’t slept or eaten since they had arrived the previous day. She hardly knew anything anymore.
    All she knew was agony. And that this was her dad’s funeral.
    A platform of dark, polished ore had been erected atop a fresh grave, one among many gently sloping mounds. Micah and Dollop stood on either side of her in solemn vigil, surrounded by the Covenant. Dollop whispered translations of the prayers and proceedings, but his hazy words washed over her. Micah was silent and stoic, his jaw set firmly and her father’s Dervish rifle slung over his shoulder.
    He hadn’t moved more than an arm’s length from her since their encounter with the Ona’s likeness at the Hearth. She knew he must have been drowning in grief too, aching to spill it out, but she was glad he kept it to himself. Or maybe the relentless knife of loss had carved away his words.
    On the platform before them, three axials in shiny robes shuffled about, reciting prayers in Rattletrap to which the crowd responded in unison. Phoebe was fixated on the raised bier behind them, the altar where her father had been laid. All she wanted was to see his face, but her view was obscured. The voices of the Covenant gathered into a rumbling vibration that she could feel in her belly. Their prayer shifted like snow banks, harmonies melting into one another in dreamy patterns. Then Axial Phy stepped forward.
    â€œCome, Loaii,” she croaked, reaching a hand out to Phoebe.
    Her gut twisted. She could feel hundreds of expectant eyes.
    â€œNo,” Phoebe whimpered. “Tell them to do it without me.”
    Dollop gently took her arm to guide her forward.
    â€œHey, she don’t want to,” Micah hissed, grabbing her other arm to hold her back.
    â€œSh-she must!” Dollop insisted. “Phoebe is-is his only cl-clan. Only she c-can bear the rust for him.”
    â€œBut she said…”
    Micah’s words crumbled as Phoebe pulled from his