Elements (Tear of God Book 1) (38 page)

T
HE PUPPETS
holding Mink kept him upright while the others were being laid down, their blood darkening the dirt. A dozen more black robes hurried toward them from the shrubs where Mink and the rest of the Decoy Unit had burst through only moments ago. The timing of their appearance and the urgent movement of these figures led Mink to believe that the Reeks had finally arrived. If ever there were a time for rescue, this was it.

The Machinists who shot Mink’s friends lowered their weapons to the ground and rushed at him from about fifty yards away. Their heavy boots sloshed through the Water that remained from Rénys’ effect. A bolt of Lightning lashed out at them, silhouetting their uniforms, but not slowing them in the slightest. The hundred or so Machinists remaining on the field either took shelter in vehicles, or advanced to engage the Extraction Unit moving in on the muddy, expanded opening above the Tear of God’s cavern.

One by one, the Decoy Unit members stopped struggling. Crali stared at the sky and convulsed. Sapo lay motionless with her eyes shut, held firmly to the ground, the puppets still clutching her lower jaw. Alré stared at Mink without emotion, the Materialized skin over half her face dull in the sunlight. Tralé’s muscles stopped tensing and his breathing quickened.

“Leave her alone!” Mink tried to yell at the puppets holding Gyov, his voice muffled by the fingers in his mouth. She could only stare fearfully back at him, caught in the puppets’ grasp, blood oozing from her clothes, tears streaming down her face. “No! No, no, no!” Mink’s garbled protests went unheeded.

The Reeks reached the maimed and helpless group before the Machinists, and crouched down beside Mink’s unconscious, vulnerable comrades. Each Reek pulled a pair of wire-thin metal wands from their sleeves and began carefully inserting them into the Elementalists’ eyes through their tear ducts. Pressing the upward tips of the wands into their ring fingers, the Reek’s blood ran down the wands and into the eyes of their prone, wounded prey. They chanted in an evil hissing language Mink had never heard before, and hoped to never hear again.

In a remarkable display of strength and determination, Gyov kept struggling and bit off the fingers in her mouth. She spat them and her blood into the face of the puppet holding her right leg. It flinched enough for her to kick her leg free and try to fend off the rest of her foes. Her kicks were weak demonstrations of how much pain she felt and blood she had lost. The puppet holding her left arm set its knees on her shoulder and elbow and punched her head until she was unconscious.

“Leave her alone! Get away from her! No! Gyov!” Mink bellowed unintelligibly. He was completely powerless as a Reek crouched over her and inserted its wands into her eyes, chanting.

Mink went limp in the arms of his captors, sobbing. All of his comrades were dead or dying. What role had he played in killing the people who had come to respect and support him as friends? Tralé, Mouké, Sapo, Gyov, Theen, Crali, Rénys, Ankrim, Frèni, Counkrat, Aprèl, Proth, Jaog, Byth, Gibby, Sèplè, Alré, and Obyr. The geniuses of his generation lay lifeless on the ground in their own blood.

Just last night he had kissed Gyov for the first time. Now their mouths were violated by the claws of death. He had assured her that she was strong enough and that he wanted to be with her. Yet, here they were at the merciless hands of Reeks and Machinists because of a plan he helped create.

The three soldiers rushed in, fingers on triggers. The Machinists were so pale that Mink couldn’t immediately recognize them as men. One sprinted straight for Mink, pale white with blond stubble showing under a mirrored visor. In its glass, Mink made himself out amid the curved silhouettes of the puppets, reflecting the hopelessness of his situation. The Machinist fixed a weapon inches from his chest. Mink’s devastated heart welcomed the gun. He wanted him to shoot. No one should have to survive this…

From between the cloaks and uniforms, Mink caught sight of the Extraction Unit making victorious headway over the opening over the Tear of God, and the memory of his mission bristled in his bones. He struggled and bucked with renewed determination, fighting for the chance to see Juré and Nyam again. All was not lost. Three flashes spat out of the barrel of the Machinist’s weapon.

Mink was unharmed. How had he managed to avoid all three shots? The puppets clutching Mink’s arms and head laughed and spoke in Machinist gibberish to the shooter. In response, the Machinist turned the weapon against a hooded face and three more flashes took the puppet’s head off. It remained standing and maintained a forceful grip on Mink’s left arm.

The Machinist barked some orders and Mink was laid on his back down in the dirt. Two of the puppets that had been holding his arms each took a leg. The Machinist unsheathed a ten-inch knife strapped to his tactical jacket while he spoke unintelligibly to Mink. Gripping it with both hands, he held the knife high above Mink’s chest. He shut his eyes.

Now all he could think of was Gyov. Having experienced the expansion of consciousness after death once before, Mink hoped that she could see him and understand his thoughts. He wanted her to know how much he loved her. How long he had been loving her. If only, after he died they could remain together…

Anticipating certain death, having every other option stripped from his control, Mink rolled his head back and relaxed in surrender. He felt the pressure of the knife blade pushing into his ribs. There was no pain. He felt no fear. In fact, he felt… fine. A pulsing vibration spread from his heart, setting him at ease.

He opened his eyes and looked at his chest. Embedded up to the hilt, the knife remained there, rising and falling with his unlabored breath. The Machinist, confused, first twisted it sunwise and then counter-sunwise. Mink’s emotions calmed and the blade felt like it belonged there, firmly embedded in his chest!

For a second, he saw Juré’s face looking at him from the glass of the soldier’s helmet, until he realized it was his own. How could he be so unrecognizable? His reflection showed a confidence and wisdom that had eluded him his whole life. It was as if he were seeing himself for the first time.

The Machinist removed the blade and stabbed Mink several times out of frustration, causing no more harm than rips in Mink’s clothes. The Machinist stood, staggering and shocked, barking frantic orders to the puppets and pointing off somewhere on the battlefield. The puppets lifted Mink up in time to watch as a black robe was lowered over a free-standing, lifeless Gyov. She withdrew the hood and gave Mink a sinister smile.

Then a familiar, crackling voice came out of her mouth. “How’s yours exuberance today, Blankey?”

“You?!” Mink couldn’t believe it. He fought and struggled against the five puppets carrying him away, to no avail. This was not the way he wanted to remember Gyov, as a puppet laughing at him.

The Scattered Storms were over and all that remained of Rénys’ Water effect was mud. A few hundred charred and smoking corpses lay unattended to, probably too badly burnt by the Lightning to be made into puppets. Regardless, several dozen Reeks emerged from the larger of the vehicles and poked about, seeing what they could use. Presumably, most of the Machinists and puppets Mink had spied through the bushes had been washed away. More than a mile away, the Extraction Unit was setting up over the hole to the chamber, maintaining a tense cease-fire with the remaining hundred Machinists still stationed on their side of the battlefield.

Mink barely had the energy to cry as the puppets dragged him to one of the larger vehicles. They shouted something and a door lifted from the back. The inside of the vehicle was walled with a dizzying array of screens, lights, and switches. Mink was forced into a seat and tied down with rope. The puppets left him alone, exiting the rear of the vehicle. A hatch opened in the ceiling near the front and a pale, white-haired man climbed down a short ladder. He brought a swivel chair in front of Mink and sat, holding a Wooden handle and a ten-inch knife.

As he talked in broken Octernalian, he whittled away at the handle. “Name me General Stroud.” He looked up, expecting a response that Mink wasn’t going to grant. He cocked an eyebrow and muttered to himself, spinning in his seat to touch one of the screens on the wall. As he tapped it, the displays changed until a three-dimensional image appeared of Mink standing with Nyam and Juré. “You?”

Mink couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was most certainly him with his parents on Rift Ridge, clear as if it were happening in the moment. But that was over a week ago. His baffled expression seemed to be the only answer the General needed.

Shaking his head, the General continued, whittling. “Of all the people… I think you victim here. Never I see parents abuse children this bad. So sad for you.”

Mink set his face in defiance. He wasn’t abused. Ten years of watching everyone around him progress while he stayed on the level of a toddler was abuse. But, how could he make a Machinist understand that his parents were helping?

His Element? That knife! The way the blade resonated with him while it was stuck in his chest. The way his blood flowed right through the blade. Could it be? Did he have an affinity for metal? Metal wasn’t even an Element.

“Weeks ago,” General Stroud continued. “We work deal with you people to check out possible source for ore in wilderness. We watch by satellite and send a scout. You send representative from your country. Everybody up-and-up.” A representative? From Octernal? Could he be referring to Juré? “Everything go to plan. Then this.”

General Stroud pressed another screen in front of Mink. “We all see. Even scout family.” A video playback taken from the scout’s dashboard showed Mink how Nyam had ripped the door off the vehicle and crushed the sleeping scout’s neck in both her hands. His head flopped down as if the only thing holding it on was skin. Knowing his mom had killed the scout was one thing. Watching her do it made Mink feel sick.

He looked away and started to cry again, moved to misery by watching his mother kill and knowing that man’s family had seen the same thing. The General turned off the screen. The scout had to die. Mink knew in his heart that there would have been no other chance for the Elementalists to win the Tear of God. He felt bad that Machinists had watched the whole thing happen, but they would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.

A woman’s voice came through speakers into the cabin of the vehicle. The General replied and turned to Mink. “You do this for a rock?” He arched his brow in inquiry, his voice insistent.

“Not just a rock. It’s a Tear of God.” Mink clarified.

“That word has no meaning for me.” Irritated, the General wiped his face and resumed whittling, shaking his head. “A rock. We lose too many good people over a rock.”

“I lost friends. I lost my girlfriend.”

“That word has no meaning for me. You people start this battle. No sorrow for your loss. You seem to me a good kid. Better than your people. Make you offer. Leave your culture of violence. Come with us back to Freeland. Live in culture of peace where discrimination is illegal.”

Mink’s head shot up. Live with the Machinists? Why would he ever go with the people who killed Gyov? Who killed the few people that started to recognize him? The General called it a culture of peace. They certainly had a strange way of showing it and an impressive assortment of weapons, considering.

“Think about it. Don’t have to answer now. But say to you this. Our bullets and knives don’t kill you. Bet we know what can. If you say no.” General Stroud pressed the point of the handle he had been whittling against Mink’s neck.