The Green Ones

Episode 2, Part 10

I shield Olin reflexively.

“It’s a trap. Run!”

The warning comes from a corner opposite the movement; the voice, Neca’s.

A large, green-glowing figure steps into sight. “I wouldn’t suggest it,” his voice is like gargling rocks in syrup.

Squeezing Olin’s hand, I bolt. Without any idea as to where, we turn and run from the terrifying figure who is most certainly Huatiani. Neca’s words from Immortal City echo in the back of my mind, when it comes to immortals, quick is never quick enough. I suck in another breath. I stretch and pound my foot to the ground. I’m still alive, so there must be hope.

Then all hope is consumed. A blinding light lashes the wall of the factory in front of us, as if lightning has struck our backs. Seared into my sight, the last thing I see before going blind is Yetic hurdling through a hole in the wall.

Olin and I launch forward, my braid whipping past my ear and snapping taut. My back feels as though fire is consuming it—as if any moment the flesh will tear away and bones melt. And everything will be gone.

Crashing to the floor, the sensation of flying is replaced with pain as my arms and face grate against the adobe blocks. In this case, pain means life.

“Olin!” I’ve lost his hand in the crash landing. “Get up, run!” Completely blind, I hear his breathing nearby. Scrambling on all fours, I reach for him. “There’s a hole in the wall.”

“I won’t go without you,” he clasps my hand. Another telekinetic burst washes past and shakes the ground. Running, Olin serves as guide for both of us. “The hole’s just ahead.”

“On the outside look for a crowd,” I huff.

Before he can acknowledge, a third telekinetic strike rumbles through the floor, this time directed straight at us. The ground buckles and lifts. I’m blind and useless—dead weight. Olin will never make it while dragging me. As the floor shatters out from under us, I yank my hand free. “Keep going!”

Limp and tumbling sideways, I collide with a pile of rubble before being pinned awkwardly by more falling from what’s left of the wall. Maybe the whole building will collapse, taking Huatiani with me. For a few seconds, I hear nothing except the echo of adobe blocks tumbling to the floor, the bulk of the building apparently still intact.

I allow myself an apprehensive sigh of relief. Maybe Olin listened to me for once. Maybe he made it through the opening and kept running. Please, gods, let him make it. He’s no longer a little boy. He doesn’t need me. Maybe he never did. Maybe it was me that needed him all along. Now we’re both free.

My prayers are interrupted by a voice—one sounding like the earth itself. “I didn’t know for sure, until now.” A hand, rough and grooved, covers my eyes. Applying pressure to my temples, a tingle sparks between his thumb and fingers.

I can’t move, unsure whether it’s due to telekinesis or physical damage. The hand draws back to reveal a creviced face older than the forest, older than time. Expressionless, almost bored, Huatiani stares into my eyes. Perhaps he’s waiting for me to confirm he has restored my sight.

I try to talk. Coughing, I hack up a clot of dust and phlegm. Finally, I manage a single word, “Why?”

“Exact punishment for the crime. Nothing more, nothing less.” His speech is paced and rhythmic as if each word forms in his mouth like a pearl inside an oyster. “You are the enabler, are you not?”

I narrow my eyes, imagine them as beams of light piercing through his skull. Nothing happens. “I only killed those people because you were too old and slow to do your job.”