The Last Hunter: Collected Edition (Antarktos Saga #1-5)

“C’mon,” I say, tugging Em along. “Which way to the library?”


Whispering directions from behind me, Em leads us through the center of Asgard, revealing many of its great halls, which are ornately decorated with sculptures, balustrades and obelisks. The place is like an amalgam of several ancient cultures, with gods from around the world being represented. As I look at a statue of Odin, master of Asgard and father of the Norse god lineage, I realize this whole place is a Nephilim temple built to worship themselves. For the hunters living here, they’re constantly reminded that they’re living among gods. And for the other Nephilim classes—breeders, gatherers, thinkers and the others—the fact that they are ruled by the warriors can never be forgotten.

We pass two lone hunters and a group of four gatherers in heated discussion on our way to the library. The hunters meet my eyes, see the cresty skull on my head and then look away, no doubt recognizing me for who I am…or rather, who I’m not. The gatherers either don’t notice us at all or don’t think twice about our presence.

We reach the entrance to the library and I pause. The doorway is forty feet tall to accommodate the warriors and its stone frame has been covered with an ancient language that I don’t recognize. But it’s not the doorway that gives me pause.

Em stops next to me and shakes her head. “You know,” she says, “for the future Lord of the Nephilim, you’re a huge wimp.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. If anyone saw or heard me, there would be trouble, but her words cut through my nervous tension like Whipsnap through a feeder’s belly. “Story of my life,” I say, and then we step into the library.

The place, like every other room in this city, is massive. Eighty foot ceilings and untold square footage cause our footsteps to echo. If there is anyone in here, they know we’ve entered. There are rows of shelves, like any other library, and some of them actually contain books—human books from the outside world! I look at them like a kid in an ice cream store. It’s been so long since my mind fed on a book. I pull one from the shelf as we pass. It’s an old illustrated paperback of Pilgrim’s Progress, a story that I’ve actually not yet read. I open one of the pouches attached to my belt and place it inside. I see Em watching me. “What?”

“The gates of Tartarus and the spirit of Nephilim await us in the depths and you’re stealing a book.”

With a shrug, I say, “I like to read.”

We pass through the shelves of books, and enter a world of scrolls, many of which appear to be leather…or more accurately, skin, and I wonder if any of them are human. The monotony of the endless rows discourages me. Finding someone here will be hard, and we don’t even really know that Aimee is here.

A light up ahead catches my attention. Most of Asgard flickers from the light of torches. But the light ahead of us is steady. And bright. I squint as we draw closer. Even the brightest crystals underground don’t glow so vividly. The source comes into view a moment later. It looks like an oversized light bulb complete with a glass tube and a twisted metal filament inside. It looks very familiar and I search my memory for a reference. I find the answer in a book on Egypt I read when I was eight. The image in my mind comes from the temple of Hathor at Dendera, where a detailed inscription depicts what looks like an oversized light bulb that looks oddly similar to an early modern light bulb called a Crookes tube. And here it is. The real thing. A giant light bulb attached to a column that rises eighty feet to the ceiling.

The light bulb has engaged my mind so fully that I fail to notice the person sitting beneath it. It’s not until she speaks my name, “Solomon?” that I look down and see Aimee, wrapped in a red blanket, with a book in her lap. The scene is so normal that it’s abnormal, and I stare at her in silence for a moment. When my thoughts clear, I see her face clearly for the first time in more than a year and realize that I’m not the one who is frightened anymore. Aimee stares up at me, terrified, and with a nervous voice, asks, “Is that…you, Solomon?”





29



I’m confused by Aimee’s fear for a moment, but then I remember what I look like. I’m wearing the garb of Ull, my hair is fully blood red and I’m in the presence of a lethal looking hunter with more knives than a shark has teeth. Knowing she must think I’ve reverted back to Ull, I pull off my cresty hood, and put on a smile.

“It’s me,” I say. “It’s Sol.”

She stands quickly. The book and blanket fall to the floor. Before I can blink, her arms are around me, crushing me with a love so strong that I had begun to believe the memory of it was a dream. When she separates, we both have tears in our eyes.