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

The Slough of Despond, which essentially means, the Swamp of Despair, in Bunyan’s story seems to identify the burdens of the traveler stuck in the mire. In my case, the swamp is a dry wasteland, cut off from the rest of the world. But the effects of the place, like the Slough, focuses on the fears, weaknesses and burden of those unfortunate enough to be here. And the effect seems to increase with time, even if time makes no sense. If not for the book and its story of redemption…


My eyes are drawn back to the page. I don’t want to read this section again. Despite the similarities to my stay in Tartarus, it is actually ruining my hope. Not because it ends badly, but because Christian is eventually pulled from the Slough by the aptly named, Help.

Despite being stuck in the Slough of Despond, Christian still inhabits the real world, and while one friend abandons him in the mire, another comes along to pull him out. But here, cut off from everyone and everything, there will be no travelers coming along to lend me aid. I’m alone. Forever. And even if I do eventually move from my spot in the gorge, the only living thing I have any hope of finding in this place is a Nephilim. I’m not sure how many are here, if any, but I don’t think Nephil was alone in this place. And finding a Nephilim, in Tartarus, is not high on my eternal “to do” list.

I close the book, its words now adding to my burden. Maybe it’s Tartarus? I think. At first, the book provided a distraction from the power of this place, but even the words of this book couldn’t hold off Tartarus forever.

I look up and stare at the blank wall in front of me.

Whispered taunts flow past my ears.

You killed me.

The voice belongs to Tobias.

Emilie hates you.

I clench my eyes shut, trying to ignore a voice I know I can’t be hearing. Tobias is dead, I remind myself. He can’t speak to me.

Where do you think you are, Solomon? Alive?

“Stop,” I say. “You’re not him.”

Luca is dead.

“Stop.”

It’s a lie.

Murdered.

“Please.”

Luca escaped.

Because of you.

If there were fluid in my body to spare, tears would cover my cheeks. Tobias’s voice brings back a torrent of memories. The day we met, he and Em nearly killed me. But we became friends. We became family. I lived with them for a time, becoming a brother to Em and to Luca, whose six year old body was a perfect copy of mine, created by the Nephilim. We ate together. We hunted together. And Tobias trained me. I learned to use my powers more effectively. More efficiently. And he taught me to get back up. To fight. To win.

And right now, I’m losing.

This isn’t the voice of Tobias, but if it were, he would be ashamed of how I’m handling myself.

I replay a memory, tuning out the false-Tobias.

I’m running. The crunch of snow beneath my feet makes counting my footfalls easy: nine thousand, five hundred, and fifty-seven steps. Nearly five miles. I can run further. A lot further. And at a faster pace. But not while controlling the elements around me. Tobias has me running, cloaked by a swirling cyclone of snow.

We started with a single flake. It trailed me as I ran. Over time, we worked up to a trail of snowflakes. And when I’d mastered that, we moved to this. I think it’s a big leap ahead. My body certainly agrees. Not only do I need to create thousands of snowflakes, I also need to sustain a steady, and tightly controlled wind around my body. I managed okay for the first mile. But it’s been getting harder with each step.

To make matters worse, I can’t see where I’m going. Every hundred steps, I open a slice in the cyclone and peek out. The added effort hurts every time, but the terrain has been unceasingly flat and free of debris since we began. So when I hit nine thousand six hundred, I don’t look.

Ten seconds later, my foot kicks a spire of ice that I would have seen if I’d looked. I collapse forward in an embarrassing heap. I don’t even bother to raise my hands. I just slump to the ice like a freed marionette and slide to a stop.

Tobias is a gentle man for the most part, but not when training. And he’s pushing me hard, with an urgency that in hindsight makes me wonder if he knew his life would be cut short. He stands over me, shouting with a German accent that makes his words sound even angrier. “Get up! Get up, now, Solomon! Your life depends on it.”

Concern for my own well-being isn’t usually what garners a response from me. And Tobias knows this. So he quickly switches tactics. “They’re coming, Solomon. They’ve found us!”

I’m listening, but I’m still far from moving. “They’ve found them. Em and Luca. If you don’t get up—” He doesn’t need to finish. I’m up and running, concealed by the cyclone, but this time I sustain the opening and double my pace. I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for them. For Em. For Luca. For Aimee.

And for Tobias.

Get up!

I chose to be here.

Get up, Solomon!

For them.

“I’m up,” I say.

I look to my right, and then to the left. Left, I think. That’s where I was headed. As the biting chill, held at bay by the book’s distraction, settles in around me, I put my book away, turn left, and run.





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