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

But this is my fate, so I strike out for New Jericho, and for the surface. My thoughts drift to Pilgrim’s Progress. Christian faced trials along his path, and accepted aid from others to overcome those trials. But the pearly gates that were his ultimate destination are a far cry from the bloodshed that likely waits at the end of my path. Still, I see no alternative and continue on the path laid out before me, which for now, leads ever upward.

Several hours later, I’m standing at the top of what was once a three hundred foot waterfall. I jumped from its ledge to escape the hunter, Preeg. Using my control over the wind, I slowed my fall and survived. Preeg leapt after me and died on impact. If I were to make the same leap now, without my powers, I would share his fate. That is, if the massive chamber containing the ruins of New Jericho weren’t flooded. The three hundred foot drop to the water’s surface has been reduced to twenty. Not even the tallest temple of New Jericho is visible. While I’m happy to not have to walk through the ruins and past the statue and gravesite of my former master, the Nephilim known as Ull, this also puts a damper in my plans. The tunnel I had planned to take to the surface is now under hundreds of feet of water.

A distant roar reminds me that there is a waterfall on the other side of the chamber. By the sound of it, it’s pumping more water than ever before. The cliff edge I’m standing on was also a waterfall at one time, but it’s now dry, its water source either gone or redirected. The flooding must be coming primarily from the other waterfall, which is fed by meltwater from the surface.

That’s a lot of melted water.

Steeling myself for the cold water, I dive into the lake. I arch my body and return quickly to the surface, taking fast, shallow breaths. There was a time when it took me twenty minutes to jump into a pool in the middle of the summer. And when I did, I would holler about how cold the water felt. Swim, my father would tell me, kick your legs and you’ll warm up. I never listened. I would dog paddle to the ladder, yank myself out, wrap up in a towel and help myself to potato chips and a Coke like they were a reward earned in battle. But I take his advice now. I point myself in the right direction, and swim for all I’m worth.

When I reach the other side, I’m exhausted. Few things wear the body down like a long swim. And I can’t stay in the water. Treading water will only make me more tired, and if I lose consciousness, I could slip beneath the surface and drown. But the only escape is the waterfall. And it rages.

Undeterred, I swim around the water pouring out of the gap in the solid stone wall. The surface is smooth and slick with moisture. Even the strongest hunter couldn’t climb this surface—that is, unless, they have climbing claws capable of clinging to the minutest blemishes in the stone. I put the climbing claws on my hands, reach up and drag the first one down against the stone until it catches on something. I yank myself up, all of my weight pulling on that one arm and the feeder teeth. Luckily, the Nephilim have strong bones, and my conditioned arms, while tired, are up to the task.

The rest of my body, however, is straining. The shallow incision across my chest, given to me by the now dead thinker abomination, stings sharply with every twitch of muscle. The wound scabbed over quickly, so I never gave it much attention. The intense pain makes me think I should have. The sealed wound has been soaking in the lake water. It might have reopened when I was swimming. Could be deeper than I first thought, too.

Later, I tell myself. Right now, I have to climb.

I pull myself up the wall slowly, dragging the claws, finding a hold and pulling myself up again and again until I’ve covered fifty feet. The pain in my chest is intense, but I can’t let it distract me now. I’m focused. Determined. And possibly, at a dead end.

The waterfall roars to my left. There is no ledge to step on and entering the water here is impossible. The strong current would yank me back into the lake and I lack the strength to repeat the climb. I scuttle across the wall, clinging to it with the climbing claws, and maneuver myself so I’m above the waterline. As I round the bend into the tunnel, I find footholds big enough for my toes and moving becomes easier. A few minutes later, I’m free of the wall, standing on the shore of a river that is at least ten feet deeper than I remember.

I turn my head up river and smell, searching the air for signs of life, human or otherwise. At first, I detect nothing. No blood. No rot. Nothing.

But then, there’s something faint. Something out of place. It’s earthy, but not stone. It’s more like dirt. Like soil. Damp and fragrant.

Like spring.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. A blanket of air rushes past, pushed by the river. It carries the scent of vegetation, flowers and water. It smells like…life. And then I feel it.

The air.

It’s warm.





15