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

I scream. I just scream. There are no words. I’m beyond words. I claw at a tree, pulling myself to my feet as adrenaline surges through my body like liquid fire. Back on my feet, I see the beige staff of Whipsnap shimmering under the water just a few feet away. I step over to the weapon, bend down and pick it up. I’m moving slowly, or at least feel like I am. This could be a dream.

But I know it’s not.

Water drips from the weapon as I bring it up into both hands and face Ninnis. The loud drips are all I can hear. He’s watching me, his head tilted in curiosity, a sick grin on his face.

A bead of water slips to the end of the wet hair hanging in front of my eyes. When the water falls, it too, moves slowly. Impossibly slow.

What…?

A loud hiss fills the jungle. A storm has moved in.

Fast.

Faster than is natural.

Something tickles the back of my mind.

The storm… Water pours through the canopy above me, striking my skin. I feel the impact, but not the coolness of the water. Just like the river. While Kainda shivered from cold, I felt nothing but room temperature warmth. During all those hours on the wall, in the baking sun, I did not burn.

The storm!

It struck shortly after my return to the surface, tearing Clark Station 1 apart. A theory comes together like puzzle pieces. I was born at Clark Station 1 and the storm came, eventually burying the station. Years later, I returned to Clark Station 1, digging through the ice with my bare hands to find its roof. And the storm returned on the night I was kidnapped, nearly burying Clark Station 2. And when I returned to Clark Station 1 after my time in Tartarus…

The storm is a catalyst, or a sign, or something, of my connection to Antarktos! My abilities returned while the fever gripped my body and I never realized it. All this time, I could have done things differently. I could have saved Mira myself.

I could have saved Kainda.

Ninnis sees the change in me as my confidence and menace rise together. His smile fades and is replaced, for just a flash, by confusion. His body roils from inside and the smile returns. “Come, little Solomon. Die like a hunter, if that’s what you believe yourself to be.” He retracts the sword from Kainda’s chest and her body slides down against the tree trunk, leaving a smear of red blood.

“Ninnis!” I shout, and slam the mace end of Whipsnap into the water that fills the jungle. A sound like an explosion rips into the air from everywhere at once. The water all around us, for as far as I can see, bursts upwards and beads, cloaking my approach.

I splash through the wall of water and leap. The wind carries me up, covering the distance between us with ease. I swing the bladed end of Whipsnap down-wards as I descend. The razor sharp blade slices even the tiniest water droplet in half as I pull it through the air.

The wall of water bursts open and I finish the strike.

Ninnis shouts in surprise, flinching back as a tendril of blackness streaks up and blocks the strike. I land on the now waterless jungle floor, willing the airborne water to strike. A powerful stream of water the size of a rhinoceros slams into Ninnis, stumbling him back. A second strike pushes him farther. The lake is behind him now.

He’s rattled, but still dangerous. The blackness strikes out at me.

I leap, carried far beyond his reach, by the wind. “The land itself opposes you, Ninnis. You cannot win.”

“You are nothing without it!” he shouts back, filled with anger. He hasn’t had a real fight in a long time, and probably thought he never would again.

I leap to the ground, softening the fall with a burst of wind. “Then I will stop.” The hovering water falls to the jungle floor once more. “Come, Ninnis,” I say. “Die like a hunter.”

And I mean it. I swore never to kill a human being, even Ninnis, but he has pushed me to the edge of reason this time.

The blackness retreats inside Ninnis and he takes a fighting stance with his sword, Strike. We charge at the same time, meeting with a flurry of strikes, all blocked by the other. There is no exchange of words. No taunting. This is a fight to the death and any lapse in concentration will mean a quick end to it.

After I nearly take his head off with the mace end of Whipsnap, Ninnis shouts and begins a flurry of chopping strikes that I block with Whipsnap’s staff. Chips of wood fly, but the staff remains whole and I realize that when the Nephilim improved my homemade weapon, they also gave its staff a metal core.

On the fifth blocked strike, Ninnis twists his sword so that the flat end hits the staff. The tip of the flexible blade wraps around the staff and he yanks it from my hand. I’m momentarily disarmed, but he’s left himself open to attack.