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

I kick out, hammering Ninnis’s gut with a kick that would have sent any other man to the ground. Ninnis lets out an “oof!” and pitches forward, allowing me to reclaim Whipsnap, but he recovers quickly, flicking Strike to its full length and swinging it at my face.

The blade cuts a path across my vision, slicing several strands of my hair, as I tilt my head back. As I lean my body back, Ninnis fails to notice that I’ve also flexed Whipsnap back and before I’ve even righted myself, I let go of the bladed end. The weapon springs out faster than I could strike by hand and catches Ninnis across his stomach. I can tell by the tug on the blade as it passes through his flesh that is it a deep cut. A mortal wound.

Ninnis clutches his hand over the gash.

Purple blood oozes.

If only Ninnis were mortal.

Still, the wound enrages him. Had he not been able to heal, it would have been a killing blow and he knows it. I am the better hunter.

He screams and the blackness returns, shooting out toward my face.

A surge of wind carries me back and I begin to feel the exhausting effect of using my abilities in unnatural ways. Things like floating water tax me more than bending the wind toward my will. Not to mention that I’m out of practice. I won’t be able to keep this up forever, and short of taking off Ninnis’s head, I won’t be able to kill him.

I smell blood behind me and look back. Kainda’s body has paled. The sight of her fills me with renewed rage, but I don’t lose control. Instead, I remember what Tobias taught me. Don’t distort nature, exaggerate it. I reach out, feeling the world around me, searching for a powerful force. I find it far away and high above.

The katabatic winds, created when the colder, heavier air above the mountains, rolls down the slopes to the coast. But the winds have been tamed by the jungle. Not for long, I think, as I draw the cold air down faster. I can feel the air moving, but the trees resist, so I weaken the earth around them and they part like peasants before a king. The effort drops me to one knee.

Ninnis approaches, taking my undefended posture as weakness.

The darkness swirls about, agitated and eager.

He draws in a breath through gritted teeth, and raises his sword.

A crack like thunder fills the air, rising in volume. At first, he ignores it, but when the sound grows deafeningly loud, he looks up.

The jungle behind me splits open as Antarctica’s most primal force—pushed faster than ever before and condensed into an area the size of a bus—surges over my head and strikes Ninnis head on. He’s lifted into the air as easily as a leaf. I bend the wind upward, watching as Ninnis is carried over the lake. I push harder. Faster. Until he’s just a speck. Then I let him go and momentum carries him high, and farther, hundreds of feet high and miles and miles away.

When he returns to earth, the impact will crush every bone in his body. If he falls through the jungle, it will tear him to pieces. I cannot imagine he will survive, but I will not make the mistake he did and assume he is gone forever. Something tells me I will see Ninnis again.

The effort has drained my body. I lean forward on my shaking arms, holding my head just above the waterline. I can feel consciousness slipping. But a voice brings me back.

“Sol!”

It’s Em.

I turn to the voice and find Em and Tunis supporting Kainda’s blood covered body. What are they doing?

“She’s not dead yet,” Em says, her voice desperate.

Not dead! Pain wracks my body as I fight against my exhaustion and stand up. I slosh through the water to meet them. They lower Kainda down, kneeling in the water. I fall to my knees in front of Kainda’s limp body. Her tan has faded to a ghostly white. The wound is just two inches wide. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s just to the right of her heart. And now the organ is pumping most of her blood to places in her body where it does not belong. Even with the world’s best team of surgeons, I doubt there is anything that could be done. That she has yet to die is a testament to the woman’s strength, but her wounds are far beyond my ability to heal.

“She’s not going to make it,” I say.

Em sniffs back her tears. “Solomon, don’t—”

“He’s right,” Tunis says. “Her wounds are too grave. Without blood of the masters, there is nothing—”

A thousand exclamations blast through my mind, but I don’t take the time to utter one of them. I plunge my hands into the water, searching Kainda’s waist. When I find what I’m looking for, I untie the leather thong holding it tight, with shaking hands.

“Lay her down,” I say. “Under the water.”

There is a moment of hesitation and I scream. “Now!”