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

Kat chuckles and says, “At ease soldier. We’re on the same side.”


I step through the gate, followed by the others, and am surprised when Zuh steps out from behind the guard tower. She’s now wearing a pair of black cargo pants, though her top is still...scant. I can see her pockets are filled with supplies. Is she hoarding? It wouldn’t surprise me. She might expect to be on the run again at any time.

Her dark red pom-pom of hair makes me smile. She takes this as an invitation to wrap her arms around me in an embrace. I flinch away, but am ensnared.

“Zuh!” Kainda shouts.

I’m released as Zuh’s kusarigama appears in her hands. “Would you like to finish, daughter of Ninnis?”

Kainda unclips her hammer.

I shoot her an angry look. “Seriously?”

She doesn’t draw the weapon, but she remains tense. She’ll defend herself if she has to.

I step closer to Zuh, which brings a smile to her face. It disappears when I put my hand on the chain attached to the kusarigama’s blade. I lean in to her ear. “I admire your strength. And your courage.”

A flicker of a smile returns.

“But,” I say, my voice a whisper now. “The old ways are dead. The laws that bound hunters are gone. You are free. As am I. And only I can choose...”

I look back over my shoulder. I can see by the strained looks on everyone’s faces that they’re trying to hear me, but can’t. Well, maybe Xin can, but there isn’t much I can do about that. I lower my voice and continue. “...who I will love. Who I will marry.”

I lean back and look at Zuh’s face. She looks quite unhappy, but I don’t think she’s going to attack anyone. I search for hurt in her eyes and find none. She doesn’t know me. Doesn’t love me. For her, as it once was for Kainda, marriage to me was about status and power. She’ll get over it.

“You called me King, before,” I say.

Her eyes grow and lock onto mine. “I still do.”

“Then you will listen. And obey.”

She nods.

“You. Are. Free.” I enunciate each word. “To live and love and fight anyway you choose with anyone you choose. Do you understand?”

Her eyes squint. Despite not moving her lips, I recognize the expression as a smile. Perhaps the first genuine smile of her life, which might be why it looks so awkward.

She offers a slight bow and steps back, avoiding Kainda’s gaze. I clear my throat, offer a smile at my entourage and head into the base.

A gathering throng greets us as we walk into the central quad of the large base. Men and women dressed in military uniforms eye us. The few hunters present whisper to each other. Some bow, which incites ridiculing glances from the soldiers. We’re being judged right now, I know, so I keep my head up, bury my fear and ignore my lack of confidence. As a kid, I was terrified of authority. Once, when I was still in school—seventh grade, I think—my teacher, Mrs. Baker, who was a fairly pleasant and non-threatening woman, lost her patience with my inattentive boredom. (I was years ahead of the subject matter.) She took me aside while the students filed to the next classroom for English. Three sentences into her gentle rebuke, I broke into tears. She felt awful. I know she did because she apologized several times despite having done nothing wrong. But my thin-skinned wall had been chipped, and all the fear and anxiety I had over school came gushing out.

If I can keep from crying, I think, I should do okay.

That’s when I see Aimee walk out of one of the metal buildings. She’s followed by Merrill and a man I don’t know, but who is clearly General Holloway. He is followed by Cairns, then Adoni, then the Latino soldier known as Cruz and finally, by Mirabelle Whitney.

The sight of the Clark family altogether is more than I can bear, and the tears I would so like to hide trace a line of wetness on my lower eyelid. I take a deep breath, control myself and pretend to have something in my eyes as I wipe away the wetness. So much for not crying.

As the group approaches, I can no longer just stand and wait. I break formation and move to greet my friends. Merrill is in the lead, I suspect because he’s the unofficial guide to all of the strangeness on Antarctica. He looks older than I remember, which makes sense because it’s been twenty-one years. His hair is gray, as is his full beard, and he looks a little thicker around the waist, though still fit enough to handle an expedition.

“Dr. Clark!” I say as a smile too impossibly wide to hide, spreads across my face.

Merrill glances back to Adoni, who waves to me and offers a bow.

The following words spoken by Merrill don’t sink in.

“Is this him?” he asks Adoni. “Your leader?”

“Yes, it is him.”