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

I take it. “And the man? Can I kill him?”


“No,” he says. “The point of this test is subtlety and control. The outside world can’t know we’re here until we are ready to reveal ourselves. He must believe her disappearance to be an accident or result of some natural phenomenon. You got lost in a storm. I fell into a fissure. And we were both left for dead as a result.”

I understand and head for the snowy wall. For a moment I think I’ll have to dig through, but a small opening on the left reveals a sliver of blue sky. I slide through the narrow opening and find my eyes assaulted.

I adjust to the light slowly, but after several minutes I can open my eyes enough to see the world around me. The mountain slopes down and splits into a valley, barren of snow, far below us. In the valley, two people kneel by what looks like a large, partially uncovered limb. I can’t make out what they’re doing, but I suspect the woman is the one dressed in bright pink. I can’t remember why, but pink feels like a feminine color to me. The man is wearing bright orange.

I step out into the day and Ninnis takes my arm. “Take as long as you need. If you’re detected, you fail. If they escape, you fail. If you resort to violence, you fail. Understand?”

“I do,” I say, pulling away.

“I’ll be watching,” he says, holding up a pair of binoculars.

I put the leather bag over the top of my head and stuff my hair up inside. Ninnis gives me a worried look, like I’ve lost my mind. I know I must look ridiculous, but my plan will work. “If they see me, they’ll see a brown rock on the white snow.”

He smiles. “We’ll see about that.”

I lie down on the snow, feeling the powder melt beneath my warmth, but feeling no cold in return. “Be back soon.” I pull myself across the snow, sliding on my stomach and begin a slow descent toward my unsuspecting prey.





31



It takes me two hours to slide down the mountainside. It’s not hard work—my body heat melts the top layer of snow, making it slick beneath me, and I can’t feel the cold—but I’m careful. My targets’ attention is mostly on the ground and whatever it is they’re working on. But occasionally one of them will look up. I am perfectly camouflaged with my white skin and hidden hair. But it’s possible one of them could notice the brown rock/bag covering my head is moving slowly toward them. They’re probably admiring the view, which is impressive, even through my squinted eyes.

My thoughts turn to Antarctica. It’s a magical land deserving of admiration, possibly even worship. They’re right to admire it. But it’s my land. I am bonded to it and it to me. No one has told me this, but I can feel it.

And I can prove it scientifically.

I pause there in the snow, exposed but invisible, and apply some scientific method. I’m not sure why I know this, or why I feel it’s important, but I know it will erase my doubts, and if true, will help my current situation.

Step one. Ask a question. Am I bonded to Antarctica and its environment below the surface, on the surface and...in the atmosphere?

Step two. Background research. I’ve already done this. I’ve experienced several examples of my emotions and strong reactions creating an environmental response. I’m also impervious to the effects of the environment. I don’t just not feel cold, it actually does no harm to my body. No reddening skin. No frostbite.

Step three. Construct a hypothesis. According to Ninnis, when I was born on Antarctica, its spirit, created by Nephilim magic (or something supernatural) was channeled into my body. Ninnis claimed it made me part Nephilim. As much as I’d like that, I don’t agree. I think it bonded me with the continent. The Nephilim made this land a living thing and when I was bonded to it, they gave it a brain—albeit, unknowingly. That’s my hypothesis.

Step four. Test with an experiment. I’ve been debating what this should be. Something subtle, that only I will notice.

I check my targets. They’re hard at work. With my eyes trained on them, I slowly roll onto my back. Subtle, I think, then focus my mind and emotions on a single event.

It’s only thirty seconds before I see it above me, fluttering down from above. The tiny snowflake descends above my face and lands on the tip of my nose. My hypothesis is true. I repeat the test to be sure, this time bringing five flakes down. When they touch down on the tip of my nose and melt, I focus on the resulting bead of water. It doesn’t run off to either side, or roll toward my forehead as it should (I’m laying downhill). Instead, it does as I will it, evaporating back into the atmosphere.