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

Looking and feeling like a giant, I can no longer resist leaving my room. I have not been formally welcomed yet, but I know this is my home now. I can go where I please. As I leave my room behind, I decide I won’t go far. Though I can go wherever I want, I still do not know my way around and would not want to miss the banquet being prepared in my honor.

I start by inspecting some of the other nearby rooms. Some are completely empty. Others hold weapons and discarded clothing, I assume from other hunters who are somewhere else in the citadel, perhaps tending to the needs of their masters or preparing for the banquet.

I think about who will be there. Ninnis said that at least one member from each of the warrior tribes will be there along with a representative from each class—seekers, thinkers, breeders, feeders, gatherers—along with many of my fellow hunters. I wonder what they’ll look like. What they’ll sound and smell like. And what will we eat? Will there be new meats to try? Will we dine on roast cresty or egg-monster stew?

As my mouth waters over the possibilities, I notice one of the human-sized doors is closed. Was it open before? I think it was, which means someone might be inside. I head for the door, hoping the person inside will recognize me, bow and show me respect. I just can’t get enough of this, which I suppose is good, since I suspect it’s a habit that will carry on indefinitely once I accept the spirit of Nephil to live inside me.

Ull confirmed what Ninnis told me about Nephil, but left out many details. “Enki has reserved that honor for himself as Nephil’s first son,” Ull had explained on the hike back to the citadel. “Your patience will be rewarded.”

And it would be. Of that I have no doubt.

But patience is hard to come by when boredom is stacking the odds.

So I knock on the door.

No one answers.

I knock again. When no answer comes a second time, I decide that I not only have the right to wander the halls of Asgard, I also have the right to open doors. I find it unlocked and step inside.

The room is as plain as mine. An egg-monster skin bed. A stone shelf. Little more.

A lump in the corner moves. Shakes, really. Is that a person?

“Hello?” I say.

The body trembles.

I search the room for clues and see a splash of pink just beyond the bed. A quick peek reveals a thick pink jacket. This is the woman I captured. Her lack of response immediately fills me with anger.

“Answer me, woman.”

I hear a squeak of sound. Did she speak or simply cry out?

I step closer.

She’s dressed in leather rags. Her black hair is tied back in a tight braid. Was it like that when I took her? I wonder, but then remember her head was covered by the jacket’s hood. Her skin is dark, darker than anything I’ve seen underground. Her dark hands cover the side of her face, which is turned into the corner of the room.

“Tell me your name,” I say.

Her hands shake.

I clench my fists. “I am the hunter who took you. You will show me respect.”

“Why?” she says, her voice a chaotic vibrato.

“Why, what?”

“Why...” She sniffs. “Why did you take me?”

“I do not know why the masters wanted you specifically, but you were my final test.”

“Test?”

“To become one of them.”

“Who are they?”

“They are the sons of Nephil, the Nephilim. The heroes of old. The—”

“Men of renown,” she finishes.

This infuriates me. “Who are you?” I shout. “Show me your face!”

Her shaking hands lower. Her cheek bears a fresh wound, perhaps dealt by me, or Ninnis, or after she was brought here. She turns slowly, and then looks up, meeting my eyes.

Her eyes strike me like one of Ull’s arrows. I stumble back as her face contorts into something horrible, something sinister, burning with hate. And I feel an emotion I thought I would never experience again.

I am unhinged.

I am terrified.





33



When I strike the hard stone wall, my senses return for a moment. I take hold of Whipsnap and pull. The weapon snaps out. I toss my cresty skin to the side, spin the weapon into position, blade forward, and meet her eyes again.

My mind explodes.

I’m no longer in the room. The woman is gone. Everything is gone.

I am warm and comfortable, surrounded by darkness, and supported on all sides by something soft. Then something disrupts my state of bliss. An intense pressure builds around me. It does not hurt, but it is not comfortable either.

The pressure continues for some time, and I have a feeling of rushing through it.

I’m fast-forwarding through the memory.

Is this a memory?

What’s fast-forwarding?

I’m not remembering this. I’m reliving it.

Then there is light. And cold. And wetness.

I feel myself being drawn up, away from the warmth.

There is a crackle of sound so crisp and clear that it frightens me. When I scream, a high pitched squeal comes out. The noise that frightened me was my own voice. Everything smells wrong.

That’s because I’ve never smelled before.

There’s a tug on my belly. And a pinch. I cry out again. I’m shaking from cold and fright. Confusion grips my thoughts. I can feel myself slipping into hysteria.