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

Before I can ponder this mystery I hear a rattle and grunt behind me, and I know that the hunter has lunged. I dive to the side, roll and yank Whipsnap from its place on my belt. My weapon twangs into place, clutched in both of my hands.

The hunter stands ten feet away, no weapon in sight. He’s tall, at least seven feet. That’s big for a hunter. But he’s also incredibly lean. I look at his skin. He is pale, like me, like all hunters, but there is a strange sheen to his skin, almost reflective. His face is hidden behind a black veil that looks like it’s actually been pinned to his forehead.

Hoping to get some hint of who I’m dealing with, I ask, “Who is your master?”

“I have no master.”

No master? How can a hunter not have a master?

We circle each other. I feel Ull at the fringe of my consciousness, ready to take over when the attack is pressed. And I’m grateful for his presence.

“Why do you hide your face?” I ask.

“I am shunned.”

He feints an attack and my blade keeps him at bay.

“You are a hunter?” I ask.

“No, but I will be when I bring you back.”

“What are you now?”

“A tracker.”

This creature being a tracker makes no sense. Hunters are expert trackers. We can sense things in the underground that no one else can. Our sense of sight isn’t hampered by the dark. And we can hear and smell things few others can.

A bit of Ull emerges, scoffing at his claim. “How can you track better than a hunter?”

Because I can follow your thoughts.

The voice is in my head!

My foe reveals himself, pulling the veil up over his head. His face is white and noseless. In some ways he reminds me of a gatherer, egg shaped head, almond-shaped oversized eyes and a small slit for a mouth. But his eyes are not solid black, they’re bright yellow with a black, cat-like slit for a pupil. That’s when I see his skin for what it is—scales. White scales, which combined with the yellow eyes is similar to the seekers, a class of Nephilim closely related to gatherers.

Your escape route is admirable, Ull. Bold. The others will not follow you here. But you did not count on me. I am Xin and I will be your undoing.

A pressure builds in my head as he stares at me. It keeps me from pondering why the others won’t follow me here. I push back, but find the effort far more painful. He’s in my head, searching my thoughts.

His small lips turn up. I can hear him laughing in my head. You are not Ull at all!

He digs deeper.

Solomon? That is your name. Solomon Ull Vincent.

I see what he sees. My past replayed for his amusement. My youth. My parents. My kidnapping. Ninnis breaking me. Me saving Ninnis’s life. Then Kainda’s. But he has failed to see the only memory I fought to block: Aimee. If he learned about her, they would no doubt threaten her life to bring me in. And it would work.

So full of compassion. Your forgiveness is your weakness.

The pain bursts inside my head and I fall to one knee.

Xin charges.

I do the only thing I can. I let Ull loose.





6



With a scream, I charge forward bringing Whipsnap up to strike. I see my next five moves in advance. The first strike will open Xin’s chest and put him on the defensive. The next three will cause him to stumble back, but won’t connect, and then with a spin to conceal my action, I’ll bend Whipsnap tight and release it so the mace connects solidly with his head. Seven seconds.

The first strike comes close to slicing open Xin’s chest, but the wiry tracker is fast and flexible. Still, he is on the defensive, so I press forward. He avoids the next three blows, as expected, so I spin, bend Whipsnap and unleash the kinetic energy of the weapon, flinging the mace end toward Xin’s head.

The blow misses.

Ull is stunned. He has never missed before.

What is it? I think.

A laugh sounds inside my mind. I am half-human and half-seeker. An experiment of the thinkers and breeders—one of the few survivors. I possess the best of both species, but I am accepted by neither. But that will soon change.

I thrust. Xin parries.

Whipsnap extends my reach much further than Xin’s long arms, but I can’t seem to strike the creature. I aim low, but he leaps. That’s when I see it. He leapt before I swung. He leapt when I thought about aiming low. He’s still in my head! He knows what I’ll do as soon as I do it.

But why isn’t he attacking?

Humiliation.

It was a rhetorical question! I shout in my head.

Stop thinking, Ull, I tell my other personality. Stop thinking!

My blows come fast and furious. There is no rhyme or reason to them. No technique. I’m like the kids fighting on the school yard, eyes clenched shut, fists swinging, hoping to connect. For a moment, it works, but I feel Xin’s mental tendrils dig deeper and suddenly he’s predicting what I’ll do even before I know what I’ll do. He’s in my subconscious!

Get out, get out, get out!

Letting Ull loose was a good idea, but neither of you lack the mental will to keep me out. Xin’s voice echoes in my thoughts. Stop fighting and return to Asgard with me.