5 Onslaught (23 page)

“Just
take us home, kid,” Kat says.

I
laugh, turn my head to the ceiling and we rise.
Through the
air.
Through the earth.
Through Antarktos, the
land that is me and is now, after thousands of years, free.

Epilogue 1

It’s been
six months since the human race stood up against impossible odds and survived.
In that time, the world has changed a lot. Nations are coming together to form
a global alliance in which the new resources of Antarctica are shared
responsibly, but also in the tracking down of any surviving Nephilim. The
warriors are all but wiped out, but the other classes: gatherers, thinkers,
breeders, feeders, shifters and
more,
are still living
and active in numbers, though now in hiding. The most dangerous are the
shifters, who hide in plain sight, looking like any other human being.

But
we will find them all in time.

In
addition to working together, world leaders have also recognized my individual
claim to Antarktos. And when the hunters proclaimed me King, the outside world
cheered. Videos and images of the final battle, how it was fought and won, have
surfaced. I didn’t even know it was being recorded. But the whole world knows
what happened and understands the sacrifices that were made. They also know
what I can do, and of my connection to the land, which I suspect has a lot to
do with their accepting my leadership.

After
all, if someone decided to drill for oil on Antarktos without my permission, I
would know just as easily as I would feel someone prick my skin with a needle.
With every passing day, my connection to the continent deepens, and grows
easier to control. The land is fertile. Life is plentiful. And the human
population that has chosen to relocate to
Antarktos,
is happy.

Not
that everyone wants to immigrate. Many prefer to stay where they were,
comfortable in their own homes and a safe distance from Antarktos, where the
supernatural world, dinosaurs and an underground labyrinth is all part of
everyday life. And that’s why I’m here.
In New Mexico.

As
we left Antarktos, roughly thirty miles from the coast I felt my connection to
the continent fade. It’s not gone completely, so I have no fear that the
connection won’t come back in full upon my return, but my abilities have all
but vanished for now. I feel a bit naked.
And vulnerable.
Not that I’m alone.

Wright
and Kat, dressed in black, carry assault rifles. I wasn’t sure we’d be allowed
to carry weapons once we got to the U.S., but I’ve been granted diplomatic
immunity, pretty much everywhere.
One of the perks of saving
the world.
Em and Kainda, who are dressed as average American civilians
in jeans and T-shirts, carry their hammer and knives, unwilling to part with
the weapons. They did change their clothes, though, which was surprising. Back
on Antarktos, we still dress as we did as hunters. We’re accustomed to it, but
given the tropical climate, it’s also more comfortable.
For
them.
I still don’t feel the temperature...though I’m feeling it here.
The summer heat, which is far more humid than New Mexico would have been before
the global shift, is like a warm blanket, comforting me in this time of great
stress.

I
have faced many things over the past few years...but I don’t think anything
could prepare me for this.

Mira,
dressed like Em and Kainda, heads for the ranch’s front door. Like me, she is
unarmed. Her weapon of choice these days has been the camera. She’s back at
work, taking photos, sharing the wonders of Antarktos with the world through
her camera’s lens.

As
for me, I feel uncomfortable in cargo shorts and a T-shirt, but I manage. At
least I can remember what it feels like to wear normal clothes. Em and Kainda
never had the experience. My hair is still long, but it has been trimmed, and
washed. The hardest change was actually wearing shoes again. I opted for flip
flops. Whipsnap is in the car; I didn’t think carrying the weapon to this
meeting would be appropriate.

Mira
stops in front of the door and looks back at me. “You ready?”

I
nod. I’m too nervous to speak.

She
knocks.

“Coming,”
a voice shouts in reply. I nearly break down in tears right then. The last time
I heard this voice, it was being impersonated by a Nephilim creation, birthed
by a breeder, and I was forced to kill it.
My own mother.

The
door swings open and there she is. Her hair has grayed, but only partially, and
it’s just as wavy as I remember it. “Oh,” she says in surprise when she sees
the large number of people standing outside her door. Then she notices Mira and
her face lights up.
“Mira, dear!
How are you? We’ve
been following your journeys. Mark keeps a box full of your photos.
Seems like we have to add to it nearly every day.”

Mira
embraces my mother. “Thank you, Beth. May we come in?”

My
mom looks at the group again, this time meeting my eyes and showing no
recognition. Her memory of me has been blocked, just as Merrill’s and Aimee’s
were. The Clarks are living in Antarctica now, in what Merrill has deemed Clark
Station Three. They’re studying the ancient human cultures that lived on the
continent before it was buried beneath the ice. Merrill nearly passed out when
he saw the paintings inside the
nunatak
.

“Sure,”
my mom says. “I’ll get you and your friends something to drink.”

“Did
I hear Mira?” my father says, rounding the corner into the hallway. His hair is
still black and curly, but it’s receded to the sides and back of his head. He’s
healthy and hale. His face lights up when he sees Mira. After giving her a big
bear hug, he stands back and looks at the group. Once again, I’m not
recognized.
Though he is excited to see us.
“You must
be her friends from Antarktos! Come in, you have to tell me everything.”

Kainda
puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. She knows how hard this is for me.

My
dad leads the way through the front hallway. This house looks nothing like the
one I grew up in. The style is all Southwestern. In fact, I can’t find a single
relic of my past life. That is, until we pass the living room.

I
stop in the doorway, staring.

The
painting looks out of place. The
lighthouse,
and
seascape are in stark contrast to the New Mexico feel of the home.

My
father notices my attention on the painting when everyone else enters the
kitchen with my mother.

“What
is it, son?” he asks.

My
heart skips a beat, but then I realize he’s using “son” as a generic term. He
stands next to me. “It’s an ugly thing, that painting. But Beth likes it.
Reminds her of the old house.”

“Why
did you move?” I ask.

“I—I
really don’t know.” He shrugs. “One day...it just didn’t feel like home any
more.”

I
turn to my father and ask, “Do you know who I am?”

He
shakes his head, no.

“My
name is Solomon.”

After
a moment, his eyes widen.
“
The
Solomon?
The...the king?”

“Yes,”
I say, exasperated by this response. “My full name is Solomon Ull Vincent.”

“Vincent?”
he says, confused. “My last name is—”

“Vincent,”
I say. “I know. I’m—” I stop. Trying to convince him is pointless. Even if he
believed me, it wouldn’t change anything. I take his hand and recite a random
sentence, spoken by my father in the past. “Summer in Antarctica begins in
about seven weeks.”

He
looks at me, dumbfounded. “Isn’t it always summer in Antarctica now?”

It
didn’t work.

I
had two fears about this trip. The first is that it wouldn’t work here.
That I’d have to somehow get my parents to Antarctica to restore
their memories.
My second fear is that it wouldn’t work at all, no
matter where we were. Xin gave me that ability to restore memories erased by
the Nephilim, but maybe that gift only extended to the Clark family.

While
my father is still impressed enough by my celebrity to not be worried about my
strangeness, I say, “Mr. Vincent, can you have your wife join us? I’d like to
ask you both something.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”
He heads for the kitchen.

While
I’m waiting, I turn around and look at the painting again.

The painting!

I
rush over to it, and pull the painting from the wall, revealing a safe. The
same
safe!

I
turn the dial left and right, entering the combination: 7-21-38.

“Hey,”
my father says, more confused than angry. “You can’t open that. It needs a
combo—”

The
safe door swings open silencing my father.

“Mark,
what is he doing?” my mom asks.

The
others have gathered around them. Nearly losing my mind, I rifle through the
safe, spilling its contents on the floor until I find it.
The
pouch.
Immediately, I know that something is different. There had been a
photo inside, of my parents and the Clarks. It was inscribed with a note from
Merrill, congratulating my parents on my birth. The Nephilim who erased me from
history were thorough.

But
the small, hard lump remains. I shake the stone out of the pouch. When it hits
my hands, I feel a surge of power, not unlike the first time I held this stone,
this fragment of Antarctica.

“Are...you
okay?” my father asks.

Regaining
my composure, I hold the stone up. “This is a part of Antarktos, a part of me.”
I walk to my dumbstruck parents. The King of Antarktos has just broken into
their safe and retrieved a small chunk of granite.
“Just as
the both of you are.”

Holding
the stone beneath one thumb, I hold my hands out to both of them. “Take my
hands.”

They
look at each other, confused by the request, but Mira encourages them, saying,
“It’s okay.”

They
tentatively take my hands. I swallow, take a deep breath and then speak the
words my parents said to me exactly seven thousand five hundred and thirty one
times during the thirteen years I was with them, “I love you.”

Dear
Reader,

You
are just an epilogue away from finishing the final book in
The Antarktos Saga
, which I believe is my best story to date, and I
wanted to take a moment to thank you for reading. I hope you have enjoyed the
journey and that you will come back for more adventures. If you did enjoy the
book, please show your support by posting a review at Amazon.com. The Amazon
website works on algorithms, meaning the more people review my
books,
the more Amazon will recommend them to other readers.
And the more people buy my books, the more I get to write them, which is a good
thing for both of us (assuming you enjoyed the book). While other indie authors
are paying for five star reviews, I'm depending on you, the actual reader, to
voice your opinion. So head on over to Amazon when you finish the epilogue and
tell the world what you thought of this book. And while you're there, feel free
to click the "like" button and the customer tags. They all help.

Thank
you again and please forgive this intrusion. Back to the book!

--
Jeremy Robinson

www.jeremyrobinsononline.com

Epilogue 2

Belgrave
Ninnis stepped into the chilly darkness. His skin rose with goose bumps, and
his bare limbs shivered. It had been a long time since he felt the biting chill
of the underground. But it was not yet entirely foreign to him. A hunter never
forgets these things. Of course, Ninnis wasn’t just a hunter. He was a husband.
A father.
And a man of honor.

He
was also old, a fact that he was reminded of with every step of his upward
journey. He walked without stopping, spurred onward by anticipation.
Remembering his own training, he pushed through the pain until at
last,
he felt warm sunlight on his face. He stepped from the
cave and found himself surrounded by lush green in every direction.

Without
a location in mind, he set out, eating fruit from the land and drinking
greedily from the clear flowing waters that he seemed to find whenever he grew
thirsty. He walked for days like this until he found a stone path winding through
the jungle. He looked in both directions, unsure of which direction to follow.

A
distant thrumming grew louder. He recognized the sound and search for a place
to hide. But it was upon him too quickly. He turned to face the predatory
dinosaur, but there was no need to fight. The dinosaur had a rider—a man with
thick dark hair. The man gave a nod and removed his dark tinted sunglasses.

“You’re
pretty far from anywhere useful,” the man said. “You want a ride?”

“On that?”
Ninnis said.

“Are
you new to Antarktos?” the man asked. “Are you lost?”

“No,
but I’m afraid, yes.”

Accepting
the man’s offer, Ninnis climbed onto the dinosaur’s back, finding a vacant
second saddle waiting for him. They rode in silence for a long time, and Ninnis
admired the jungle, the lushness of it, and the life. It reminded him of the
place that had been his home for the past year.

As
the sun began to set, the man finally said, “I never asked you where you were
going?
”

After
a pause, Ninnis said, “To see the King.”

“You’re
in luck, then,” the man said. “So am I.”

Not
ten minutes later, a mountain citadel came into view. It was unlike anything
Ninnis had ever seen before, in his time before Antarctica, as a hunter in the
underworld or during his time in Tartarus. It occurred to him
then, that
far more than a year had passed. Nervousness
swelled as he feared he was too late. “How many years has it been?” he asked as
they rode through the city gates, and were greeted with friendly waves from an
assortment of people.
“Since the war?”

The
man looked back and said to himself, though Ninnis heard him clearly, “Man, I
hope my memory doesn’t go some day.”

“Please,”
Ninnis said.
“How long?”

“Twenty
years,” the man said.

Twenty
years. Thank God.

The
man tied the dinosaur to a post where several others were drinking from a
fountain. “This way,” he said, leading Ninnis past a graveyard. Ninnis glanced
at the stones. Some names meant nothing to him: Brigadier General Kent
Holloway, Lieutenant Elias Baker, First Lieutenant Victor Cruz, Zok,
Vesuvius
. But others plucked at his heart, threatening to
return a burden he had managed to leave behind in Tartarus. He read their
names, one by one: Xin. Tobias.
Cerberus.
Hades.
Zuh.
Adoni.
Men, women, and Nephilim who fought for what was right,
against him, and sacrificed everything.

Ninnis
looked up at the tower above. Its smooth surface, lacking any ornate décor,
reflected the late day sun, glowing orange. The tower was surrounded by walls
lined with trees, staircases and walkways. A flag blowing in the wind caught his
attention.
White, with an image of Antarctica, a single gold
star at its core.
He remembered seeing it on the battlefield, a symbol
of mankind’s unity. Everywhere he looked, he saw people, living their lives in
safety.

The sacrifices of the men, women and
creatures lain to rest in this graveyard were not made in vain,
Ninnis thought.

He
paused by the last two sets of gravestones. He only knew one of them, but he
knew who the others were and what they meant to Solomon.
Dr. Merrill Clark and Aimee Clark, beloved parents who fought for us
all.
And then,
Mark Vincent and Beth
Vincent, beloved parents returned to the King.
Wiping tears from his eyes,
Ninnis noticed the dates and found all of them to be more recent than not. It
wouldn’t make up for the years he’d stolen from the boy, but it was something.

“Can
you handle a few stairs?” the man asked.

Ninnis
nearly laughed. He’d already climbed out of the depths of the underworld. A few
stairs wouldn’t hurt. But there were more than a few. He had to stop twice to
rest.

“Need
some help?” the man asked, sounding genuinely concerned and less sarcastic.

Ninnis
sighed.
“If you wouldn’t mind.”

They
climbed the rest of the stairs together. “Where are we going?” Ninnis asked
when they reached the top flight of stairs. A pair of large wooden doors,
arched at the top. Over the top of arch was a capstone engraved with the words,
None
Shall Remove.

“To
see the King,” the man answered.

“You
can just walk in and have an audience with the King?” Ninnis asked. It didn’t
sound logical or safe.

The
man smiled. “No. I just happen to be his constable.”

“But...”
Ninnis said, “I’m just an old man you plucked from the side of the road.”

The
constable stopped with a hand on one of the doors. “Actually, he sent me to get
you.”

“Sent
you?
Who?”

“The King, of course.”

The
man shoved the door open and Ninnis froze. There before him was the last thing
he expected to see. It was a banquet.
An enormous bounty.
But it was the people...hundreds of them, standing, staring at him.

The
constable smiled and waved him inside.

Ninnis
took an unsure footstep. Then another, lost in the sea of faces, until he
stopped on one he knew. Solomon. The boy stood just ten feet away. But he
looked so young, as though little time had passed.
“S—Solomon?”

“No,”
the boy chuckled. “I’m Luca. Sol is up there.”

Ninnis
followed the young man’s finger to the center of the room, where a strong man
with long blond hair, broad shoulders and a full beard stood smiling. Beside
him was a woman whose strength radiated like the sun. Beside them sat several
children, a veritable brood of them. As his eyes scanned to the side, he saw
other faces he knew, aged, but living. These were Solomon’s friends, the ones
who helped him save the human race.

Solomon
cleared his voice and nodded to the constable, “Thank you, Justin.”

Solomon
turned to Ninnis and smiled. “Welcome home, father,” he motioned to the
children beside him.
“Grandfather.”

Ninnis
stared at the children, his
grandchildren.

The
emotion of it all weakened his weary legs. He feared he might fall, but a
strong grasp held him up. He turned to find the blazing eyes of his daughter,
Kainda, the Queen, who had left her spot by the King. She held him up like he
weighed nothing at all. “I have you, father, and I will not let you go.”

He
smiled at her, tears in his eyes, and said, “Nor I you.”

With
a loud voice, Solomon proclaimed, “Tonight we celebrate the return of Belgrave
Ninnis, who was dead, and is alive again. Who was lost, and is now found. We
welcome him not just as father and grandfather, but as the man who lost his
life, who endured torture, the breaking, and enslavement, and in the end, when
the world was on the brink, managed to find a strength that is impossible to
comprehend. He bound the darkness and removed it from our world.”

Cheers
and clapping erupted around the dining hall.

King
Solomon raised a glass in a toast.
“To Ninnis!
The man who saved us all.”

###