The Last Hunter - Descent (Book 1 of the Antarktos Saga) (23 page)

But the pain is so intense, permeating me to the core, that I think bottling it up completely might make me explode.

“What’s happening?” I manage to squeak out.

“You’re being healed,” he says. “The technique is typically used on a limb or wound, but your whole body was broken. You almost died. We had to immerse you.”

I manage a look down. I’m lying in what I can only describe as a stone tub. It’s full of watery red liquid. “What is it?”

“Ull’s blood diluted with water. Straight blood would kill you.”

“Feels like it’s killing me.”

“If we left you in there, it would. In fact, if you hadn’t been born here, I think it would have already. But you seem to have a little bit of their blood in you already.”

I give a weak nod. “The spirit of the Nephilim.”

Ninnis leans in closer. “Where did you hear that name?”

It’s hard to focus on an answer, mostly because I don’t know, and that’s what I tell him.

He stares at me. I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

Then it comes to me. “Heroes of old. Men of renown. There were Nephilim on the Earth in those days, and I am like a grasshopper in their sight.”

I know I’m paraphrasing. Probably butchering whatever it is I’m quoting. But my mind has put together some puzzle pieces. “I must have read it somewhere before I came here.” I can see Ninnis believes me now. “Is that right? Are our masters the Nephilim?”

He nods. “They are.”

My head spins, but I don’t think the cause is the revelation of my master’s identity. The pain is dulling, or my consciousness is fading. I feel my heart skip a beat. “How will you know when to take me out?” I ask, but it comes out garbled. The brown stone room swirls around me.

I feel my head lull back as my vision fades.

Ninnis says, “That’s how I know.” And I feel his arms slide under me. Then nothing.

* * *

When I open my eyes again, I no longer feel pain. In fact, I’m positively comfortable. I’m lying on my side and can see the gray skin of an egg-monster beneath me. Actually, it must be a stack of skins, because when I shift my weight, the cushion conforms to my body. Two soft skins cover me like blankets. Since my life underground began, I’ve slept without cover. The weight feels good.

For a moment, I think I will drift back to sleep, but I force myself up as memories of my bloody baptism return. I remove the blankets and inspect my body. My wounds are healed. I move my arms. They work without a hitch. I take a deep breath. There is no pain, so my ribs must be healed, too.

I slide out of the bed and stand. My balance is good. A few good leaps confirm my legs are strong. I fall forward like a tree cut by Ull’s axe and catch myself just inches from the stone floor. Strong as ever.

Hopping back to my feet, I inspect the room. The brown stone walls are similar to what I saw from the tub, but are covered in graffiti. Swirls, circles and intersecting lines. The symbols look vaguely familiar, like those on the obelisks from New Jericho. Hanging from a hook next to the bed (which, as I suspected, is made from a stack of at least thirty eggy skins) is a cresty head and cloak that matches Ull’s. I try it on.

The teeth are sharp and bite into my forehead. But I don’t mind, the pain feels good and the grip helps it stay on. The cloak hangs over my shoulders and stops just before the floor. I wish I had a mirror.

“It suits you,” Ninnis says from the doorway.

I turn toward him and find him dressed in black leathers, though much of his body is still bare. He notices my inquisitive look. “When we are in one of the citadels, we are to dress as our masters do. It’s a sign of respect, but it also protects you.”

“Protects me?”

“From the others. Until you are branded, the cloak marks you as the property of Ull, son of Thor, son of Odin. A strong bloodline that the others will not dare violate. If you misstep and require punishment, it will be handled by your master, or your master’s brethren alone. The Norse will not go lightly on you, but they won’t kill you either. Certainly not after the promise you showed in the arena.”

I brighten at his words. “I did well?”

“You did exceptional. In fact, I have never heard of one of the masters being wounded in the trial. Ull is quite proud. He has spread word of your deeds across the continent over the past month.”

“A month? I’ve been unconscious for a month?”

“Roughly. I think. Thirty wakings and sleepings. That’s how you keep track of time, yes?”

I’m not sure I ever told him as much, but he had watched me for quite a while. It’s possible he figured it out.

“My injuries took that long to heal?”

“Your wounds were healed the moment I took you out of the bath. But the effect of the master’s blood on the mind is powerful. And your exposure was intense. How do you feel?”

“Never better.”

“Good,” he says. “Your final test is tomorrow and while it will not be as painful as the last, it will require all of your skills. When you pass that test, this room will be yours along with one like it in all the citadels. You will be part of the Norse house and receive all of the benefits of the bloodline.”

“When will I be branded?”

Ninnis sits on the bed and tests the cushion. “You won’t be.”

“Why not?”

“You will belong to the Norse for a time, but once you are prepared for the task, body and soul, you will offer yourself up to another.”

“Not given?”

“No,” Ninnis says. “You must give yourself over to him willingly.”

“Give myself to who?”

He ponders answering for a moment, then shakes his head. “You have earned the truth. Or at least the small part I dare reveal. You will give yourself to the very first master. He is the oldest and strongest of them, and they are all named for him. Nephil, father of Enlil and Enki, who is my master and ruler of this world.”

“Is he here now?” I ask eagerly. “Can I meet him now?”

Ninnis frowns and looks to the floor. “He is not here. He has not been among us for a very long time.”

“Where is he?”

He continues staring at the floor, like he can see straight through it. “Below us. In Tartarus.”

Tartarus. “I thought that was a Greek version of hell?”

“Tartarus predates the Greeks. It is a physical realm, unlike hell, and is far worse. He is a prisoner there. His spirit is trapped. Unable to escape until bonded with a body strong enough to enter Tartarus and return.”

My eyes grow wide. “They think I can do this?”

Ninnis stands. “I’ve said too much.”

“But—”

“Speak of this to no one,” he says. “You will be told everything when the time is right.”

“Ninnis, please,” I persist, but that just fuels his anger.

“Quiet, Ull! You best focus yourself on the final test! Eat. Regain your strength and wit. If you fail tomorrow you will learn nothing more than what hell awaits you in the afterlife as you are torn limb from limb. You have earned a place of honor here. See that you retain it!”

I bow my head, acknowledging his wisdom. “What is the final trial?”

“A hunt. On the surface.”

My heart races with anticipation. My sleeping body missed the hunt.

“And our prey?”

Ninnis grins now, his anger erased. “The best kind. Human.”

30

I haven’t slept again by the time Ninnis comes back, but I have eaten, three times. I’m not sure who brings the food, but every so often there is a knock on the wooden door. When I answer it, there is a plate of cooked meat on the hallway floor. It is the best food I’ve eaten since I can remember, but there is no one to thank for it.

Though I’ve been in the room for hours, I haven’t ventured more than a few feet past the door. The hallway dwarfs my room, which is closer to a mouse hole by comparison. I’m not sure, but this must be some kind of human-only portion of the citadel. The doors lining both sides of the hallway are all human sized despite the space being large enough for two Nephilim walking side by side.

Most of the doors are open and the rooms beyond are empty. I suspect that they belong to other hunters, like Ninnis—like me—who are in other parts of the continent right now. I wish I could meet them now, but suspect I will after I pass this third and final test.

I lie on the egg-monster skin bed and stare at the ceiling. But I’m no longer seeing its graffiti-covered surface. Instead, I picture as many different scenarios as possible. I know I’ll be on the surface, so there will likely be snow on the ground. Maybe cracks in the ice to hide in. If I’m lucky it will be night, but I suspect it will be day. The darkness of night would make things too easy.

It will be daylight. I’m sure of it. And the sun will hurt my eyes. In fact, with the surface of Antarctica largely barren of cover and either stripped clean by high winds or covered in snow, hiding may well be impossible. My white skin will help me blend in with the snow and ice. But my hair—I take a handful of the clumpy red mass and pull it in front of my eyes—my hair will stand out like a beacon.

The odds are against me being stealthy. But maybe that’s not required? Before I can picture a thousand ways to charge at and quickly kill another human being, Ninnis is at the door.

“It’s time,” he says.

The journey is several miles of uphill paths. Ull accompanies us most of the way and sets our pace at a brisk walk—for him. Ninnis and I have to run to keep up and when the terrain gets rough, that becomes a challenge for both of us. Several hours later we reach the end of our journey. The forty foot tall tunnel shrinks down to ten and Ull stops.

“This is where we part ways, little Ull,” he says. “I will wait here for your return and the report of your success or failure.”

I nod.

“Should you succeed, you will be welcome in the halls of Asgard for the rest of your days.”

“Asgard?” I ask.

“The citadels,” Ninnis says. “Asgard. Olympus. Tuat. They’re the dwelling places of the masters.”

“I—I know,” I say. “I just never thought they were—”

“Real?” Ull finishes. He leans in close, his head larger than my body. “We are very real, little hunter.” He motions for the small tunnel ahead. “Now go. And do not fail.”

“I won’t,” I say before heading into the tunnel with Ninnis.

After another mile hike, we reach the end of the tunnel. A wall of glowing white caps the end. I squint at the bright sphere of snow.

Ninnis dons a pair of sunglasses.

“None for me?” I ask.

“Not this time,” he says. “No weapons. No gear. Just this.”

He holds up a leather bag.

“What’s this for?”

“Several hundred feet below the exit you will find a man and a woman. Put this over her head and capture her, alive.”

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.”