“What is your name?” I ask.
“Doug,” he says.
I nearly laugh. Doug? Really? It’s the most mundane and normal name I’ve heard in the underworld. Like Norman. Or Chuck. Or Bob. The name also reminds me that he wasn’t born here. He wasn’t always a hunter. He had a family once. Maybe children. And the menace he feels toward me and everything else was instilled in him by the Nephilim. “Do something for me, Doug” I say.
“Anything.”
“The hunters, Preeg and Pyke, do you know them?”
He shakes his head, no. “Then you will learn who they are.”
“I will find them,” he says.
“They will have a boy with them. A boy who has yet to be broken. Find him and take him, but do not harm him. I would break him myself. Make him my first protégé.”
“And if they do not release the boy?” he asks.
I hadn’t considered that possibility in my hasty plan, or considered the fact that Luca might now be with Ninnis and Kainda. I give the only answer that Ull could give, “You will give them no choice.”
“Understood.”
“Now go,” I say. “Speak of this to no one. Succeed and I will elevate your status. Fail and I will finish what we began here today.” I turn to Emilie. “Fetch his weapon.”
She picks up the meteor hammer and hands it to me. I hold the weapon in my hand, feeling the strength of the chain and the weight of the spiked balls. A single blow from this weapon would have been enough to kill me.
We got lucky, I think, and I decide that this visit to Asgard should be brief.
I drop the weapon at my feet and show no fear at the fact that I’ve just armed the man who moments ago would have killed me. He collects it and stands, his head still downturned. He gives a slight bow, “My Lord,” and then heads on his way.
I stand there, watching him leave. When I can no longer see him, I listen. When the sound of his feet fade away, and his scent fades along with it, my legs begin to shake.
“I can’t do this,” I say, returning to myself.
Em catches me and holds me up. “Where are we going?”
“To my room. You know where they are?”
She gives me a look that says, duh, and adds, “I grew up here, remember?”
She leans me against a column, against the face of Ull of all places, and quickly collects her knives. “For the record, a wife is allowed to defend her husband’s honor. Had his wife been present, we would have fought to the death.”
My face pales at the thought.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I would have won.”
With her knives returned to their sheaths, she steps up to me. “Can you walk? Because I can’t help you.”
I nod and take a shaky step. I push through the weakness and by the time we reach the end of the hall, and enter the next, I have regained the confident strut of Ull. The walls here stretch forty feet high to accommodate the Nephilim warriors. The hallway stretches far to the left and leads to several other hallways, rooms and the grand chamber where I consumed the blood of Nephil. To the right is the curving staircase that leads to the human-sized living quarters, where I hope to find Aimee, and give her something that is more hers than mine—something that will soon do me very little good and might yet save her life. Or at least her soul.
28
I find myself more nervous standing in front of Aimee’s door than when I crossed the threshold into Asgard. Seeing her again is going to hurt. Not like it did when I last saw her, when the very sight of her face ripped my surprised Solomon personality back to the surface and buried Ull. This will be different. She’s been here for some time now and I’m afraid I’ll see horror in her eyes. My first memory after being born is Aimee’s smiling face. And I’m terrified the love she normally exudes will have been tainted.
Because of me. I took her. I brought her here. And I’m coming to tell her there will be no escape.
Em looks both ways. She’s nervous for a different reason. We’re standing in a hallway filled with human sized doors, behind which any number of hunters could lurk. One of the rooms behind us belonged to her and if anyone was going to recognize her, it would be here.
But we haven’t seen another soul since Doug.
“What are you waiting for?” She whispers.
“I’m nervous,” I reply, and for a moment I feel happy that I have someone I can be honest with about how I’m feeling. It’s a rare thing in the underworld. In fact, it’s probably unheard of. Of course, the only other person I can be open with lives on the other side of this door.
I knock on the wooden door.
Em shoots me a confused glance. “What are you doing?”
“I’m knocking,” I say, but then remember that no one down here knocks. “It’s like asking permission to enter.”
She shakes her head, twists the doorknob and enters. I follow her in, hoping the rude entry will not make a bad impression. But there is no one inside to impress. The walls are covered in graffiti—symbols and images drawn by hunters and teachers past. But Aimee has been living here. I can tell by the collection of topside trinkets she’s managed to collect somehow and the red knit blanket on her bed. How did she get yarn? I wonder. I run my hand over the red blanket and recognize the texture. It’s feeder hair.
There are many other items in the room that I’d like to look through, but time is short. We need to begin the journey to Tartarus soon. But I need to see Aimee! I can’t leave her here not knowing what I’m about to do, not knowing that the next time she sees me I might not be myself. I might be Nephil.
My disappointment shows on my face like a lighthouse beacon in the night.
Em takes my hand. “Sorry.”
I see a roll of parchment and sticks of charcoal. “I'll leave a note.”
“Wait,” Em says, her face smiling with revelation. “She’s a teacher, right?”
I nod.
“Teachers spend most of their time in the library. Studying and teaching. It’s likely we’ll find her there.”
I head for the door.
She stops me. “The library is on the other side of Asgard. It’s likely we’ll run into someone along the way. We didn’t have far to travel here, but we’ll have to cut through the core of the city to reach her.”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to—” An idea strikes as I glance into the hall and see the door to my quarters. I pull Em behind me, rushing for the door. “I have an idea.”
There’s no hesitation as I enter my room. Memories try to come back and haunt me, but I fight them away. My focus is the clothing laid out on my bed—primarily the cloak made of cresty skin and its cresty-head hood. It’s a miniature version of the garb the Nephilim Ull wore and will be instantly recognizable to anyone who sees it. My identity will be revealed, but since no one but Kainda and Ninnis knows I’ve changed, no one should dare to challenge me, outlander wife or not.
Em sees the cloak and offers three slow nods. “Good idea.”
I throw the cloak on, button it over my chest and pull the hood up over my head. The hood still has the cresty’s upper jaw and skull, so it’s heavy on my head and the teeth bite into my skin. But it has the desired effect. When I turn to Em, she looks uncomfortable. “How do I look?”
“Awful,” she says.
“What about you?” I ask. “Do you think your clothes are still here?”
“It’s been too long,” she says. “They would have been destroyed.”
“Then let’s go,” I say. I lead the way out of the room and toward the human quarters’ exit. Halfway there, I freeze.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“This is where it happened.” I say.
Em looks at me, trying to figure out what I’m talking about.
“This is where I killed him. Ull. His head lay here, where I’m standing, with his own arrow buried in his forehead.”
Em looks at the stone floor. “It’s a good memory.”
It’s hard to think of an act so vi
olent as a good memory, but I find myself feeling better as I remember how I fought the giant, using my skills as a hunter and my connection with the continent to defeat a monster thousands of years old. It was one of my finer moments, and it allowed Tobias to die a free man.
“C’mon,” I say, tugging Em along. “Which way to the library?”
Whispering directions from behind me, Em leads us through the center of Asgard, revealing many of its great halls, which are ornately decorated with sculptures, balustrades and obelisks. The place is like an amalgam of several ancient cultures, with gods from around the world being represented. As I look at a statue of Odin, master of Asgard and father of the Norse god lineage, I realize this whole place is a Nephilim temple built to worship themselves. For the hunters living here, they’re constantly reminded that they’re living among gods. And for the other Nephilim classes—breeders, gatherers, thinkers and the others—the fact that they are ruled by the warriors can never be forgotten.
We pass two lone hunters and a group of four gatherers in heated discussion on our way to the library. The hunters meet my eyes, see the cresty skull on my head and then look away, no doubt recognizing me for who I am…or rather, who I’m not. The gatherers either don’t notice us at all or don’t think twice about our presence.
We reach the entrance to the library and I pause. The doorway is forty feet tall to accommodate the warriors and its stone frame has been covered with an ancient language that I don’t recognize. But it’s not the doorway that gives me pause.
Em stops next to me and shakes her head. “You know,” she says, “for the future Lord of the Nephilim, you’re a huge wimp.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. If anyone saw or heard me, there would be trouble, but her words cut through my nervous tension like Whipsnap through a feeder’s belly. “Story of my life,” I say, and then we step into the library.
The place, like every other room in this city, is massive. Eighty foot ceilings and untold square footage cause our footsteps to echo. If there is anyone in here, they know we’ve entered. There are rows of shelves, like any other library, and some of them actually contain books—human books from the outside world! I look at them like a kid in an ice cream store. It’s been so long since my mind fed on a book. I pull one from the shelf as we pass. It’s an old illustrated paperback of Pilgrim’s Progress, a story that I’ve actually not yet read. I open one of the pouches attached to my belt and place it inside. I see Em watching me. “What?”
“The gates of Tartarus and the spirit of Nephilim await us in the depths and you’re stealing a book.”
With a shrug, I say, “I like to read.”
We pass through the shelves of books, and enter a world of scrolls, many of which appear to be leather…or more accurately, skin, and I wonder if any of them are human. The monotony of the endless rows discourages me. Finding someone here will be hard, and we don’t even really know that Aimee is here.
A light up ahead catches my attention. Most of Asgard flickers from the light of torches. But the light ahead of us is steady. And bright. I squint as we draw closer. Even the brightest crystals underground don’t glow so vividly. The source comes into view a moment later. It looks like an oversized light bulb complete with a glass tube and a twisted metal filament inside. It looks very familiar and I search my memory for a reference. I find the answer in a book on Egypt I read when I was eight. The image in my mind comes from the temple of Hathor at Dendera, where a detailed inscription depicts what looks like an over-sized light bulb that looks oddly similar to an early modern light bulb called a Crookes tube. And here it is. The real thing. A giant light bulb attached to a column that rises eighty feet to the ceiling.
The light bulb has engaged my mind so fully that I fail to notice the person sitting beneath it. It’s not until she speaks my name, “Solomon?” that I look down and see Aimee, wrapped in a red blanket, with a book in her lap. The scene is so normal that it’s abnormal, and I stare at her in silence for a moment. When my thoughts clear, I see her face clearly for the first time in more than a year and realize that I’m not the one who is frightened anymore. Aimee stares up at me, terrified, and with a nervous voice, asks, “Is that…you, Solomon?”
29
I’m confused by Aimee’s fear for a moment, but then I remember what I look like. I’m wearing the garb of Ull, my hair is fully blood red and I’m in the presence of a lethal looking hunter with more knives than a shark has teeth. Knowing she must think I’ve reverted back to Ull, I pull off my cresty hood, and put on a smile.
“It’s me,” I say. “It’s Sol.”
She stands quickly. The book and blanket fall to the floor. Before I can blink, her arms are around me, crushing me with a love so strong that I had begun to believe the memory of it was a dream. When she separates, we both have tears in our eyes.
“It’s been so long,” she says. “I wasn’t sure I would ever see you again. And then I heard about the ceremony…” Her hands squeeze my shoulders. “Look at you. You’ve grown so big! Like your uncles.”
My first thought is, she knows my uncles? But then I realize the comment about my size was meant to change the subject. She knows about the ceremony. About the gates of Tartarus. We’ll get to that in a moment, I decide. “Have you been treated well?”
“Well for a prisoner,” she says. “And better than most. I’ve learned all about the society here. The rules. The things you endured. I have it easy by comparison. If I do as they ask. I study. I teach. And fill my free time how I might have before—reading and knitting, though I do miss baking.”
“I remember your cookies.”
She smiles. Her kind eyes, broad grin and dark skin reminds me of Mira. “You remember everything.”
I look around. There is no trace of another living thing in this library. I see nothing, hear nothing and smell nothing other than old books and dust. “You aren’t guarded?”
“They took me to Olympus once. The journey took two weeks, each way, and I got a look at the creatures that live outside. I wouldn’t last a day. So there is no concern about me escaping. And there is nothing I can do to them here. I’ve decided to learn everything I can, and maybe, someday, my knowledge will serve some good.”
“You could come with us,” I say.
She shakes her head. “I am dreadful in the underground. Claustrophobic it turns out.” She looks around. “These giant halls are fine, but in the tight squeezes you hunters use to move about, I’m cryolophosaurus food.”
This name isn’t familiar. “Cryolophosaurus?”
“The dinosaurs. With the crests on their heads. It’s the technical name for them.”
“Oh,” I say. “I call them cresties. I named one of them Alice. A thirty foot female.”
Aimee cringes. “Sounds dreadful.”
“She’s dead,” I say.
“You?”
I nod. “She was going to eat Kainda.”
Kainda’s name removes every trace of happiness from Aimee’s face. It’s easy to see that not everything here has been pleasant.
“Might have been a good idea to let the dinosaur eat that one.”
“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
“Making friends, are you?” She looks around me, to Em.
I stand to the side. Aimee looks her up and down and then looks back to me. “You’ve taken a wife?”
Em tries to stifle a laugh, but fails.
“We’re in disguise,” I explain. “Aimee, this is Emilie. Em, this is Aimee.”
Aimee’s eyes widen. “Ahh, Emilie. Daughter of Tobias. Bonded to the Nephilim, Tyr.”
Em shifts uncomfortably in the gaze of Aimee, who knows a surprising amount about her.
Aimee notices our confused looks and says, “I’m sorry. They’ve had me creating a chronological history of the house of Odin. You are to be admired, Em. Few have ever broken the bonds and freed themselves from this place. Even fewer have survived as long. Is Tobias with you?”
“Slain,” Em says. “By Ninnis.”
“Keep away from him,” she says. “The man thinks of nothing but—” Her hand goes to her mouth. “You’re going, aren’t you? The ceremony. I had hoped you didn’t know. That it was a trick of some sort. But it’s real. You’re to be bonded with Nephil?”
“I have no choice,” I say.
“There is always a choice!” She sits down, shaking her head. “Why would you do such a thing? Without you, there’s no—”
I crouch in front of her. “Mrs. Clark,” I say. The use of her last name brings her eyes to mine. “Ninnis has her brother, Luca. He is unspoiled by this place, with hair as white as the snow.”
The news softens her resolve, but she is not yet convinced.
“Tobias took me in, and died as a result. Em is a sister to me now. And Luca, Aimee, he’s…he’s like a brother to me, but…” I can’t think of a way to say this and have it make sense, so I just spill it. “He’s me. A little me. Created from hair stolen from Clark Station One.”
Aimee’s head lowers toward the floor. “I know,” she says.
“You know?”
“One of many awful secrets I have uncovered in this place. I had hoped you would never find out.”
This information stings. That Aimee would keep anything from me feels like a betrayal. I stand and take a step back. “But why?”
“Because of what you are about to do,” she says. “Your bond to family has always been strong. I believed they might influence you.”
“Influence me?”
“Not all of them are unspoiled,” she says, looking me in the eyes. “You would do well to avoid the others.”
“If any part of me resides in them, then there might be a chance—”
“No,” she says. “Don’t even think it.”
I decide to drop the subject. The fate that awaits me at the gates makes it a moot point. Unless… “Do you know their names?”
“I will not tell you,” she says.
“Is one of them Xin?” I ask.
“Xin?” Em says, her voice full of shock and revulsion.
The Last Hunter - Pursuit (Book 2 of the Antarktos Saga) Page 15