“This is the first we’ve seen of them,” Wright says.
He’s right. The centipedes don’t normally hunt this close to the surface. Food must be scarce. “I once faced several thousand of them, some reaching thirty feet long.”
Kat’s not buying the story, but Wright, with whom I have a good rapport, blanches a little.
“Right,” Kat says. “How’d you handle that?”
I grin. “The only way possible. I ran like hell.”
My honest admission takes some of the fire out of Kat’s eyes. But she’s still not pleased. “Look, I get why you did it, but you’re kids. You’re not our parents. Or our mentors. If I ask for help, and you are able to give it, you will. Am I understood?”
Never one for tact, Kainda says, “No.”
Kat turns to Wright, “Please let me put her over my knee.”
I’m not sure if Kainda understands the parental spanking reference, but she knows a threat when she hears one. She takes another step forward, muscles tensing.
Wright stands between the women. “Kat, stand down.”
“That an order, Captain?” Kat says, oozing sarcasm.
“Actually,” Wright says, “I really don’t want you to get your head bashed in.”
Kat’s anger turns toward her husband. She doesn’t say anything, but I know what she’s thinking. To her, we’re kids. Amateurs. I might have impressed her with the demonstration of my abilities, but she has yet to see us in battle. It doesn’t matter that in surface years, I am actually her senior. I still have the body of an eighteen year old. But she’s going to have to get past that mental hurdle sooner or later.
So I let the second centipede, which is creeping up behind Kat and Wright, get a little closer. She needs to understand or she will never follow our lead. And down here, in our element, that will get her killed.
“Okay, Captain Know-It-All,” Kat says to me, “How would you handle a giant centipede?”
I look to Em. “Go ahead.”
In the blink of an eye, Em reaches to her waist like a gunslinger, draws a large knife and flings it with a snap of her wrist. The blade slices through the air, just missing Kat, whose eyes have just squinted with refined focus. I see her throwing her own blade toward Em, but I use the wind to knock it from the air, just as it leaves her hand.
Kat is about to rush in and press the attack when she hears the thump of a body hitting the ground behind her. She spins and finds a second massive centipede lying dead at her feet. Em’s blade is buried in the center of its head.
Wright steps back and whispers a curse. He had no idea the creature was behind them.
Kat just looks down at the dead creature. She bends, plucks the knife out of its head and wipes the gore off on her pant leg. Just then, a third, smaller centipede that I hadn’t sensed, launches from a burrow in the tunnel wall. Kat sidesteps the airborne centipede and brings the knife down, impaling its head and driving it down to the stone floor. She holds it there until it stops writhing.
The whole attack and killing takes just seconds.
She looks up at us and grins. “I’m a fast learner.”
Kainda returns the smile. The two women who were ready to beat each other senseless just moments ago have found some common ground—the quick and efficient killing of their enemies. She nudges me. “I like her.”
Wright recovers his dropped knife and sheaths it. “So, what’s next?”
We’ve been slowly and carefully working our way toward the bowels of Mount Olympus. Our goal is to find the Nephilim known as Hades, lord of the Underworld, and friend—possibly former friend—of the Titan known as Cronus. Hades, according to Cronus, knows the location of the Jericho Shofar, which is supposedly one of the horns that brought down the walls of the Biblical city of Jericho. I’m not sure I buy that story, but when a several thousand-year-old Titan trapped in Tartarus tells you about a weapon that can turn the tide of battle against the Nephilim, you at least look into it. And honestly, I don’t have a better plan.
But Olympus has to wait a little while longer. We’ve been so busy dodging waves of hunters scouring the underworld that we haven’t eaten in a long time. We might have to fight our way into and out of the Nephilim citadel, nevermind the possibility that Hades will not be pleased to see us or to hear that Cronus sent us to him. We’re going to need our strength.
I point at the dead Chilopoda. “Now, we eat.”
2
A gentle breeze generated by my connection to the continent swirls around our group, keeping our scent, and the odor of our three kills, contained to this small portion of cave. A hunter could still stumble upon us, but they won’t track us by scent.
Kainda separates five segments of the largest centipede and carves open the tops so that each resembles a bowl full of lumpy plain yogurt. She demonstrates how to scoop out the gelatinous flesh with her fingers and scrapes it off into her mouth before swallowing the dollop whole.
“How does it taste?” Wright asks. He’s trying to sound curious, but the skin around his nose is pinched up in disgust.
“Like dung,” Kainda replies.
“It’s not that bad,” Em says, trying to put our guests at ease.
Her efforts are undone when I laugh and say, “Yes it is.” But I follow my statement with a demonstration of my own. I scoop out some of the gooey flesh. “It’s fatty, full of protein and provides an energy boost. Oh, it’s also great for wounds. Just shove some of this in an open wound and bandage over it. It accelerates healing and fights infection.”
“That’s...disgusting,” Wright says.
“The trick is to hold your breath.” I scrape the flesh into my mouth and swallow without chewing. “Mmm, Mikey likes it.”
Wright and Kat both laugh lightly. Like me, they’re children of the 80s and recognize the catchphrase from the Life cereal ads.
“Where’s the beef?” Wright asks, mimicking the old woman from the equally popular Wendy’s advertising campaign. When I got chicken pox, my mom bought me a “Where’s the beef?” T-shirt. I loved that shirt.
As Kat and I laugh a little bit louder, Em and Kainda look at the three of us like we’re crazy.
“They’re television commercials,” Wright tries to explain. “From when we were kids.”
“I notice that he’s including me in the, ‘when we were kids’ statement, which says he’s starting to believe that my surface age is close to his. But his explanation is lost on my fellow hunters.
“They’ve never seen a TV,” I say.
Wright’s forehead wrinkles. “Never?”
“How long have you been here?” Kat asks, then scoops a wad of cream cheese meat into her mouth and swallows it down. She winces, but doesn’t complain.
“I was brought here as a child,” Em says, rubbing her head. Her brown hair, which is still two-thirds blood red, is just a few inches long now, but it’s enough to cover the tattoo that was exposed when she shaved her head to pose as my wife. That double-ring tattoo revealed that she had been kidnapped as a baby and brought to Antarctica. It meant that Tobias, who raised her, was not actually her father. More than that, it meant that she might have family in the world outside Antarctica. Like me.
Wright and Kat look surprised by this, but Kainda’s admission stuns them. “I was born here.”
“Born here?” Kat says.
“The Nephilim have lived beneath the surface of Antarctica for thousands of years,” I say. “During that time, they have routinely taken humans from the outside world. They use torture and violence to break the will and blind the past, if you’re old enough to remember it, and turn us into hunters, servants that are small enough to reach portions of the underworld that are too tight for their large bodies.”
“What about Aimee?” Wright asks. “Merrill’s wife. She wasn’t at all like you three.”
The question twists my gut. “Aimee was a teacher. They don’t break teachers. They use them to learn about the outside world. Our languages. Our customs. Our w
eaknesses.” They haven’t asked, but I feel that full disclosure is important with my new allies. If they discover the truth later on, they might have cause to doubt my sincerity. “She was here because of me.”
“She was here with Merrill,” Wright says, scooping his first glob of centi-flesh onto his hand. He winces at the feel of it. “He told us the story. About the dig site. About how she was taken by the Nephilim.” He scoops the flesh into his mouth.
“She wasn’t taken by the Nephilim,” I say. “She was taken by me.”
The admission makes Wright take a breath while the fatty meat is still in his mouth. He tastes it instantly and nearly spits it out. He clamps his mouth shut, swallows the bite and chases it with a mouthful of water from his canteen. “Ugh.”
“Care to explain that?” Kat says. The edge has returned to her voice.
“I wasn’t myself at the time. I had been broken and remade into Ull, the hunter. She was my final test. So I took her.” My eyes drift to the floor. “But she saved me. Freed me. I was born on Antarctica. My parents were part of Merrill’s original expedition. Aimee helped deliver me. I have a perfect memory and hers was the first face I ever saw. When I saw her face again, I remembered everything. I became Solomon again.”
Telling the story in such a compressed way reveals the nearly fate-like quality of those events. If I hadn’t taken Aimee, I wouldn’t have been set free from my bondage. I would still be Ull, and I would have willingly given myself to the spirit of Nephil. There would be no resistance of hunters. Nephil would be stronger than ever. And the human race might very well be wiped out. But none of those things happened, all because I kidnapped Aimee. The realization helps remove some of my lingering guilt over the act.
“When they passed us on the river, I was on my way to help them escape. Aimee’s freedom and the Clark family’s safety has always been part of my core. Without them, all of them, I would have been lost to this place.”
Kat’s only response is to take a fresh scoop of flesh and swallow it down.
Wright grimaces at the ease with which she eats the meat. He looks at me. “Sounds like the three of you have been through a lot.”
“You’ll get a taste of it soon enough,” Kainda says.
“I’d say we had a pretty good taste already,” Wright says.
Kainda is about to argue. And I understand why. The endlessly violent and hate-filled life of a hunter is probably impossible to imagine without experiencing it firsthand. But we’re not here to compare scars.
“You encountered the Nephilim?” I ask. I know the answer, but not the details.
Wright gives a nod. “Several times.”
“Killed them, too,” Kat adds, scooping another wad of flesh into her mouth. She takes a chew, which even I think is gross, swallows and then notices the three stunned expressions staring back at her. “What?” she says a little defensively. She motions to her half empty segment of centipede. “This isn’t that bad.”
“You...killed a Nephilim,” Em says. It’s not a question, but it’s full of disbelief.
“More than one,” Kat says. “Once you get those metal bands off their heads, you can just pop them in the head like anyone else. She looks at Whipsnap, Kainda’s hammer and Em’s collection of knives strapped around her waist and across her chest. “You guys really need to upgrade your arsenal.”
“Could you do it again?” I ask.
“If you can get me a gun, sure.”
Kat’s confidence, similar to Kainda’s, is refreshing.
Em’s eyes brighten. “I know where to find some.”
“We don’t have time to go somewhere else,” I say. “We need to get to Olympus.”
“They’re at Olympus,” Em says. “The warriors keep the weaponry of those they capture in a cell on the prison level. I’ve seen it.”
Kainda nods. “They do the same in Asgard.”
“We’d be a hell of a lot more useful if we had some weapons,” Wright said.
I mull the options around in my head. The distraction wouldn’t add too much time to our journey. And we might not find Hades where Em believes him to be. We might very well have to search all of Olympus. And if that’s the case, it seems likely that we’ll encounter some kind of resistance. It would be good to have all of us armed, especially if the husband and wife team are able to take down Nephilim warriors. Before meeting them, the only two people to kill a Nephilim, not counting the ancient stories, were Mira, who slew Enki with a grenade, and me, when I killed my master, Ull, with his own arrow.
I take a dollop of flesh and eat it. “Weapons it is.”
3
Olympus. Despite conjuring visions of opulence, white columns and gilded gold, everything is actually quite similar to Asgard. Brown and gray stone coated with thousands of years of grit, subterranean moss and the occasional blood stain, both purple and red. That’s not to say the massive halls, hewn from the inside of the mountain aren’t impressive. The sheer size alone is stunning. But the place is dark, brooding and full of death’s scent.
It’s so dark, in fact, that Wright and Kat, whose eyes are not accustomed to the permeating darkness of the underground, can’t see well enough to walk. Wright keeps a hand on my shoulder and Kat keeps a hand on Em’s. It slows our progress, but that’s okay. We need to move in silence, anyway. Not that we’ve come across anyone.
While we’ve only just entered the outer halls of the citadel, Em expected to find hunter sentries at all the entrances to the underground city. But as we step past the fifty foot arch leading to the first of many grand hallways, there isn’t a soul in sight. In fact, even the mixture of human and Nephilim scents seem faint, like no one has been here in a week. A breeze tickles my neck, reminding me that the surface of this previously snow and ice covered mountain is now warm and lush. Could everyone be on the surface? Or perhaps the breeze is removing odors that would normally linger.
I decide to err on the side of caution and assume the latter.
“Where is everyone?” Kainda asks, though she sounds more disappointed than confused.
“There were a hell of a lot of those Nephilim on the surface,” Kat says. “They were everywhere.”
“But the hunters stationed here,” Kainda says. “They shouldn’t have left.”
“Maybe the old citadels are no longer important?” I ask as it occurs to me.
Kainda chews on this. With the surface open to them once again, the Nephilim might have no use for these ancient subterranean structures.
“How far are we from the surface?” Wright asks.
“About a half mile,” I tell him.
“Geez.” Wright shakes his head. “In that case, it’s possible they are on the surface, and near the surface. The outer fringe of this place was a beehive of activity when we first saw it. If they’re smart, and I think they are, they won’t fully abandon the underground bases. It’s just bad strategy. They could survive a nuclear assault down here. They’re just not guarding the lowest levels because, let’s be honest, who in their right mind would try to attack the Nephilim in the pitch black, a half mile underground.”
That’s an easy answer, “Nobody.”
Wright grins. “Which is why this is going to work. They’ll never expect it. Now let’s move.”
Em leads the way in and up. The first stairwell we reach spirals up to the next level, fifty feet above. The solid stone stairs are carved out of the wall, following the perfect curve. I’m not sure how the ancient Nephilim carved stone with such precision, but the more I see of it, the more I understand they had a hand in the creation of the ancient world’s religious wonders: the pyramids at Giza, Stonehenge, Pumapunku, Teotihuacán, Machu Pichu, Tiwanaku, Easter Island—there are similar structures all over the world. Most of the megaliths were built to worship the ancient gods, who I now know were the Nephilim posing as gods.
Glowing crystals embedded in the wall light the stairs running along it, and allow Kat and Wright to move without help. The outer stairs are four
feet tall and equally deep—sized for Nephilim. But the stairs running up the inner edge of the spiral are human-sized, which makes the ascent bearable. Two fifty foot flights later, I’m starting to find this climb particularly unbearable. So when Em holds up her open hand, signaling for us to stop, I’m relieved.
I crouch and climb up to the top of the staircase where Em is ducking down. “What is it?” I ask.
She taps her nose.
I smell the air. People. Lots of them.
But they don’t smell like hunters. They smell afraid. That doesn’t mean there aren’t hunters nearby, using the heavy odor to mask their own.
“This is the prison level,” Em says. Pleading voices echo off the walls. “Sounds like the cells are full.”
“What will they do with them?” I ask. I can’t imagine what Nephilim would want with this many people. They don’t need any more hunters. And they don’t need to interrogate anyone. They know everything they need to know about the outside world, except where I am.
She shrugs, but Wright has an answer.
“They’re eating them,” he whispers. “Eating us. We saw the remains of a Nephilim barbeque in the jungle. The people being kept here are nothing more than cattle.”
This news is not surprising. Not at all. The Nephilim are cannibals. They eat anything and everything. But knowing that people, locked away in the Nephilim cells on this floor, are destined for the slaughter house is an offense that I can’t shirk off for the sake of the mission. This cannot stand.
“We will set them free,” I say.
My four comrades have four different reactions to what I’ve just said. Wright clearly agrees. Kat is skeptical. Em isn’t sure. And Kainda is offended, which bothers me. A lot.
The Last Hunter - Lament (Book 4 of the Antarktos Saga) Page 2