I clear my throat. “Sorry. That sounds poetic. It’s nice. Really. But do you think you could be a little clearer?”
“If you can resist a direct encounter with a seeker,” he says.
I can’t. We both know it.
“Then the less you know the better,” he says. “You will not forget the things I’ve told you. They will remain with you until the end of your days, whether that is today or a hundred years. You know where to start. Do not think about your path until you’ve arrived at the beginning. In this way you will protect the path from those that would seek out the shofar to destroy it.”
“They know about the shofar?” I ask.
He nods. “But not who protects it.”
“If I’m caught,” I start, worried that my knowledge of Hades could compromise his covert activities.
He rises from the blood bath, standing to his full height. Like me, he wears minimal leathers, though his are the size of ship sails. “I,” he says, “will not be here, or anywhere my brothers will follow.”
For a moment, I’m lost, but then I figure it out. “You’re going back to Tartarus?”
He nods slowly. “I have lived with the stench of blood and filth, death and torture for as long as this old heart can bear. If I do not leave for the release of Tartarus, I would rather return this body to the dust from which it came and be no more.”
I have never once seen sadness in the eyes of a Nephilim, but there is no disguising the emotion as it grips Hades. He shakes the blood from his arms and steps out of the pool.
The wind carries me back, giving him room to move. It’s a subtle movement, but it drains my energy more quickly. I glance back at the large doorway one hundred feet away. Will I have enough energy to cover the distance in the air?
“How is my old friend?” he asks.
The question is so casual that it catches me off guard.
“Cronus,” he says. “Is he well?”
“He was concerned for you,” I say. “Said it had been a thousand years.”
Hades confirms the time with a nod. “A necessary break as more of my kind, and yours, populated the underworld. And Eurymedon?”
My muscles tense at the memory of the winged, two-faced Gigantes that pummeled me in Tartarus. Cronus explained that the Gigantes, like Nephilim and Titans, are born from half-demon blood, but they are not conceived and born to human mothers. They are created. Like Xin. Like Luca. But while Luca and Xin were created to mimic me, the Gigantes were created for one purpose. Destruction. Eurymedon dwarfs even the tallest of Nephilim. “I can’t say I’m fond of the Gigantes.”
He laughs and it sounds genuine this time. “Perhaps you will change your mind if given another chance?”
“I’ll pass,” I say. I sense the conversation drawing to a close, but there is one last question nagging at me. And next to the shofar’s location, it is the second most important question I have. “Hades, what does it do? The shofar.”
“You know the story?” he asks.
“Joshua, an Israelite general and forty thousand men marched on Jericho...a Nephilim city. They marched around the city once a day for six days while seven priests blew into these shofars. On the seventh day, they marched around the city seven times, all the while blowing their horns. Then when the people shouted, the walls of Jericho fell.”
“The walls of Jericho,” Hades says thoughtfully. He closes his eyes, drifting. “The walls...”
“You were there,” I say. “Weren’t you?”
“The walls that fell at Jericho were more than mere physical walls. The shofar’s blast shook the city walls, but they decimated the walls protecting the blackened hearts of the Nephilim. Some power in the sound strips the darkness away and exposes us to the truth of what we are, how we live and who we fight against. The pain is unbearable to a Nephilim. Four thousand Nephilim warriors were slaughtered that day. More than enough to kill forty thousand men.”
He’s right about that. A ten to one ratio isn’t a challenge for a Nephilim warrior especially when the Israelites were armed with Bronze Age swords.
“But when Joshua’s army stormed the walls and entered the city, they found four thousand warriors bowed down and weeping. Weeping! Not one of them fought back when the swords pierced their heads. They craved death. All were slain.”
“Except for you,” I note.
“On the sixth day, I defiantly stood atop the wall when the horns sounded. I was the first to feel the shofar’s effect. When night came, I fled, and in the morning, I watched the stronghold’s destruction from a distance. But it was the shofar’s lasting effect that prepared my heart for Tartarus and the mercy granted there. If not for the shofar, I would have returned to the world with a dark heart, like the others. And if not for the shofar, I would not have returned at all.
“There were seven in the beginning. But they were sought out and destroyed one by one. I volunteered to lead the seventh and final raid. When the shofar was found, I slew my brothers, hid the weapon in the depths and claimed failure. Ambush. Then, as now, I bathed in the blood of my brothers and my intentions were never questioned. And here I have remained. Until now.”
He steps past me, heading for the door to the front room. I follow him, floating over the spilled blood, but my energy quickly wanes and my altitude drops.
“Hades,” I say, fearing I will fall into the blood and die.
He looks back at me from the doorway where he stands over clean floor. “You have a strength within you that has been granted to fewer men than I have fingers. You can make it on your own.”
Just two feet from the floor, I grit my teeth and push. I’m carried faster, but my vision fades in response. I’m not going to make it! A wellspring of fear pumps adrenaline into my body. My vision fades and for a moment, a jolt of energy carries me up and away. I’m crossing the distance now, but not in a protective bubble of air. I’ve simply managed to shoot myself as though from a cannon and now I’m sailing, limp, across the chamber.
My eyes close. I feel myself falling again. I think I should brace for impact, but have no strength to do so.
Just when I think I’m going to strike the floor, I’m caught.
Hades.
A grin slips onto my face as he places me on the ground.
“What makes you smile, boy?” the giant asks.
“You passed my test, too.”
“What test?”
“You didn’t let me die.”
“Nor will I,” he says. “Watch for Cerberus in the days to come. He will protect you if need be.”
Cerberus? I think, but don’t ask. I feel the hard stone floor beneath me now. “You’re leaving?” I ask, drifting off to sleep.
“I will prepare the way for you,” he says. “Ave atque vale, Solomon.”
I hear the large door open, and then close. Hades has left. The last of my energy wanes and I drift off to sleep, surrounded by blood, bodies, skulls and hope.
12
I dream of home. Of the house I grew up in. I’m in the front yard. Small details leap out at me. The tall tree that arcs over the street is heavy with the red buds of early spring. Its thick bark peels off in great chunks, perfect for building action figure forts. A slab of sidewalk is lifted up by the tree’s roots, perfect for jumping bikes. The puddles in the driveway are the same familiar oblong shapes, filled by a recent rainstorm and full of wriggling worms drawn out by the moisture. After the puddle evaporates, they’ll die and dry out—food for the ants.
I breathe deeply and catch several distinct scents: salty ocean air, the residue of the red berries growing on the evergreen shrubs, melted crayons and cut grass. I’m sitting on the stairs to the front door. There are eight of them. Chipping black paint curls up from the cast iron railings. I peel off a flake and snap it between my fingers until all that remains is dust.
Everything about this place feels familiar.
Safe.
I’m suddenly gripped by sadness, as deep and profound as any I have f
elt.
My old friend is dead. The thought pulls tears from my eyes and as the saline slides down my cheeks, a snowflake drifts down and settles on my knee. It’s joined by a second. And a third. And now the sky is full of white. A blizzard.
My first blizzard was in nineteen seventy-eight. I was four, but I remember watching the storm in amazement, my breath fogging the windows as the snow slowly grew taller than me and then taller than my father. This storm is worse. In minutes, I’m buried up to my waist. The neighborhood around me is reduced to a solid sheet of white, as though erased from the page.
My old friend is dead, I think again.
The cold shakes my body, just a shiver at first, but then violently.
I don’t want to leave!
I want to be home!
I want this life!
“Solomon,” Kainda says, shaking me awake.
I blink my eyes, focusing on her face, and for a moment, I’m not happy to see her. The faint memory of ocean air is destroyed by the strong scent of Nephilim blood. I remember my childhood home perfectly. But at times, it is a curse. My dreams can recreate the past so realistically that I feel like I’ve just been there. The memory of that place clutches my heart. Tears, real this time, drip down my cheeks.
“Solomon,” Kainda says with uncommon softness. “What’s wrong? Who died?”
“W—what?” I ask. Did the others somehow experience my dream?
“You spoke of someone dying. An old friend.”
I don’t feel like explaining. “Just a dream,” I say, wiping away the tears with my bare arm. “Wasn’t even a person.”
With the last pangs of regret fading along with the dream, I sit up. Em and Kat aren’t far away. They’re helping Wright get to his feet. Kainda offers me her hand. I take it and stand.
“What happened?” Wright says, rubbing his head. “Feels like I got hit with a hammer.”
“Me, too,” Kat says.
I can tell by Em’s squinted eyes that she feels the same, though she’d never admit it, at least not in front of other hunters. Kainda probably has a headache, too, but she’s so stubborn and tough that she’s managed to erase any sign of pain.
“How about you?” Kainda asks me. “Is your head—”
I smile at her continued concern.
“What?” she says defensively.
My smile widens.
She grunts and says, “Shut-up.”
“My head is fine, by the way,” I say before stretching. “Slept like a baby.”
Kainda eyes me and with all humor gone from her voice, and asks, “What happened?”
The others hear the question and come closer. They’d all like to know.
“Hades,” I say. All of them tense at the name.
“He was here?” Em asks.
I nod. “Put the four of you to sleep with that purple powder.”
“The four of us,” Wright says. “What about you? You were sleeping, too.”
“Oh, I was just tired,” I say. Four sets of glaring eyes tell me I need to elaborate on that statement, and fast. I point to the next room, which is now full of drying Nephilim blood. “I was in there.”
Kainda is the first to realize the implications of the plasma-coated ceiling, floor and walls. “In there? How?”
“Like this,” I say. Their faces, when they turn around and see me hovering a few feet above the floor, are priceless. What I wouldn’t give for Mira’s Polaroid camera right now.
“You...can fly,” Kat says, sounding dubious.
“I didn’t know, either,” I confess. “But I didn’t have much of a choice. It just kind of happened.”
Kainda stays on task, nonplussed by my new ability. “But you spoke to Hades.”
“Yes,” I say. “And he’s not as bad as everyone thinks, or rather, as he wanted everyone to think.” I tell them about my encounter with the giant, summarizing as best I can.
When I skim past his instructions about the shofar’s location, Em asks for more details. I explain Hades’s warning about mind readers and she and Kainda agree. We’ll figure out each step as we go along. Knowing the location ahead of time could be dangerous, especially if one of us is captured on the way.
I reach the end of my story, explaining how my energy waned, how Hades caught me and laid me on the floor with the others. When I mention Cerberus, neither Em nor Kainda show any recognition. Wright and Kat, however, go wide-eyed for what must be the thousandth time since they arrived on the new world of Antarktos.
“Seriously?” Kat says. “A giant three-headed hound?”
I shrug. “It wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve seen. But it’s something or someone none of us has seen before. So, if you happen to come across a three headed...something, maybe be sure it’s trying to kill you before shooting at it.” Then I finish my story with, “Ave atque vale. That’s what he said when he left. It’s Latin, but I’m not sure what it means.”
“Hail and farewell,” Wright says.
“You speak Latin?” Kat asks, sounding surprised.
“It’s from the Army,” he explains. “When a new commander takes over, there is a dinner where the previous commander speaks those words. It’s a sign of honor to the new leader and a goodbye. Historically, the words have been spoken to generals, sometimes kings.”
There’s that word again. King. I ignore it with a casual shrug and say, “Weird.”
All four of them turn to me like I’ve just farted.
Em shakes her head. “Hades, the most feared of all Nephilim, honors you as a new leader, perhaps a king—his king—and all you can say is, ‘weird?’”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I say. “There isn’t time.”
No one argues the point, but I suspect this conversation will be continued at some other time.
“The shofar is deep,” I say. “Very deep. We’re going to have to move fast.”
“We’ve been moving fast,” Wright notes.
“Faster,” I say. “Time is...different in the underworld. What feels like a day could be a week. I spent two years down there and later found out that twenty years had passed on the surface.”
“Won’t we be discovered?” Kat asks. “Aren’t there hunters, and other...things looking for us?”
“If we’re fast enough, they won’t catch us by the time we reach the gates. After that, I don’t think anyone will follow us.”
“The gates?” Kainda says. “We’re not going to Tartarus?”
The fear in her voice seems out of place. Having seen the truth of Tartarus, I no longer view it as a land of eternal torture, but a place of freedom. Granted, to those unwilling to be separated from the burden of their personal darkness, it is a land of torture. But for those like Cronus, Hades and me, it is a paradise—a land of mercy, even for those born with the unfortunate circumstance of having a demon for a father.
“We’re not going through the gates,” I tell her. “We’re going past them. Deeper. I don’t know how, but we’ll figure that out when we get there. But we can’t stop. Time will not be on our side. If we linger, we might return to find the battle already lost.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Kainda says.
I turn to Kat and Wright. “Can you keep up?”
Kat just looks insulted.
Wright nods. “I survived hell week. This can’t be much worse.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say, and then head for the exit. I pause by the closed door. “Stay quiet until we’re out of Olympus.”
Wright pats me on the shoulder. “Then we’ll run like hell. Got it.”
Despite looking twenty years apart, Wright and I are the same age. I feel a kinship with him. In some ways, he reminds me of Justin. “Right,” I say, and then push the door open.
I take one step and stop. The open door has revealed two figures. One is fifteen feet tall—not quite a full-grown warrior, but close enough. He’s got long red hair bunched in messy dreadlocks. He holds a large double bladed ax in each
hand, and he looks like he can use them.
The other is thin and wiry, like Xin, but green skinned and sporting tufts of wildly growing red hair. He’s dressed in rags, and seems to be covered in some kind of caked on muck. Given the odor rising off him, it could be something worse. His chosen weapon is...Whipsnap! I’m confused for a moment, but then recognize the stone mace and bone tip. He has the original Whipsnap that I created. This offends me deeply, like he’s taken an old friend of mine hostage, but I don’t linger on the weapon.
Something else has caught my eye. While I have never seen anything like these two before, they share a matching feature I know well.
Their blue eyes.
My eyes.
Like the thinker clone, these two share my eyes.
These are two of my three remaining duplicates. My stomach twists with revulsion. I felt the same thing upon discovering Xin was my duplicate, but he turned out to be a brother—more human than Nephilim despite his appearance.
But these two, the hatred in their eyes is easy to read. They are the hardhearted sons of Nephil through and through.
The pair snaps into action. I’m not sure what they’re going to do, but I respond with overwhelming force, thrusting my hands out. A gust of wind flows past me. My whipping hair stings my forehead.
Then they’re airborne. Part of me wants to stay and take care of these two, but I hear shouting voices echoing from distant hallways. We are found.
“Change of plans,” I say to the others. “Run. Now!”
13
The slapping of feet on stone pursues us downward through the network of subterranean tunnels. The hunters giving chase have abandoned stealth. Their numbers have bolstered their confidence, and since we’ve given up stealth in our flight, tracking us is a simple thing. This has become a race.
Wright and Kat, who had been saving their flashlight batteries earlier, click their lights on, illuminating our path. Kainda, Em and I don’t need the flashlights, having long since grown accustomed to the pitch black, but the light brings out details that would normally remain hidden and allows us to pour on the speed.
Our path is winding, but downhill. There are more direct routes to the gates of Tartarus, but they would be tight fits for a group of five and might require squeezes that Wright and Kat are not accustomed to navigating. So I stick to the underground’s version of a freeway, following a shallow stream that was once a raging river. The stream leads toward Asgard and more familiar territory. It eventually merges with a larger river—what I call the High River. In the past, it flowed to a waterfall that emptied out in the massive chamber containing the ruins of New Jericho. But the last time I saw that cavern, after leaving Tartarus, it was nearly flooded. If we can make it to the water, we’ll be okay. Hunters are good at many things, but swimming, since there is little call for it, is not one of them.
The Last Hunter - Lament (Book 4 of the Antarktos Saga) Page 7