The Last Hunter - Lament (Book 4 of the Antarktos Saga)

by Jeremy Robinson

  Kainda returns from the jungle, walking quickly, but careful not to spill the water.

  “Give it to me,” the angel says. Both Em and I flinch. We hadn’t heard him return.

  I look up at the otherworldly being as he holds the bowl up. He holds a small fruit in his hand. He squeezes it gently until a single drop of juice gathers on the underside and drips into the bowl. He pockets the fruit and then stirs the water with his finger.

  “Am I supposed to drink that?” I ask.

  His reply is loud and stern. “No. To do so would...it is unthinkable.” He drops to one knee beside me. “Lie back.”

  I obey, lying flat on my back, which makes it harder to breathe. I quickly get lightheaded.

  “If this doesn’t work,” I say, “you have to get me out of here before its too late.”

  “Quiet, son of man,” Adoel says. He stirs the water twice more, then removes his finger from the liquid. He allows most of the moisture to drip away. “Do not be afraid,” he says, and then traces his finger over the puncture wound.

  Nothing happens.

  “What did you do?” I ask. “I didn’t feel anything.” When I see the relief on Kainda’s, Em’s and Kat’s faces, I don’t really need to look, but I do. The wound is healed. No trace of it remains.

  “Breathe,” the angel commands, and I do. My lungs expand, healthy again.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  Adoel stands and walks to Ookla. He places the bowl at its face. The big cat leans up and clears the bowl with three laps of his big tongue. When he turns back to us again, he’s whispering.

  “Who are you speaking to?” I ask.

  “The breath of life,” Adoel says. “You are saved because of it.”

  “No, I mean—”

  “The surface awaits, young king, and your enemy rises to consume the world. You must not let this happen.”

  I want to argue. I’m not a king, despite what everyone in the underworld seems to think. I’m still not even sure how I can stop an army of Nephilim, and hunters, and whatever else they have planned. “But before you leave I must give you this warning. Should you—” He looks to Kainda and Em. “—any of you, return to Edinnu, I will cut you down. There will be no warning. No ground covered. No awareness of my presence.”

  Message received. Loud and horribly clear. But a question remains. “I thought no death can come to this place?”

  “The sword works differently in my hands,” Adoel replies. “Being slain is not the same as being unmade.” He points his finger in the direction we originally came from. “Go now. Ookla will take you.”

  The lion stands, stretches, and heads for the jungle. I start after him and then stop and turn back to the ancient Kerubim guarding this eternal garden. “Wait, what? Ookla?”

  A faint grin emerges on the angels lips. “It is a good name.”

  I nod, offer a smile of thanks, and then head off after Ookla with Kainda, Em and Kat. As we cross into the jungle, I give one last look back. Adoel is there, but he’s shimmering now. Six glowing wings extend out around him. Each wing is covered...in eyes. And he’s not alone, four others are with him. They stand there, still and silent, watching me leave.

  I rub a hand over my healed chest, and say, “Thanks.”

  It might be an illusion created by the brilliant light and heat like waves rolling from the beings, but I think Adoel nods. I turn away from four angels and the tree they guard. I’m pretty sure that Nephil didn’t know what this cavern was when he entered. If he had, that tree might have been his first stop, though I’m sure he wouldn’t have made it that far. Of course, maybe that’s why he didn’t try for the tree. Being unmade is basically what Nephilim fear already. Pondering these things and many more, I let the jungle close behind me and run to catch up with the others. We still have a long, very upward road ahead of us.

  26

  As we near the edge of the jungle, I’m struck by a nearly overwhelming sense of loss. It feels like the last day of summer camp, saying goodbye to new friends, who you promise to keep in touch with, but subconsciously know you’ll never see again. It’s like a weird kind of death. Those intense relationships, forged during daytime capture the flag matches, trailblazing, canoe races, nighttime stories and pranks are suddenly torn away as you’re thrust back into the real world.

  The real world. It’s full of death and misery, suffering and blood. But here, in this Eden, there is life, peace and something else I can’t quite peg. I feel...loved, like the very air is embracing me.

  If the first humans really did come from this place, I can’t imagine how horrible they felt when they left. I’ve been here for just a short time and the temptation to never leave grows with every step I take toward the waterfall entrance.

  But the knowledge that Nephil is headed back to the surface, never mind the fact that if I tried to stay I would be unmade, keeps me moving. I stretch my hands out, letting the foliage brush against them, coating my skin with clinging dew. I breathe deeply, trying to saturate my lungs with the air. I want to absorb as much of this place as I can.

  All too soon, we leave the jungle behind and step into the clearing by the river. Em, Kainda and Kat are standing still, like a wall, blocking my path. Why have they stopped? A surge of panic grips my chest. “What is it?”

  Em turns back. She’s smiling, which instantly puts me at ease. She steps aside. “I think they came to see us off.”

  There in the grass by the river are some fifty animals, all different. Some I recognize: rabbit, tiger, fox and such. Others I don’t recognize from the modern world or the fossil record. And still others are extinct, like the ten foot tall flightless bird deemed Phorusrhacidae by paleontologists, but more commonly referred to as “terror-bird”.

  “Do not even think about naming them all,” Kainda says. Her voice is stern, but I see a small smile on her lips. Even the hardened warrior can be softened here. As I step out next to my friends, the docile menagerie parts down the middle, providing a path to the water’s edge. Ookla accompanies, or maybe escorts, us past.

  The animals just watch us. Some call out gently, but none of them move.

  “What are they doing?” Kat asks.

  “I don’t think they’ve ever seen people before,” Em says.

  “Actually,” I say, stopping half way through the crowd. I kneel down and lower my open hand to a red squirrel. It hops onto my hand and scurries up my arm. The little claws tickle as it climbs. When it reaches my shoulder, it dips its head down and nuzzles into my cheek in the same way the deer did with Ookla. Goodbye my new friend, I think and then say, “It’s just been a long time since they saw a person. They miss us...if that’s even possible here.”

  Ookla gives a gentle roar, prodding us to follow. The squirrel scampers back down my arm and we continue toward the water. A small finch suddenly appears and lands on Kainda’s shoulder. She’s surprised by its arrival and nearly swats it away—she might be happier here, but her instincts haven’t been dulled. The bird chirps at her, hops twice toward her head and gives her neck a quick nuzzle before flying off again.

  She slows, watching the bird fly away. When I walk up next to her, she whispers, “Do we have to leave?”

  To see her like this—at peace and happy—it’s almost worth trying to fight off the Kerubim. But there is more to life than personal happiness.

  “You know we do,” I tell her. I want to tell her there are places like this in the outside world, but that’s a lie, and I think she’d know it. Then I think of something that might dull the pain of leaving the garden. “I saw your father.”

  Her face darkens slightly. “I saw. He nearly killed you.”

  “That was Nephil.” I nearly correct her by saying that he didn’t want to kill, but to possess me, but I don’t want to argue semantics right now.

  “Ninnis would kill you, too.”

  “Belgrave,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Your father’s name is Belgrave Edward Sutton Ninni
s.”

  She looks me in the eyes and without saying a word, asks how I could know such a thing.

  “He told me,” I say, teasing out the moment.

  “His name is Ninnis. Only Ninnis. That’s all he has ever known.”

  I nod. She’s right about that. “Until I blew the shofar.”

  She stares at me, not quite following.

  “It returned him,” I explain. “All of him. He remembered his past. His life before Antarktos. His wife. Everything. It was just a moment, but when I looked into his eyes, I didn’t see a hunter. He was just a man. And...he thanked me.”

  We stop by the shore. “Then there is hope,” she says, “that I will not always...be like this?” She motions at her body, strong and battle-hardened.

  The question catches me off guard. Kainda is so tough, so confident in herself and her abilities that it never occurred to me that she might not like the hunter in her. Somewhere in there is the woman she could have been if she wasn’t born into a world of murder, hate and bloodlust.

  She pulls her red braided hair around where she can see it. “I am so tired of this color.”

  Kainda’s not vain so I immediately understand that she’s talking about the corruption the hue represents. It’s a constant reminder of the tortures she endured and the killer she was raised to be.

  Em has overheard the conversation. She’s looking at us with wet eyes. This is hard for them both. Edinnu has provided them with a taste of what it feels like to not be corrupted, to be freed from the Nephilim. As hard as it is for me to leave the garden, it must be far more difficult for them.

  Only Kat seems indifferent, but I suspect it’s because she has never been broken and reformed. She’s a killer, sure, but she is who she is, not who someone else made her to be. She waits by the river with Ookla, holding the shofar in both hands like it’s a rifle.

  Seeing the shofar brings an idea to the forefront of my mind so fast and powerful that I let out a gasp similar to one of Em’s.

  “What’s wrong?” Kainda asks.

  I ignore her, waving frantically to Kat. “Give it to me.”

  “Slow down, kid,” she says, bringing the shofar to me. “You’re going to break your wrist.”

  I ignore the taunt and rather rudely snatch the horn from her hands.

  “Careful,” she says in a stern voice. “You almost died to get that thing. Don’t break it.”

  Remembering what I’m holding in my hands, I slow down. “Right. Sorry.” I step back a few feet, merging with the line of animals still watching us. Ookla stands in the river, head cocked back. He’s watching, but not urging us forward.

  “Stand together,” I say to Kainda and Em. Then I motion for Kat to move back, and she does. I can see that she understands what I’m about to do. As do Em and Kainda. They look a little bit excited, but mostly afraid.

  I raise the horn to my lips, aim it at Kainda and Em, and blow.

  The sound isn’t nearly as loud as when I used the wind to create a sound, and it’s kind of horrible, but the effect on the two women is immediate. Kainda’s body tenses and her head tips skyward, mouth open in a silent scream. Em drops to her knees, fingers clutching the grass. Neither makes a sound, though I can see they are in agony.

  Despite their physical discomfort, I have to fight my growing smile so I can keep blowing. The red retreats from their hair from the follicles out, like it’s being erased. When it’s finally gone, and I’m nearly out of breath, I stop blowing the shofar and lower it.

  The tension gripping Kainda’s body melts away. She staggers and I rush to catch her. “I have you,” I say, but I nearly don’t. Her legs are rubbery. She slowly starts to recover, like she’s coming out of a stupor. As she clings to my neck, she reaches back for her braid, brings it around and lets out a gentle sob.

  Her hair is black. All black. Not a trace of red remains.

  “It worked,” she whispers.

  We both look to Em. She pushes herself up so she’s sitting on her knees. Kat is there, helping steady her older sister, whose hair is now brown. Em looks up and sees Kainda’s hair. Her eyes widen. She pulls her hair, trying to get a look at it, but it’s still too short. She grips some hair between her fingers and gives a tug, pulling a few strands free from where it had previously been red. She holds the strands out in front of her face and grins. She looks to Kainda again. “We’re free!”

  I laugh and hug them both. Before today, I was the only hunter to ever be freed totally from the Nephilim corruption. Now there are three of us.

  Soon, I think, there will be an army.

  27

  “You look like our mother,” Kat says to Em.

  We’ve just returned to the top of the waterfall leading to Edinnu, carried up the distance by the wind. As with everything in the garden, getting us all up was an effortless task, but as soon as I stepped into the tunnel, I felt weary. Not exhausted, but sort of like if you play too hard one day and wake up all stiff the next.

  Em smiles, though she looks a little weary herself. “I think I remember you.”

  “You were only two,” Kat says. “I can barely remember you, and I think the memories I do have are just from photos. You couldn’t—”

  I clear my throat in a way that says, hello, guy who can remember his own birth, standing right here.

  Kat rolls her eyes. “Not everyone has a perfect memory.”

  “It’s just an image,” Em says. “I’m lying on my back. There are bars around me—was I kept in a cell?”

  “A crib,” I guess. “It’s not a bad thing.”

  “And I see you leaning over me. And a man. With a beard.” She rubs her head. “And no hair.”

  “Well I’ll be damned. That’s our father.” Kat removes her black top revealing a black tank top beneath, which she also removes. This wouldn’t be strange if Kat were a hunter, but she’s insisted on staying fully clothed up to this point.

  “Going native?” I ask her.

  Kat, who is now wearing black cargo pants and a tight black sports bra, reaches out for the shofar and motions for me to give it to her, which I do. She takes the tank top and stuffs it inside. Then she wraps the shofar in her shirt and uses the sleeve to tie it tight. “We can’t risk it breaking.”

  “Right,” I say, feeling a little stupid for not thinking of it myself. That’s what I like about Kat, she’s focused. Always on task. Even while talking to her long lost sister.

  “He looks about the same now,” she says to Em. “Except the little hair left on his head, and the beard, are gray.”

  “Is he...kind?” Em asks.

  “We learned not to push the limits he set,” Kat says. “But he was kind enough and is pretty much a pushover now.”

  “Does he know what you do?” I ask. “Or what you did?”

  “That I kill people?” Kat says. “He thinks I’m a dancer for a cruise line. Correction, he thinks I’m a clumsy dancer for a cruise line. Explains the long times I’m out of touch and the occasional injury. No one in the family knows the truth.” She looks at Em. “Well, except for you, I suppose.”

  “If you’re worried about what they’ll think of you,” Em starts, “I can always tell them about the things I’ve done, and you’ll look like one of those little animals.” She motions toward Edinnu with her head.

  We all take a look back at the garden. The lush, glowing paradise stretches out as far as I can see. I feel its pull on me even now. “We should go,” I say, the words just a whisper forced through my lips.

  Without a word, we turn and walk away from the garden, new friends and the birthplace of the human race. As the darkness surrounds us once more, and Kat takes out her blue, green and yellow crystal, my thoughts turn to the story of Adam and Eve. Whether they were the first man and woman created by God himself, or the leaders of the first human tribe that evolved in the garden, I don’t know, or care, but if they really did get the human race kicked out of Edinnu so long ago, I think they’re a couple of jerks.


  The journey upwards is long and tiring. There are no downhill slopes or waterslides to help us along. My knees feel it first, then the rest of me. I’m in good shape, conditioned for this more than most, but I think leaving Edinnu made me more keenly aware of my physical discomfort. Kat seems a little more tired than usual as well, but Kainda and Em are struggling even more. Not only are they feeling the effect of leaving the garden, but the anger and pride of hunters that kept them from expressing their tiredness, even as a facial expression, is now gone.

  When we finally reach the massive cavern containing the doors to Tartarus and I suggest a rest, Kainda and Em both sit without saying a word. I’m tempted to point it out, but I don’t want them to feel any regrets about their freedom. There are other kinds of strengths that can replace the darkness that was removed, they just need to discover them.

  We gather near one of the cavern’s entrances, but don’t enter. I can see the bone mounds clearly, and though I neither see nor smell any danger, that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Part of me wants to return to the location of our last battle with the warriors and see what happened with the bodies of Hades and Cerberus, but we’re actually miles away from that scene and the distraction would waste time, energy and quite possibly lead us into a trap.

  The more I think about it, the more I’m certain a trap is unlikely. Now that I have the Jericho shofar, the Nephilim and their hunters will be at a severe disadvantage in the underworld, where sound carries and numbers are limited by the size of the tunnel you’re in. No, I suspect we’ll find our path to the surface all but empty. It’s on the surface that the real danger lies. With all that empty space, the shofar, for all its supernatural power, won’t be able to turn away thousands of Nephilim warriors.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, stepping into the giant chasm.

  “Where are you going?” Kainda asks. She might be tired, but she’s still vigilant.