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

by Jeremy Robinson

  “That,” Kat says. “Would not be good.”

  A laugh from behind turns me around. Kainda, Em and Luca are catching up, moving through the open path in the middle of the pack.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask Luca, the source of the laughter.

  “I like it when Xin makes them do things like this,” Luca says, motioning to the dinosaurs.

  For some reason it hadn’t occurred to me that Xin was controlling all these cresties. The concept of controlling so many minds at once seems positively daunting, even to someone who can control the entire continent’s elements. “You’re doing this?” I ask.

  “They have simple minds,” he says. “And they are willing participants. I simply send out the command and they obey. But that is rarely required. They follow Grumpy’s lead and he often obeys without the use of my—” he taps his head, mimicking my previous gesture. “They are good soldiers.”

  “Good dancers, too,” Luca says with a laugh.

  “You didn’t?” I say, smiling wide.

  “The boy missed his family,” Xin says with a shrug. “I did what I could.”

  Shaking my head at the mental image of Grumpy doing a jig, I thump his sides with my heels and move forward, if only to spare my prehistoric steed from further embarrassment. “Let’s go.”

  “I think I would like to see the dancing dinosaur,” Kainda says with a trace of humor.

  “I’d like to see you dance,” Luca says to her, which gets a laugh out of Em.

  “That might be even stranger than a dancing cresty,” Em says.

  The good humor lasts all the way up the tunnel as the group discusses who would make the worst dancer. In the end, the winner is me, on account of my lack of rhythm and clumsiness when embarrassed. I try to defend myself, but Luca knows these things better than the others do, because he’s the same exact way. “But I’m a kid,” he says, “So it’s okay if I look silly.”

  We slow at the exit and our humorous exchange fades.

  “Are the men outside hunters or outsider military?” I ask.

  “Most of the sentries are what outsiders call Army Rangers,” Xin says, “but the entrances to the underworld are watched by hunters, who are more familiar with what lurks below. They have been trained to use modern communication devices, though, and could call in an attack if they feel we are a threat.”

  “They wouldn’t attack us themselves?” I ask.

  “The old ways are changing,” Xin says. “Freedom makes men less willing to throw their lives away.”

  I take the lead and motion for the others to hang back a bit. I squint in the bright light of a noonday sun, shading my eyes with my arm. Grumpy steps into the light cautiously, perhaps because he senses danger, but more likely, because his eyes are adjusting to the light, too, and his stubby forearms are incapable of shading his eyes.

  I don’t see anyone, but there are a thousand hiding places in the thick jungle surrounding the small clearing at the cave’s exit. I’m no doubt being watched, if not targeted. “Do not be afraid,” I say, finding it strange that I’m using the same words of greeting as the Edinnu Kerubim.

  No response. Not a greeting or a thrown weapon. Of course, it would take a minute for a missile to get here. I decide to put them at ease as quickly as possible to avoid any confusion. “I am Solomon Ull Vincent,” I announce. “Your...leader.” Still feels funny saying that, but that’s the way it is for all of us, like it or not. “Show yours—”

  I turn around and find one man and one woman standing above the cave entrance. They are dressed in brown leathers and coated in mud, impossible to see in the shadows, but easy to spot in the glaring bright sun. Both of them bow.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say, feeling instantly uncomfortable. “Really. You can stand up.”

  When they stand, I realize they’re just obeying, not relaxing. Ugh. “What are your names?”

  “Mellitt,” says the man. He’s tall, bearded and carries a long spear. His blood red hair is mostly covered by mud, but I can see it clearly enough. What I can’t see, is any streak of reclaimed innocence. It could be there, but the mud obscures it as well, which might be the point. Not all hunters are with us. Which also means that this could be a trap.

  “Turner,” says the woman. She is lanky and slender like a snake. The perfect body for the underworld. Her skin is pale, which hints that she’s only recently come to live in the sun. The sunglasses covering her eyes confirm it.

  Do you know them? I think to Xin.

  They are with us, he replies.

  “There are five more with me,” I tell them. “Xin, Kainda, Em, Luca and Kat, one of the outsiders.” I pat Grumpy’s head, which makes the woman fidget uncomfortably. “And about three hundred more of these guys. They are friends. All of them. You’ll let them pass.”

  Both nod, bow again, and slip back into the jungle shadows above the cave.

  The others exit the cave and Xin takes the lead.

  “You handled that well, kid,” Kat says. “Authority suits you.”

  I laugh at this, but my humor is short lived when Xin says, “Follow me closely. Do not stray far from my path. The jungle is full of traps.”

  “Traps?” I say.

  “For the Nephilim,” Xin explains. “They were Clark’s idea.”

  “Traps won’t kill the Nephilim,” Kainda points out.

  “No,” Xin says, “But they might slow their progress long enough for our forces to get in place.”

  With no more disagreement from Kainda, Xin leads the way. We follow him single file through the jungle, though we really don’t have to try. The dinosaurs maintain the formation on their own, forming a living train of green and red striped carnivores just over a mile long.

  We journey in silence for nearly thirty minutes before starting up an incline that takes us high above the jungle below. Looking back, through the gaps in the canopy, I catch glimpses of distant jungle. There’s a river and beyond that, a streak of gray.

  The wall, I think. It’s the wall upon which I first discovered that Merrill had returned to Antarktos, and the wall that took me inland to where I found Em, Kainda and Luca. The river running in the same direction must be the one that leads to the lake, the same river on which Merrill, Aimee and eventually Mira, on the back of Gloop the Weddell seal, made their escape to the coast. We’re not far from Clark Station II. That little bit of knowledge brings me some peace. In many ways, this is my home—where I was born, where I last saw my parents, where I lived with Em and Luca, and trained with Tobias. It looks far different now, of course, but it’s still familiar.

  The trees thin and then clear as we reach the hill’s crest, though it might actually be a small mountain rather than a hill. Xin leads me toward a cliff’s edge.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “The others will stay back.”

  “But why?”

  “I want you to see,” he says.

  “See what?” I ask, but then the trees part and the view is exposed. I can see all the way down the mountain, as the jungle stretches toward the coast. It all looks normal until about a mile inland where the tree line abruptly ends at a field of stumps. The jungle has been cut away.

  Half the distance to the coast is the forward operating base. It is far more massive than I was expecting. Sandbag walls, razor wire and armed guards fringe the whole compound. Hundreds of guards, both modern military and hunter alike. There are artillery cannons, large jeeps, helicopters and even a handful of giant looking tanks.

  So much for the Antarctic Treaty, I think. Part of the treaty’s mandate was that no country would deploy military on Antarctic soil. Not that I’m complaining. The military hardware is a welcome sight, for now at least.

  There are several buildings, a sea of tents and a level of activity that reminds me of ants at work, which is probably how the Nephilim will see it too. We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them. The memory of t
he Old Testament verse comes and goes quickly, not because it’s a poignant reminder of what we will face, but because I see what lies beyond the FOB, in the ocean.

  An aircraft carrier and many more dangerous-looking naval ships fill the ocean. Jets. Missiles. Heavy guns. And an army of men and dinosaurs. It’s a gathering of forces unlike any ever seen before...except maybe for the Nephilim army that will eventually descend on this place like a plague of impervious, oversized locusts.

  All of this is yours to command, Xin thinks to me, but only if you take it.

  Take it?

  Men do not give up control of such power willingly. Kat’s opinion of you alone will not be enough. Trust between men forms like fossils found in the earth—very slowly. Time is short, so trust in you must be...forced. He looks at me, his yellow eyes serious. “I do not mean for you to attack them,” he says aloud. “But you will need to impress upon them your right to lead. There can be no doubt. If you fail to do this, all else is lost.”

  30

  Approaching the FOB gates feels similar to when I stood before the gates of Tartarus for the first time. The sight of soldiers and hunters, all training their untrusting eyes—and weapons—on our prehistoric caravan is unnerving. I am powerful. I know this. But could I stop every single bullet if these men decided I was an enemy? Could I protect the people with me? The shofar wouldn’t help in that situation. So I decide to do everything in my power to avoid it.

  I pull back on the reins, bringing Grumpy to a stop, two hundred feet from the still closed gates. The rest of the dinosaurs follow suit. Xin looks a little surprised, but then nods at me.

  The beasts, at least, will follow you, he thinks to me.

  I climb down and motion for the others to follow.

  I should wait here, Xin thinks.

  I will probably need your help, I reply.

  They fear me.

  They need to learn not to, I think. You are my brother and they will learn to accept you, just as they will learn to follow me.

  Very well, Xin thinks in reply. But you may find yourself safeguarding me rather than the other way around.

  It would be a nice change, I think. Let’s go.

  The dinosaurs part for us and we continue along the path to the gate on foot. When the dinosaurs start to fan out behind us, turning toward the jungle and forming a living, sharp-toothed wall, I ask, “The clearing isn’t mined, is it?”

  “Mines?” Xin asks.

  “Explosive traps triggered by weight,” Kat explains.

  “No,” Xin says, “though I suspect such devices were used in the jungles surrounding us.”

  The gates are chain link, topped with razor wire—a feeble stumbling block against just about anything that might come out of the jungle, including us, with the exception of Turkquins, the big predatory birds that look like a cross between a turkey and a penguin. Two soldiers in a ten-foot tall guard tower stare at us. One points a large machine gun in our direction. As dorky as it feels, I force myself to smile and wave.

  Both men look like they’ve smelled something foul. They have no idea who I am, and though they might recognize Xin, they don’t trust him. The machine gun is proof enough of that.

  “Stop right there,” says one of the men, his voice cut with the threat of violence should we not obey.

  I stop, just ten feet from the gate. Fifteen feet from the men. I look at their guard post and frown. Even up there, they’ll still be looking up at the warriors. Of course, they can also jump out and survive the fall if need be.

  “See something you don’t like?” the second man says. He’s noticed my frown.

  “We’d like to come inside,” I say. “I’m a friend of Merrill Clark.”

  “Far as I know, he’s never said anything about you.”

  I meet the man’s eyes. He’s young, maybe my age if you ignore the fact that despite my late teen appearance, I’m in my mid-thirties by surface years. “My name is Solomon Ull Vincent. I am the last hunter and leader of the men and women you now know as hunters.”

  This catches their attention. They start eyeing me up and down, whispering to each other, but loud enough for me to hear.

  “This is the guy?”

  “He doesn’t look like much.”

  “What if he’s lying? Could be lying.”

  “He is with that freakjob...”

  I glance at Xin. He’s unfazed by the insult, or perhaps doesn’t realize it’s an insult.

  “The kid, too.”

  They would let us in if I told them to, Xin says to my mind, but when he looks at me, his eyes say something else.

  I know, I know, I think back, make an impression.

  Without lifting my arms, or making a movement that might make me a target, or reveal I am the source of the phenomenon, I direct a sphere of wind to form around one of the men. His whispered sentence is cut off by a “Whoa!” He rises into the air.

  “Charlie!” the man shouts, reaching out for his partner. “Dude! Help me!”

  But Charlie doesn’t move. He’s stuck in place, part of him in shock, the other part bound to the wooden floor, which has twisted around his feet. The wood, hewn from the trees that once filled this clearing, bends to my will.

  The airborne soldier flails like a bird with broken wings until I bring him down, outside the gate. I spin him upright and hold him just a foot above the ground so that we’re face to face. It’s then that I’m struck by the man’s stature. “You’re short,” I say.

  “W—what?” he replies. He looks me up and down. “You—you’re tall.”

  I am? I look down, confused by this. Over the past years, I have grown taller and muscular. I grew a beard. All without noticing. “How tall?”

  “Like six-five,” he says.

  “Huh,” I say. It’s not really surprising. One of my uncles is six-seven.

  Xin clears his throat.

  Right. Make an impression.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Duane. Corporal Duane Cairns.”

  “Well, Corporal,” I say. “You know who I am, yes?”

  He nods. There’s no doubting it now. He’s probably heard stories about me, from the other hunters and from the freed prisoners, but I doubt he, or many of the other people here, believed them. He does now, of course.

  “Could you open the gate so I don’t have to melt it?” I ask. “I’m trying to be polite.”

  His eyes go wide. I’m not certain I could do such a thing. I think I could, but I’ve never tried. Still, since he’s floating in the air at the moment, he’ll believe I can do just about anything.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Charlie, open the gate!”

  I motion to Charlie with my hand so that he knows it is, without a doubt, me who sets him free from the wood binding his legs. An electric motor buzzes a moment later and the gate grinds open.

  Cairns looks relieved when I put him on the ground.

  “Could you go tell the people in charge that I am here?” I ask.

  And... Xin’s voice fills my head.

  “And,” I say, cringing inwardly as I speak the words, “that I am ready to take command.”

  He looks at me like I’m insane, but then nods quickly and hurries into the base.

  I glance up at Charlie and the man snaps a salute.

  Kat chuckles and says, “At ease soldier. We’re on the same side.”

  I step through the gate, followed by the others, and am surprised when Zuh steps out from behind the guard tower. She’s now wearing a pair of black cargo pants, though her top is still...scant. I can see her pockets are filled with supplies. Is she hoarding? It wouldn’t surprise me. She might expect to be on the run again at any time.

  Her dark red pom-pom of hair makes me smile. She takes this as an invitation to wrap her arms around me in an embrace. I flinch away, but am ensnared.

  “Zuh!” Kainda shouts.

  I’m released as Zuh’s kusarigama appears in her hands. “Would you like to finish, daughter of Ninni
s?”

  Kainda unclips her hammer.

  I shoot her an angry look. “Seriously?”

  She doesn’t draw the weapon, but she remains tense. She’ll defend herself if she has to.

  I step closer to Zuh, which brings a smile to her face. It disappears when I put my hand on the chain attached to the kusarigama’s blade. I lean in to her ear. “I admire your strength. And your courage.”

  A flicker of a smile returns.

  “But,” I say, my voice a whisper now. “The old ways are dead. The laws that bound hunters are gone. You are free. As am I. And only I can choose...”

  I look back over my shoulder. I can see by the strained looks on everyone’s faces that they’re trying to hear me, but can’t. Well, maybe Xin can, but there isn’t much I can do about that. I lower my voice and continue. “...who I will love. Who I will marry.”

  I lean back and look at Zuh’s face. She looks quite unhappy, but I don’t think she’s going to attack anyone. I search for hurt in her eyes and find none. She doesn’t know me. Doesn’t love me. For her, as it once was for Kainda, marriage to me was about status and power. She’ll get over it.

  “You called me King, before,” I say.

  Her eyes grow and lock onto mine. “I still do.”

  “Then you will listen. And obey.”

  She nods.

  “You. Are. Free.” I enunciate each word. “To live and love and fight anyway you choose with anyone you choose. Do you understand?”

  Her eyes squint. Despite not moving her lips, I recognize the expression as a smile. Perhaps the first genuine smile of her life, which might be why it looks so awkward.

  She offers a slight bow and steps back, avoiding Kainda’s gaze. I clear my throat, offer a smile at my entourage and head into the base.

  A gathering throng greets us as we walk into the central quad of the large base. Men and women dressed in military uniforms eye us. The few hunters present whisper to each other. Some bow, which incites ridiculing glances from the soldiers. We’re being judged right now, I know, so I keep my head up, bury my fear and ignore my lack of confidence. As a kid, I was terrified of authority. Once, when I was still in school—seventh grade, I think—my teacher, Mrs. Baker, who was a fairly pleasant and non-threatening woman, lost her patience with my inattentive boredom. (I was years ahead of the subject matter.) She took me aside while the students filed to the next classroom for English. Three sentences into her gentle rebuke, I broke into tears. She felt awful. I know she did because she apologized several times despite having done nothing wrong. But my thin-skinned wall had been chipped, and all the fear and anxiety I had over school came gushing out.