The Last Hunter - Descent (Book 1 of the Antarktos Saga)

by Jeremy Robinson

  At the bottom of the stairs is a creature I’ve never seen before. It’s about five feet tall and spindly, sporting arms and legs like a walking stick insect. But its head is large and shaped like an upside down egg. Two dark almond-shaped eyes frame a tiny nose and a slit for a mouth. It just stands there, watching us.

  “Ull, this is Lagash,” Ninnis says to me.

  “Greetings Ull,” I hear, but not with my ears. The voice is in my head.

  In my head! Can it hear my thoughts?

  I fight my growing panic and say, “Greetings to you, Lagash. You are—”

  “A gatherer.” Its voice enters my consciousness like a hammer-driven nail. “Do not resist my voice, Ull, it can damage your mind.”

  I try responding with mine, the way Ull might. You have not yet known damage. I focus on an image of me beating Lagash with Whipsnap. Stay out of my head.

  I see his black eyes shift to my belt. Then he bows and steps away.

  A few moments after we pass, Ninnis looks back at Lagash, who is still standing by the stairway. “What did you say to him?”

  “I showed him what would happen if he forced his way into my thoughts again.”

  Ninnis laughs. “Be glad he is a lesser gatherer. The elders are more dangerous than any warrior.”

  “Be sure to point them out to me, then, so that I do not offend.” I fake a laugh and give Ninnis a punch in the shoulder the way Justin used to do to me, the way that says, we’re friends.

  We’re in a part of the citadel I’ve never seen before. The hallway is lined by massive, forty foot doors. Ancient statues fill house-sized alcoves. And carvings, as detailed as those found in the world’s ancient tombs, decorate the walls. I can hear voices and footsteps beyond the doors. But we see no one else. He leads me to a set of double doors so vast I think you could fit a 747 through them.

  He shouts out in a language I don’t understand, then notes my attention. “Sumerian,” he says. “The original language of the Nephilim, which was then taught to men. You’ll learn it soon enough.”

  A loud creaking echoes in the vast hall as the doors open inward.

  On the other side is a space built like, and as large as, a football stadium. A staircase descends to the floor, perhaps fifty feet below. Lining the edges of the space are skins and furs arranged into human and Nephilim sized lounging areas. Spread throughout are creatures cooking on spits. Bowls of food I don’t recognize are arranged around the rooms. And the smell, even to my newfound self, makes my stomach rumble. I may no longer be Ull anymore, but I am still accustomed to the food here. And it has been some time since I ate.

  But the creaking of the door has captured the attention of the fifty-odd creatures in the room. There are ten Nephilim warriors, some wearing masks I recognize as the heads of more famous gods: Anubis, Zeus, Odin and others. Ull is there, too. There are a few gatherers staring up at me with their big black eyes, but I don’t feel them in my head. There are bulbous sickly looking things with rolls of fat that cascade like waves when they move. Their round faces are feminine, but few other features are apparent. Even their arms seem to have been overtaken and absorbed by their fat. There is a group of humans, dressed for some ancient battle. These are my fellow hunters. When I see Kainda standing among them already, I make a mental note that she is fast. I see others in a flash. Strange creatures, some of which appear to be half man, half animal, but I don’t have time to get a good look.

  One of the warriors has stood. His hair is red, like the rest, but his eyes are yellow. When I see the dark leather garb that matches that of Ninnis, I know who he is: Enki, first son of Nephil.

  When his eyes meet mine, even across a distance of more than one hundred feet, I have to fight to not show my revulsion. But the stare is short lived. He bares his teeth in a snarl, turns his head to the ceiling two hundred feet above and lets out a howl. Soon everyone in the room is howling, even Ninnis.

  For a moment, I’m dumbfounded. What’s going on? Then I realize this is their applause. They are praising me. I feel a swell of pride as the intensity of the sound shakes me to the core.

  Then I’m howling with them.

  A smile creeps onto my face.

  Ull is rising.

  36

  Energy courses through my body. I feel bonded to all in the room. The howl, just now ending, creates a strong sense of belonging to the pack. Like wolves. A tingle rolls down my spine and my hair stands on end. And when the chamber has fallen silent again, I stand in awe of what I have just experienced. When the energy fades, so does Ull, and that awe is replaced by repulsion. But that dark side of me arrived at an opportune time. When Ninnis claps me on the shoulder, I know joining in was the right thing to do.

  Enki bows his head slightly and opens his arms, motioning to the room as if to say, this is all for you. Then he sits and begins to eat once more. The menagerie of Nephilim follows his cue, and the feast begins anew.

  I am thankful for this. There will be no speeches. No idle chit-chat. This is a time of primal bonding.

  I follow Ninnis down the staircase and into the stadium-sized lower floor. The first creatures to greet me look like gatherers, but are covered in green scaly skin, almost like a cresty’s, and have yellow eyes, like Enki’s. The things ooze malevolence, but they bow as we pass.

  “The seekers,” Ninnis says to me. “They work closely with, but do not always get along with, the gatherers. They have been subservient to the gatherers since their coup failed.”

  This news astonishes me. I pictured the Nephilim as one big happy—yet exceedingly evil—family, bound to a common goal. Ninnis senses my question. “The Nephilim have warred among themselves for centuries, culling the weak as they do.”

  “Have the hunters ever revolted?” I ask.

  “We are not fully Nephilim. It is not our right,” he says, and I think, revolution is never a right, but is always an option. I stay silent though, because he continues, “…though we may take part in battle if commanded by our masters.”

  “Aren’t all the Nephilim our masters?”

  “No. Ull is your master. Enki is mine.”

  “What happens if one of our masters dies?”

  Ninnis looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Such a thing hasn’t happened since the death of Nephil. Killing warriors is near impossible, but it’s also forbidden. They are the strongest. And will lead the battle against the topside. By your side, of course.”

  I make an effort to puff up my chest with pride, but I’m really just trying to keep myself from passing out. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Without a master,” Ninnis says. “You would be free.”

  A genuine smile fights to spread my lips. I resist it, but the twitch in my facial expression hasn’t gone unnoticed. “You find that pleasing?”

  “Not at all,” I say. “I will be free soon enough.”

  He turns fully toward me, confusion and anger tensing his forehead into a maze of crisscrossing lines. In that moment I am reminded of how old Ninnis is, despite his physical ability. “When I accept the spirit of Nephil,” I add. “I will have no master.”

  Ninnis pauses. And then laughs. “Right you are!”

  When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I feel positively puny, like I’ve been shrunk down to the size of an ant. The ceiling is so far above me. Even the smallest of the Nephilim, the gatherers, stand taller than me. And the tallest, Enki and the other warriors, tower over me, even when they’re sitting on the floor.

  But all of them bow. Every single one, until we reach the fat one.

  She (I call her a she because her eyes are vaguely feminine) is revolting. From a distance, I could not see the details of this thing. Where a nose and mouth should be, there is something that looks more like a beak. And indeed, there are feathers on her head instead of hair. The body is composed of rolls of fat that have enveloped her arms and legs almost completely. I think I see wiggling fingers protruding from a spot half way up, but it’s impossible to
tell. She could just as easily have stubby wings. Her head sits atop the mass of flesh like a cherry on a fifteen foot tall ice cream sundae.

  “She does not bow,” I observe.

  “Breeders are unable to move,” he says, pointing to what looks like a massive stretcher beneath her body. “They cannot move without assistance and only the warriors are strong enough to move them. Gaia is here because she was your breeder.”

  This last statement stuns me twice. The first is the revelation that this sickly blobbish bird-woman-thing is Gaia, the Greek fertility goddess otherwise known as Mother Earth. She’s depicted so beautifully in the books I’ve read. The second is that she is somehow associated with me. “My breeder?”

  “Where do you think all the feeders came from?”

  “Feeders?”

  Ninnis chuckles. “That’s right. You call them egg-monsters. She was far above you in the pit. She could not see you, but she could hear you, and smell you. The feeders hatch from her eggs.”

  This is far beyond anything I’d expected. I scan the room quickly and see several roast feeders on spits. “They’re Nephilim? They eat their own young? I ate their young?”

  “It is the purpose for which they are born,” Ninnis says. “True Nephilim are born of human mothers, not Nephilim mothers.”

  I can feel my stomach tensing and keep talking to distract myself. “What happens if they are not eaten? Do they die?”

  “If a feeder escapes into the wild and survives, they become insatiable eating machines larger than any Nephilim.” He glances at me. “May you never run into one.”

  My eyebrows rise. “There are loose feeders?”

  “Three,” he says. “They roam the largest, deepest tunnels underground, eating everything that crosses their path.”

  With a shake of my head, I look back at Gaia. “What do the breeders eat, if they can’t move?”

  He stops. “Watch. It shouldn’t take long. They’re always eating.”

  We stand there for a moment. Then I see a centipede crawl out of a crack in the wall behind the breeder. It crawls up her feathered backside and scrambles toward the head.

  “Is she emitting a pheromone?” I ask.

  “A what?”

  I have to remind myself that Ninnis’s education is a hundred years old, and I would guess didn’t include much science to begin with. “It’s like a scent. Something that attracts the centipede.”

  He nods. “I think so.”

  The centipede stands beneath Gaia’s open beak and rises up, its antennae twitching. With a snap, the beak closes down over the creature, consuming half of it with one bite. She tilts her head back while the centipede’s legs twitch madly. With a flex of her throat, the centipede vanishes.

  I turn away. To watch any more is to invite intestinal doom.

  I see several more different variants of Nephilim, but I never get a chance to ask about them. We have arrived at our destination. A group of ten hunters lounge on the floor, all sharing a roast feeder and cups of water. All are dressed formally in leathers and carry a variety of weapons—swords, knives, hammers, maces, bows and arrows—but nothing quite as unique, or homemade, as Whipsnap and my climbing claws.

  Kainda glares at me for a moment, then tears a chunk of flesh from the feeder and gnaws on it. The rest bow and move their limbs to allow Ninnis and I passage to what I assume is my spot. As far as I can tell, it is the only seat in the room, and looks like a throne cut from solid stone. I sit in its fur-covered seat and find it quite comfortable, almost like it can hide me from the monsters surrounding me.

  Ninnis sits on the floor next to me.

  “Why am I in a chair?” I ask, “While everyone else sits on the floor?”

  “This does not please you?”

  His question makes me remember that it should please me. I am Ull! I laugh. “It pleases me very much. I was wondering what the significance was.”

  “It represents your future throne,” Ninnis says. “After the bonding.”

  I see another glare from Kainda shot in my direction, and something inside me snaps. Perhaps it’s a little bit of Ull, I don’t know. But when she takes another chunk of flesh from the feeder, I take hold of Whipsnap, pull it free and send its blade snapping into the meat, pulling it from her hand.

  The other hunters fall silent. I bring the meat to my mouth and take a bite. When I’m done, all but one of the hunters is grinning. Kainda is not. So I fix her with a stare of my own and say, “Rude not to offer your future lord something to eat.”

  All eyes turn to Kainda and she is forced to bow.

  “You are bold beyond wisdom,” Ninnis whispers to me.

  He’s right, of course. I can’t say what got into me. Ull is my only excuse, but I can’t say that. To Ninnis, I am Ull.

  Before I can respond, a booming voice fills the chamber. It is Enki. He’s speaking Sumerian so I can’t understand what he’s saying, but there is a howl in response to it. The howl brings a surge of energy, but I don’t join in this time.

  Neither does Kainda.

  Enki walks toward the hunters. He could squash every last one of us in just a few stomps of his massive foot. But he kneels down on one knee, offers a bow and holds out a glass vial that looks tiny in his hand. “It is time, little Ull, to accept your place among us.”

  Enki glances at Ninnis and communicates something with his eyes. Ninnis hops to his feet and takes the vial from Enki. He approaches me, holding the now small container like it is a holy relic.

  I realize that’s precisely what it is when Enki speaks again. “This flask holds the last drops of blood from our lord, Nephil. It is the last of his body left on this Earth, free from the confines of Tartarus.”

  A howl follows this statement.

  “With his blood, you will bind your body with his.” He’s speaks directly to me now. “Over time, it will make you stronger and prepare you for the spirit of Nephil. This is a privilege beyond description and an honor we can only bestow once. Are you prepared to accept the body of Nephil? Are you willing to surrender yourself to his spirit? Will you, as lord Nephil, lead his children against the human race?” This last part is said loudly, with arms outstretched, and it is met with the loudest howl of the night.

  I can feel Ull clawing to get out, but I resist him. I need to make this decision, not him, and every atom in my body is screaming, NO! It will mean revealing I am no longer Ull the hunter. It will mean my death.

  Not your death, a voice inside me says. Ull?

  They will not kill you.

  They will break you.

  Again.

  Say, no.

  His agreement with my decision to decline reveals the error of my ways.

  No, no, no.

  It takes all my effort, but I speak my one word reply with a grin.

  Say, NO!

  “Yes.”

  37

  Ninnis slowly raises the vial toward me. I detect a slight shake in his hands. His eyes are glued, not on me, his future lord, but on the blood. There is an undeniable craving in his eyes.

  In all the hunters’ eyes.

  I suspect many of them are fighting the urge to take the blood for themselves. Perhaps this was an honor for which all of them were considered? Perhaps they’re just envious?

  Whatever the cause, something is holding them back. They’d have to get through Ninnis first, who despite craving the liquid himself, is unshakably loyal to the Nephilim. I would come next, striking with Whipsnap (well, Ull would, I’m not entirely sure what I would do) and perhaps even Enki would get involved. But even then, if they survived all of that and drank the blood, would they survive the physical bonding with Nephil’s body?

  I suspect not. And I think that is the most likely reason none of them acts on their desire.

  The vial is warm to the touch, as though the blood has just been drawn. I think about drinking the ancient liquid and become queasy.

  Can I do this?

  I look around seeing hundreds of ey
es turned toward me, some of them larger than my head. I know there’s no choice. I must do this.

  To survive.

  For Aimee.

  For everyone I love on the surface, who will die if the Nephilim invade.

  I pull the stopper and hold the vial in the air, instigating a howl that I hope will supply me with courage. As the howl reverberates through the chamber and my body, I place the vial to my lips and turn it up. But the liquid does not immediately fall. Despite being part supernatural, the blood has dried some. It slides down the throat of the vial slowly, a gelatinous blob.

  The blood falls into my mouth and I immediately know the squishy mass is too big and too solid to swallow hole. With my eyes closed and my head still turned toward the ceiling, I give Nephil’s blood three solid chews and then swallow.

  I can feel it, sliding down my throat, but there is no other change aside from the tears of disgust building in my eyes.

  Then it hits my stomach with the force of a giant’s fist. I pitch forward, screaming in pain. A burning flows through my veins, moving down my legs and then back up. My torso is next, then my neck and finally my brain. The burning speeds my thoughts and heightens my awareness. But I am still me. Nephil’s body has no effect on my thoughts.

  And I can only think of one thing as I curl into a ball, gritting my teeth and wailing with pain: run!

  Now is the time. I am the carrier of Nephil’s blood. They cannot kill me. With it, I may be strong enough to resist breaking if I’m captured. I may be strong enough to undo everything they have spent thousands of years preparing for. But I must run.

  Now.

  I focus this burning energy far beyond myself, reaching out to something beyond my intellect. The burning in my veins is matched by a strong wind now roaring through the underground tunnels. The snapping of my over-tense muscles is mirrored by the cracking of the continent’s stratus layer as water finds a new path.

  My only chance of escape is chaos.

  And to do that I must give the Nephilim something they have never seen before. Something they do not enjoy. Something they fear.