The Last Hunter - Lament (Book 4 of the Antarktos Saga) (21 page)

“Tell me now!”

“Yes,” he says. “Your parents yet live. As do your three siblings. Two older brothers and a younger sister.”

That last part was a gift. Em smiles. “A sister.”

A question strikes me like a lightning bolt. This being might know about my parents, too. I open my mouth to ask, but the glowing man holds his hand out in the universal motion for,
stop
.

“Knowing the answer to your question, one way or the other, will only serve to distract you,” he says.

I close my mouth. It’s a horrible answer. A painful answer. But I can’t argue the logic. If I knew my parents were alive, I might try to reach out to them, or at least spend time thinking of our reunion, or what their lives were like and if they had any more kids. But if I find out they’re dead... Depression would grip me. I would eventually overcome it, but right now, at this moment, a lapse in strength or focus on my part could be disastrous. Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t push for more information on Em’s family.

“Where?” I ask, desperate for the knowledge that could reunite Em with her family. “Where is Em’s family?”

The being turns his head to Kat. His eyes glow brightly. “Tell them.”

I nearly fall over when I yank my head toward Kat. What could she possibly know? Has she met this creature before? Is she not who she claims to be?

Kat stares at the grass, lost. She looks up slowly, first at me and then at Em. “They’re in New Mexico.”

“How can you possibly know that?” I ask.

“It’s where I grew up,” she says.

Em is stunned. “You
know
them?”

“I work in a dangerous business,” Kat says. “The people I know, the people I love, they’re always in danger. I do what I can to protect them. Including changing my name.” A tear trickles down her cheek. “My last name—maiden name—isn’t Ferrell, it’s Graham. My name is Katherine Graham.” Tears flow freely. “I’m...” She looks at the being and he nods. “I’m your sister.”

Em gasps. Both hands go to her mouth. “No,” she says. “You’re lying.”

“I was a baby when you were taken,” Kat says. “You were only two. But I’ve seen your picture a thousand times. I didn’t see it at first, but I do now. Your eyes. You have our mother’s eyes.”

“She speaks the truth,” the glowing man says.

Em lowers her guard and approaches Kat. She regards her slowly, inspecting her face, the hint of freckles around her eyes, the shape of her lips.

They
do
look similar
, I think.

Em smiles, crying now as well. She puts her hand on the back of Kat’s neck and lowers her head. Kat does the same, lowering her head until their foreheads touch.

“Sister,” Em says. It’s just a whisper, but it carries the weight of familial recognition.

Kat confirms the new bond, repeating the word. “Sister.”

Even Kainda is getting a little misty eyed. I started crying around the same time Kat did, but it doesn’t take much to turn on my tear duct faucet. For Kainda, this is a powerful moment. She’s not used to seeing a true family bond at work. I take her hand, and she squeezes me tight.

“Family bonds the four of you with a strength that cannot be broken.” He motions to Em and Kat. “Sisters.” He motions to Em and me. “Brother and sister.” Then he motions to me and Kainda. “And betrothed.”

My face reddens and I nearly crack a joke to change the subject, but Kainda’s grip on my hand tightens. She was offered to me by her father, Ninnis. I turned down the offer then, but from what I know about hunter custom, the offer still stands. I look at Kainda, and nod.

She doesn’t gush. Doesn’t break down in tears. She just sniffs, straightens herself up, and with just a hint of a smile, says, “Good.”

I realize I’ve just made a huge life decision, but honestly, who else could stand by my side for the rest of my life? She’s beautiful, and strong, passionate and trustworthy, and we share the pain of being broken by the man she called father. We share an understanding that no one else could. There is no one else like her.

The being’s tone becomes deadly serious. “It is time.”

He reaches to a belt I had not yet noticed and takes the hilt of a sword. When he draws the blade out, it glows with an intensity that makes me squint. As I grow accustomed to the light, I see the blade more clearly. It’s a long, ornate sword, unlike any I’ve ever seen before. The sword itself is normal, almost common looking, but the light blooming from it comes from a fire that even I can feel.

“I have never released this sword,” the being says. “Nor do I want to, but the choice has been made.”

“All things are written,” I say.

He nods and turns the handle toward me. “Nothing can stand against the power of this blade. Not even the dark one’s spirit. Take it and turn Ophion away.”

“I can kill him?” I ask, eyes going wide. “I can stop him, right now?”

“No,” he says. “Death
cannot
come to this place. Not Ophion’s. Not yours. Do
not
kill him. Do you understand?”

I nod, feeling a mixture of confidence and disappointment.

He places the handle in my hand. The sword, despite its size, feels light. I can feel the heat from the fiery blade, but it does not burn me.

“Go,” the being says. “Retrieve the shofar and return the blade to me. Quickly.”

I look up toward a ceiling I cannot see. “But how? He’s up there.”

“Solomon,” the being says, a smile appearing on his face. “Sorrow. Weariness. The hardships of mankind. They cannot be felt here.
”

“What about pain?” I ask.

“Pain and death are a condition of man that cannot be avoided in this life, though death is forbidden here.” The being looks at me more intently. “Listen to my words. Hear me. You will
not
grow tired in this place.”

My eyes slowly widen. “Are you sure?” I ask, but don’t give him time to respond. I form a wind around me, lifting my body off the ground. Before I get too high, I focus on the clouds above. They quickly swirl, forming a hurricane overhead. Lighting flashes. Rain pours down. It’s big and bold, and effortless. I smile wide.

“Try not to destroy my valley,” the being says.

I turn my head upward and fly. Five seconds into my flight, I break the sound barrier and a boom rips through the cavern. I am a living missile tipped with a flaming sword. Despite all of the energy I am exerting, I will not grow weary. But none of this power can leave this place with me. Only the shofar. I pour on the speed, punch through the swirling clouds and see my enemy high above, moving quickly across the ceiling.

“Ophion!” I shout, and pour on the speed.

23

Tactically, shouting out your enemy’s name just before attacking is a bad idea. Even people who have never been in a schoolyard fight know this. Maybe honorable medieval knights would give warning, perhaps even give the enemy time to prepare, but I suspect that’s more of a fiction created by storytellers, or if not, a good number of knights died because of their noble ways. I’m far from noble and have no qualms about attacking a Nephilim from behind, but Nephil’s tendrils were just feet away from an alcove in the ceiling that I suspect might be the shofar’s hiding place.

Shouting stopped him.

But it also prepared him.

And I pay the price. My ascent is too fast, my flying abilities far from perfected, and my plan of attack—well, I hadn’t got beyond flying fast and shouting. So when two black tendrils shoot at my chest, there’s little I can do, but try to dodge.

I jerk to the right, narrowly avoiding the first tendril, but I’ve maneuvered directly into the path of the second. The blackness strikes my chest hard. The blunt force of the blow knocks the air from my lungs and breaks my concentration. I sprawl upwards and crash into the ceiling.

The impact knocks me silly, but it also spooks one of the valley’s smaller residents. A flock of tiny birds, hiding in holes in the ceiling, bursts out, clogging the air like living smoke. This is the roost Hades told me about.

I fall, first through the swarm of birds and then through the open air. The swirling clouds below slow to a stop. It’s only been seconds since I shouted Ophion’s name, but he’s managed to staunch all of my bravado.

My head is spinning.

My body aches.

But...I’m not tired. Not even close.

My fall comes to an abrupt halt. The wind gathers round me again.

Nephil’s voice echoes through the chamber, frustration billowing down as though spewed from a volcano.

The birds
, I think,
he can’t see the alcove because of the birds
.

On one hand, this is a good thing. If he can’t see the alcove, he can’t find and destroy the shofar. On the other hand, he is likely to kill the birds. The Kerubim’s words are still fresh in my mind.
Death cannot come to this place
. He was talking about Nephil when he spoke those words, but I suspect it applies to the animals living here, too.

I don’t think the birds have ever been frightened before. And I don’t think they would have been frightened by me. It’s Nephil’s dark presence that’s scaring them. Instead of flying away, or flocking for safety, they’re just circling erratically. Sooner or later, two of them are going to collide and break their necks without any help from Nephil.

Hovering thirty feet below the tumult, I generate a wind at the core, right around Nephil, and gently push it out. The birds move with the air, further and further away from Nephil, who is watching me through Ninnis’s eyes.

“You fear for these creatures,” he says.

It’s not a question. I’ve exposed a weakness. But he’s too late to do anything about it. The birds are now a hundred yards away. I cut the wind and the birds quickly settle into new ceiling perches. Safe, for now.

I point the sword at Nephil and slowly rise toward him. That I didn’t drop it when he struck me or when I hit the ceiling is something of a miracle, but life in the underworld has taught me to never, not ever, lose my weapon during a fight. It’s a lesson that has saved me several times in the past.

“Leave this place,” I say. “Now.”

“Leave?” Nephil says, sounding honestly confused. “You want to kill me. You want to kill this body. I can feel your radiating hatred for us both.”

“I don’t hate Ninnis,” I say, and it’s true. I have forgiven the man, despite his despicable actions, on more than one occasion. “He is not the man you made him.”

“All men are evil,” Nephil says. “We just remove the shackles that bind it. Like we did with you. Like
Ninnis
did with you. It’s still there, you know. I can taste it. How many people have you killed?”

I’m nearly within striking distance now, slowly closing the distance. “I have not killed a human being,” I say. “And I will not.”

He chuckles. “You have killed billions.”

“That was you.”

“You allowed it, Solomon. You could have repelled me at any time. You had the strength before I changed the world, just as you did afterward, but you waited. Why? Because you wanted it. You wanted all those people to die.”