30
I haven’t slept again by the time Ninnis comes back, but I have eaten, three times. I’m not sure who brings the food, but every so often there is a knock on the wooden door. When I answer it, there is a plate of cooked meat on the hallway floor. It is the best food I’ve eaten since I can remember, but there is no one to thank for it.
Though I’ve been in the room for hours, I haven’t ventured more than a few feet past the door. The hallway dwarfs my room, which is closer to a mouse hole by comparison. I’m not sure, but this must be some kind of human-only portion of the citadel. The doors lining both sides of the hallway are all human sized despite the space being large enough for two Nephilim walking side by side.
Most of the doors are open and the rooms beyond are empty. I suspect that they belong to other hunters, like Ninnis—like me—who are in other parts of the continent right now. I wish I could meet them now, but suspect I will after I pass this third and final test.
I lie on the egg-monster skin bed and stare at the ceiling. But I’m no longer seeing its graffiti-covered surface. Instead, I picture as many different scenarios as possible. I know I’ll be on the surface, so there will likely be snow on the ground. Maybe cracks in the ice to hide in. If I’m lucky it will be night, but I suspect it will be day. The darkness of night would make things too easy.
It will be daylight. I’m sure of it. And the sun will hurt my eyes. In fact, with the surface of Antarctica largely barren of cover and either stripped clean by high winds or covered in snow, hiding may well be impossible. My white skin will help me blend in with the snow and ice. But my hair—I take a handful of the clumpy red mass and pull it in front of my eyes—my hair will stand out like a beacon.
The odds are against me being stealthy. But maybe that’s not required? Before I can picture a thousand ways to charge at and quickly kill another human being, Ninnis is at the door.
“It’s time,” he says.
The journey is several miles of uphill paths. Ull accompanies us most of the way and sets our pace at a brisk walk—for him. Ninnis and I have to run to keep up and when the terrain gets rough, that becomes a challenge for both of us. Several hours later we reach the end of our journey. The forty foot tall tunnel shrinks down to ten and Ull stops.
“This is where we part ways, little Ull,” he says. “I will wait here for your return and the report of your success or failure.”
I nod.
“Should you succeed, you will be welcome in the halls of Asgard for the rest of your days.”
“Asgard?” I ask.
“The citadels,” Ninnis says. “Asgard. Olympus. Tuat. They’re the dwelling places of the masters.”
“I—I know,” I say. “I just never thought they were—”
“Real?” Ull finishes. He leans in close, his head larger than my body. “We are very real, little hunter.” He motions for the small tunnel ahead. “Now go. And do not fail.”
“I won’t,” I say before heading into the tunnel with Ninnis.
After another mile hike, we reach the end of the tunnel. A wall of glowing white caps the end. I squint at the bright sphere of snow.
Ninnis dons a pair of sunglasses.
“None for me?” I ask.
“Not this time,” he says. “No weapons. No gear. Just this.”
He holds up a leather bag.
“What’s this for?”
“Several hundred feet below the exit you will find a man and a woman. Put this over her head and capture her, alive.”
I take it. “And the man? Can I kill him?”
“No,” he says. “The point of this test is subtlety and control. The outside world can’t know we’re here until we are ready to reveal ourselves. He must believe her disappearance to be an accident or result of some natural phenomenon.
You
got lost in a storm. I fell into a fissure. And we were both left for dead as a result.”
I understand and head for the snowy wall. For a moment I think I’ll have to dig through, but a small opening on the left reveals a sliver of blue sky. I slide through the narrow opening and find my eyes assaulted.
I adjust to the light slowly, but after several minutes I can open my eyes enough to see the world around me. The mountain slopes down and splits into a valley, barren of snow, far below us. In the valley, two people kneel by what looks like a large, partially uncovered limb. I can’t make out what they’re doing, but I suspect the woman is the one dressed in bright pink. I can’t remember why, but pink feels like a feminine color to me. The man is wearing bright orange.
I step out into the day and Ninnis takes my arm. “Take as long as you need. If you’re detected, you fail. If they escape, you fail. If you resort to violence, you fail. Understand?”
“I do,” I say, pulling away.
“I’ll be watching,” he says, holding up a pair of binoculars.
I put the leather bag over the top of my head and stuff my hair up inside. Ninnis gives me a worried look, like I’ve lost my mind. I know I must look ridiculous, but my plan will work. “If they see me, they’ll see a brown rock on the white snow.”
He smiles. “We’ll see about that.”
I lie down on the snow, feeling the powder melt beneath my warmth, but feeling no cold in return. “Be back soon.” I pull myself across the snow, sliding on my stomach and begin a slow descent toward my unsuspecting prey.
31
It takes me two hours to slide down the mountainside. It’s not hard work—my body heat melts the top layer of snow, making it slick beneath me, and I can’t feel the cold—but I’m careful. My targets’ attention is mostly on the ground and whatever it is they’re working on. But occasionally one of them will look up. I am perfectly camouflaged with my white skin and hidden hair. But it’s possible one of them could notice the brown rock/bag covering my head is moving slowly toward them. They’re probably admiring the view, which is impressive, even through my squinted eyes.
My thoughts turn to Antarctica. It’s a magical land deserving of admiration, possibly even worship. They’re right to admire it. But it’s
my
land. I am bonded to it and it to me. No one has told me this, but I can feel it.
And I can prove it scientifically.
I pause there in the snow, exposed but invisible, and apply some scientific method. I’m not sure why I know this, or why I feel it’s important, but I know it will erase my doubts, and if true, will help my current situation.
Step one. Ask a question. Am I bonded to Antarctica and its environment below the surface, on the surface and...in the atmosphere?
Step two. Background research. I’ve already done this. I’ve experienced several examples of my emotions and strong reactions creating an environmental response. I’m also impervious to the effects of the environment. I don’t just not feel cold, it actually does no harm to my body. No reddening skin. No frostbite.
Step three. Construct a hypothesis. According to Ninnis, when I was born on Antarctica, its spirit, created by Nephilim magic (or something supernatural) was channeled into my body. Ninnis claimed it made me part Nephilim. As much as I’d like that, I don’t agree. I think it bonded me with the continent. The Nephilim made this land a living thing and when I was bonded to it, they gave it a brain—albeit, unknowingly. That’s my hypothesis.
Step four. Test with an experiment. I’ve been debating what this should be. Something subtle, that only I will notice.
I check my targets. They’re hard at work. With my eyes trained on them, I slowly roll onto my back. Subtle, I think, then focus my mind and emotions on a single event.
It’s only thirty seconds before I see it above me, fluttering down from above. The tiny snowflake descends above my face and lands on the tip of my nose. My hypothesis is true. I repeat the test to be sure, this time bringing five flakes down. When they touch down on the tip of my nose and melt, I focus on the resulting bead of water. It doesn’t run off to either side, or roll toward my forehead as it should (I’m laying downhill). Instead, it does as I will it, evaporating back into the atmosphere.
I fight the intense urge to laugh, and realize my elation might make me sloppy. I have a task to finish and Ninnis is probably wondering why I’m just lying here. For some reason, I don’t want him to know what I can do. Not yet. If they know that I’m different, that I’m strange, they may not welcome me. They may not allow me to offer myself to Nephil. I just can’t risk that yet.
So I turn myself over and stalk my prey.
I can hear their voices now, filtering up out of the valley. They’re deep in conversation.
I take a chance, thrusting myself hard. My body slides over the snow, building speed as I descend. I travel a distance that would have taken an hour to cover at my previous pace, in thirty seconds. As I approach the valley, I make a show of putting my hands on the snow to stop. But this is not what stops me. A burst of wind, like that katabatic in reverse, skims across the snowy slope and slows me to a silent stop.
I pull myself behind a rocky outcrop at the top of the valley wall. I can see them below. It looks like they’re digging a bone from the ice. I recognize the limb as a cresty femur, but this one is old. Fossilized.
If they only knew much fresher specimens still lived beneath their feet.
A quick survey of the valley shows very little cover to hide behind. And the trip back up, with the woman in tow, will be slow. For a moment, I wonder if they want me to fail. Or maybe it’s just Ninnis. Did he devise this test? When I succeed, will he be disappointed?
And I will succeed. There is no doubt about that.
My first task is finding an escape route that doesn’t require me dragging the bright pink clad woman all the way back up the mountain. I turn my attention to the valley, searching for cracks or fissures that may lead underground.
Where are you?
I think.
Show yourself.
A puff of dusty air rises from behind a boulder. I can’t see it, but I know its there. I can feel it now.
Now to address the issue of concealment.
With my head lowered and eyes closed, I create a storm inside me. I see it building like a dark monster, swirling with anger. I see an army of thick snow flakes carried by intense wind. It pours out of me.
My eyes snap open. I’m exhausted. Barely able to move.
What’s happening to me
? I think.
Then a shadow falls over me. Then the valley. I don’t bother turning around. I know what’s there, blotting out the sun. When the first flake of snow arrives, I grin and feel a measure of energy return. But it’s barely enough to move, let alone strike.
I hear the voices below, engaged in a conversation tinged with sarcasm, but I can’t make out the words. But a moment later, the man turns in my direction and I can hear exactly what he says. “My... Where’d that come from?”
She says something. His name I think. And then he’s shouting and grabbing a blue tarp. “Wrap up the fossil! I’ll get the other side. Fasten it tight!”
“There isn’t time!” she shouts, and she’s right. The snow and wind descend over them like a crashing wave.
The world turns white. Judging by their shouts, they’ve lost each other in the whiteout. I stand without fear of being seen and enter the valley. As adrenaline rushes into my body, my energy returns. I can’t see the woman, but her cries for help are like a lighthouse beacon. As I run toward her, my emotions soar. I feel the wind kick up behind me, pushing me forward, and when I can no longer contain my excitement I let out a howl. My voice mixes with the rushing wind as my soul mixes with the land.
I remove the hood from my head, unleashing my long red hair. A flash of bright pink directs me to the woman. I approach from behind and with the quickness of a cobra strike snap the hood over her head. I plant my hand over her hooded mouth, stifling her cry to a dull, “Hmph!”
She fights for a moment, but a quick strike to the back of her skull saps her energy. Her legs go out from under her and she falls into my arms. I make for the crack in the valley floor and slide in, dragging the woman behind me. Her thick jacket catches a few times, but the crack opens wide a few feet down, and then we’re through.
I want to remove the hood and look into the eyes of my prey, but I’m not sure I should. Not following the test parameters exactly as described might lead to failure. So I leave the hood on and cinch it shut around her neck. I’ve never been in this tunnel before, but I know the general direction I need to go to find Ninnis again: up.
As I carry the woman deeper, I will the storm to last a few minutes more, long enough for the woman to have conceivably wandered off. Just another victim of Antarctic whiteout conditions.
I find Ninnis about an hour later. He’s still at the tunnel exit, scanning the area below with his binoculars. His distraction is so intense that he doesn’t hear me approach. I clear my throat.
Ninnis whirls around, ready for a fight, but then sees me.
And then the woman.
He is honestly stunned, but not disappointed like I had worried.
“How did you—I don’t—what...” He pauses, shaking his head. “I’m having a hard time believing what I just saw, and what I didn’t see, and what I’m seeing now. The storm, it just came and went precisely when you needed it to.”
I shrug.
“How did you know?” His voice is growing angry. He suspects I had something to do with it. Maybe he remembers how Ull’s arrows somehow kept missing me. Maybe my sudden stop at the bottom of the mountain wasn’t convincing. Or maybe it’s just the convenient timing of a whiteout storm. But he’s starting to suspect.
So I lie. “I felt a cold breeze on my back about halfway down. You saw me roll over?”
He nods slowly.
“I was watching the storm, gauging its speed as it rose up over the mountain. It came in fast, so I slid down in time to take advantage. When it struck, so did I. There was a crack in the valley floor. It led to a tunnel, and here we are.”
He stares at me for a moment. A hint of a smile appears.
“Did the man see anything?” I ask.
“See for yourself,” Ninnis says, handing me the binoculars. I step outside and look down the mountainside. The man was still in the valley, which was coated with a thin film of snow. He’s pacing, hands cupped to his mouth, screaming. He saw nothing. All he knows is that the woman is missing. It’s all he’ll ever know.
When I re-enter the tunnel, Ninnis is kneeling down next to the woman, checking her pulse. “She’s alive,” he says before standing up and offering me his hand.
I shake it.
“Congratulations,” he says. “You passed in rare form. As seems typical for you.”
The woman stirs. Ninnis strikes her without pause and she falls limp again. “Come,” he says. “Let’s get you back to the citadel and clean you up.”
“For what?” I ask.
“Your banquet. I’ve heard it will be like no other, in honor of Ull the hunter, vessel of Nephil, Lord of the Nephilim.”