34
I scream. I just scream. There are no words. I’m
beyond
words. I claw at a tree, pulling myself to my feet as adrenaline surges through my body like liquid fire. Back on my feet, I see the beige staff of Whipsnap shimmering under the water just a few feet away. I step over to the weapon, bend down and pick it up. I’m moving slowly, or at least feel like I am. This could be a dream.
But I know it’s not.
Water drips from the weapon as I bring it up into both hands and face Ninnis. The loud drips are all I can hear. He’s watching me, his head tilted in curiosity, a sick grin on his face.
A bead of water slips to the end of the wet hair hanging in front of my eyes. When the water falls, it too, moves slowly. Impossibly slow.
What…?
A loud hiss fills the jungle. A storm has moved in.
Fast.
Faster than is natural.
Something tickles the back of my mind.
The storm… Water pours through the canopy above me, striking my skin. I feel the impact, but not the coolness of the water. Just like the river. While Kainda shivered from cold, I felt nothing but room temperature warmth. During all those hours on the wall, in the baking sun, I did not burn.
The storm!
It struck shortly after my return to the surface, tearing Clark Station 1 apart. A theory comes together like puzzle pieces. I was born at Clark Station 1 and the storm came, eventually burying the station. Years later, I returned to Clark Station 1, digging through the ice with my bare hands to find its roof. And the storm returned on the night I was kidnapped, nearly burying Clark Station 2. And when I returned to Clark Station 1 after my time in Tartarus…
The storm is a catalyst, or a sign, or something, of my connection to Antarktos! My abilities returned while the fever gripped my body and I never realized it. All this time, I could have done things differently. I could have saved Mira myself.
I could have saved Kainda.
Ninnis sees the change in me as my confidence and menace rise together. His smile fades and is replaced, for just a flash, by confusion. His body roils from inside and the smile returns. “Come, little Solomon. Die like a hunter, if that’s what you believe yourself to be.” He retracts the sword from Kainda’s chest and her body slides down against the tree trunk, leaving a smear of red blood.
“Ninnis!” I shout, and slam the mace end of Whipsnap into the water that fills the jungle. A sound like an explosion rips into the air from everywhere at once. The water all around us, for as far as I can see, bursts upwards and beads, cloaking my approach.
I splash through the wall of water and leap. The wind carries me up, covering the distance between us with ease. I swing the bladed end of Whipsnap down-wards as I descend. The razor sharp blade slices even the tiniest water droplet in half as I pull it through the air.
The wall of water bursts open and I finish the strike.
Ninnis shouts in surprise, flinching back as a tendril of blackness streaks up and blocks the strike. I land on the now waterless jungle floor, willing the airborne water to strike. A powerful stream of water the size of a rhinoceros slams into Ninnis, stumbling him back. A second strike pushes him farther. The lake is behind him now.
He’s rattled, but still dangerous. The blackness strikes out at me.
I leap, carried far beyond his reach, by the wind. “The land itself opposes you, Ninnis. You cannot win.”
“You are nothing without it!” he shouts back, filled with anger. He hasn’t had a real fight in a long time, and probably thought he never would again.
I leap to the ground, softening the fall with a burst of wind. “Then I will stop.” The hovering water falls to the jungle floor once more. “Come, Ninnis,” I say. “Die like a hunter.”
And I mean it. I swore never to kill a human being, even Ninnis, but he has pushed me to the edge of reason this time.
The blackness retreats inside Ninnis and he takes a fighting stance with his sword, Strike. We charge at the same time, meeting with a flurry of strikes, all blocked by the other. There is no exchange of words. No taunting. This is a fight to the death and any lapse in concentration will mean a quick end to it.
After I nearly take his head off with the mace end of Whipsnap, Ninnis shouts and begins a flurry of chopping strikes that I block with Whipsnap’s staff. Chips of wood fly, but the staff remains whole and I realize that when the Nephilim improved my homemade weapon, they also gave its staff a metal core.
On the fifth blocked strike, Ninnis twists his sword so that the flat end hits the staff. The tip of the flexible blade wraps around the staff and he yanks it from my hand. I’m momentarily disarmed, but he’s left himself open to attack.
I kick out, hammering Ninnis’s gut with a kick that would have sent any other man to the ground. Ninnis lets out an “oof!” and pitches forward, allowing me to reclaim Whipsnap, but he recovers quickly, flicking Strike to its full length and swinging it at my face.
The blade cuts a path across my vision, slicing several strands of my hair, as I tilt my head back. As I lean my body back, Ninnis fails to notice that I’ve also flexed Whipsnap back and before I’ve even righted myself, I let go of the bladed end. The weapon springs out faster than I could strike by hand and catches Ninnis across his stomach. I can tell by the tug on the blade as it passes through his flesh that is it a deep cut. A mortal wound.
Ninnis clutches his hand over the gash.
Purple blood oozes.
If only Ninnis were mortal.
Still, the wound enrages him. Had he not been able to heal, it would have been a killing blow and he knows it. I am the better hunter.
He screams and the blackness returns, shooting out toward my face.
A surge of wind carries me back and I begin to feel the exhausting effect of using my abilities in unnatural ways. Things like floating water tax me more than bending the wind toward my will. Not to mention that I’m out of practice. I won’t be able to keep this up forever, and short of taking off Ninnis’s head, I won’t be able to kill him.
I smell blood behind me and look back. Kainda’s body has paled. The sight of her fills me with renewed rage, but I don’t lose control. Instead, I remember what Tobias taught me. Don’t distort nature, exaggerate it. I reach out, feeling the world around me, searching for a powerful force. I find it far away and high above.
The katabatic winds, created when the colder, heavier air above the mountains, rolls down the slopes to the coast. But the winds have been tamed by the jungle.
Not for long
, I think, as I draw the cold air down faster. I can feel the air moving, but the trees resist, so I weaken the earth around them and they part like peasants before a king. The effort drops me to one knee.
Ninnis approaches, taking my undefended posture as weakness.
The darkness swirls about, agitated and eager.
He draws in a breath through gritted teeth, and raises his sword.
A crack like thunder fills the air, rising in volume. At first, he ignores it, but when the sound grows deafeningly loud, he looks up.
The jungle behind me splits open as Antarctica’s most primal force—pushed faster than ever before and condensed into an area the size of a bus—surges over my head and strikes Ninnis head on. He’s lifted into the air as easily as a leaf. I bend the wind upward, watching as Ninnis is carried over the lake. I push harder. Faster. Until he’s just a speck. Then I let him go and momentum carries him high, and farther, hundreds of feet high and miles and miles away.
When he returns to earth, the impact will crush every bone in his body. If he falls through the jungle, it will tear him to pieces. I cannot imagine he will survive, but I will not make the mistake he did and assume he is gone forever. Something tells me I will see Ninnis again.
The effort has drained my body. I lean forward on my shaking arms, holding my head just above the waterline. I can feel consciousness slipping. But a voice brings me back.
“Sol!”
It’s Em.
I turn to the voice and find Em and Tunis supporting Kainda’s blood covered body. What are they doing?
“She’s not dead yet,” Em says, her voice desperate.
Not dead! Pain wracks my body as I fight against my exhaustion and stand up. I slosh through the water to meet them. They lower Kainda down, kneeling in the water. I fall to my knees in front of Kainda’s limp body. Her tan has faded to a ghostly white. The wound is just two inches wide. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s just to the right of her heart. And now the organ is pumping most of her blood to places in her body where it does not belong. Even with the world’s best team of surgeons, I doubt there is anything that could be done. That she has yet to die is a testament to the woman’s strength, but her wounds are far beyond my ability to heal.
“She’s not going to make it,” I say.
Em sniffs back her tears. “Solomon, don’t—”
“He’s right,” Tunis says. “Her wounds are too grave. Without blood of the masters, there is nothing—”
A thousand exclamations blast through my mind, but I don’t take the time to utter one of them. I plunge my hands into the water, searching Kainda’s waist. When I find what I’m looking for, I untie the leather thong holding it tight, with shaking hands.
“Lay her down,” I say. “Under the water.”
There is a moment of hesitation and I scream. “Now!”
I get the waterskin free and stand. “Get away. Move back!”
They obey, laying her back beneath the water and propping her head up on a stone. I pluck the stopper from the skin. The smell that rises from the vessel is vile, but confirms its contents. Nephilim blood collected from the shifter, Eshu, formally known as Krane. Kainda’s foresight might just save her own life. Hopping out of the water and clinging to a tree, I pour the purple liquid into the water over Kainda’s chest. Applying it directly to the wound would kill her even more quickly, but diluted in water, the blood will merely burn as it heals.
The purple blood clouds out around her body. But nothing happens. We wait in silence. Ten seconds. Thirty. “Should I add some more?” I ask.
“That was plenty,” Tunis says. “Any more and—”
Kainda screams and sits up. She claws at the wound on her chest, feeling the pain afresh, but when the blood is wiped away, the puncture is gone, healed completely.
“Kainda,” I say, leaping down from the tree.
She flinches back from me, confused. I crouch in front of her, a wide smile on my face. “Kainda, it’s okay. You’re okay!”
She finds my eyes and sees my smile. She glances down at the purple haze in the water, then feels her skin where the wound should be and understands.
“It’s okay,” I say again, and then, overcome with relief, I pull her to me and squeeze her. With her sitting and me crouching, it’s an awkward embrace, but I don’t care. And apparently, neither does she. She squeezes me tight, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face into my shoulder. The excitement of seeing Kainda alive has pushed away my exhaustion and I lift her up out of the water, giving her a proper hug. Em joins us and Kainda embraces her, too.
“Thank you,” she says. “I was dead without you.”
“It was you who thought to bring the blood,” I say.
“I’m not talking about that,” she says. “Before you. Before you…changed me. I was as dead then as I was a moment ago.”
“Oh,” I say. The words are kind and honest in a way I never thought I would hear Kainda say, and hearing them reassures me that no matter how powerful the Nephilim and Ninnis become, what we have here—this transforming power—will always be stronger.