The Last Hunter - Descent - Jeremy Robinson [45]
“Time is different here,” he says. “Outside, time moves faster. For us, we only met weeks ago. In that time outside, several months have passed. If I were to tell you how long I have lived here, I might say ten years. But in the outside world, perhaps one hundred years have passed.
“You’re one hundred years old?” I ask, eyes wide.
Ninnis grins. “I was thirty-four when I arrived.”
“One hundred and thirty-four years old...How is that possible?”
“A gift that now belongs to you. Your body will age as though it were still in the outside world despite your perception of time being different. But your body will resist the deterioration of age with uncommon resilience.”
“And when I reach your age, I will train my replacement?”
Ninnis shakes his head. “From what I understand, you are to be the last hunter.”
“The last?”
“Destined for some greater purpose. You need not worry yourself with such things right now.” Ninnis takes my shoulder in his hand. He motions toward the tunnel. “Let’s go try out that spyglass, eh?”
20
It takes five minutes for my eyes to adjust to the light enough to see, even with the sunglasses on. Of course, it doesn’t help that the sky is nearly cloudless and most of Antarctica is covered in a sheet of sun-reflective white. I’d like nothing more than to retreat into my subterranean home, but Ninnis insists that I try out my birthday present.
The fact that it’s my birthday hardly seems deserving of mention or gift. It’s a tradition of the outside world, and I doubt I ever considered it a day of any significance. But I cannot deny the gift from Ninnis. Rejecting it would be an insult to the man who has given me so much already.
So I follow him over the snow-covered mountain. My bare feet sink into the white powder, disappearing beneath a foot of the stuff. It slows our progress, but we make it to our destination—a bare ledge—in good time.
Ninnis lies down on the gray stone, which is magically free of snow, and I take the spot next to him. Below us, the mountain stretches down, a long slope of white ending in a mixture of stone and snow. And this leads to a mixture of bright colors. Reds. Blues. Yellows. The colors make me sneer. They’re revolting. Like a blemish on the pure landscape. Beyond them is a long stretch of white that ends in a sliver of blue ocean.
Ninnis points toward the sea of bright colors. “What do you think?” He motions to the telescope. “Give it a try.”
I pop open the telescope and place it to my eye. The bright colors pop out as large metal boxes. Even uglier up close. Between the boxes are people, bundled in thick clothing. I observe them for several minutes, watching the lazy way they walk, the grime covering their hands and the gray snow beneath their feet. “Disgusting,” I say.
“Quite,” Ninnis agrees. “How do you feel?”
“Angry.”
“Why?”
I put no thought into the answer, speaking quickly and honestly. “I hate them.”
“Good,” Ninnis says. “Very good.”
A strong wind rolls down the mountain behind and over us. It scrapes away the top layer of snow and pelts our backs. The fast moving flakes sting my skin, but I’ve learned to deal with pain far greater than this.
Ninnis taps my arm. “I’m impressed.”
I turn to him. “With what?”
“Your resistance to the cold.”
I look at my skin. It’s pale white and like Ninnis’s, partially translucent. I can see the blue of my veins below. I turn my attention to Ninnis. His skin looks similar, but is pocked with goose bumps. He feels the cold. I decide to keep the fact that I feel nothing to myself. I don’t want Ninnis to think I’m strange. I don’t know why I fear that, but I do. He might stop being my friend.
“There,” he says, pointing beyond the blocks of color. “Quickly.”
I look through the spyglass and focus beyond the ugly city. A large airplane is parked on the ice. An airport, I think. The word sounds foreign in my mind, but I know what it means. A treaded vehicle pulls up to the staircase hanging down from the side of the plane. A line of people file out of the vehicle and rush up the stairs into the airplane.