The Last Hunter - Descent - Jeremy Robinson [62]
The teeth are sharp and bite into my forehead. But I don’t mind, the pain feels good and the grip helps it stay on. The cloak hangs over my shoulders and stops just before the floor. I wish I had a mirror.
“It suits you,” Ninnis says from the doorway.
I turn toward him and find him dressed in black leathers, though much of his body is still bare. He notices my inquisitive look. “When we are in one of the citadels, we are to dress as our masters do. It’s a sign of respect, but it also protects you.”
“Protects me?”
“From the others. Until you are branded, the cloak marks you as the property of Ull, son of Thor, son of Odin. A strong bloodline that the others will not dare violate. If you misstep and require punishment, it will be handled by your master, or your master’s brethren alone. The Norse will not go lightly on you, but they won’t kill you either. Certainly not after the promise you showed in the arena.”
I brighten at his words. “I did well?”
“You did exceptional. In fact, I have never heard of one of the masters being wounded in the trial. Ull is quite proud. He has spread word of your deeds across the continent over the past month.”
“A month? I’ve been unconscious for a month?”
“Roughly. I think. Thirty wakings and sleepings. That’s how you keep track of time, yes?”
I’m not sure I ever told him as much, but he had watched me for quite a while. It’s possible he figured it out.
“My injuries took that long to heal?”
“Your wounds were healed the moment I took you out of the bath. But the effect of the master’s blood on the mind is powerful. And your exposure was intense. How do you feel?”
“Never better.”
“Good,” he says. “Your final test is tomorrow and while it will not be as painful as the last, it will require all of your skills. When you pass that test, this room will be yours along with one like it in all the citadels. You will be part of the Norse house and receive all of the benefits of the bloodline.”
“When will I be branded?”
Ninnis sits on the bed and tests the cushion. “You won’t be.”
“Why not?”
“You will belong to the Norse for a time, but once you are prepared for the task, body and soul, you will offer yourself up to another.”
“Not given?”
“No,” Ninnis says. “You must give yourself over to him willingly.”
“Give myself to who?”
He ponders answering for a moment, then shakes his head. “You have earned the truth. Or at least the small part I dare reveal. You will give yourself to the very first master. He is the oldest and strongest of them, and they are all named for him. Nephil, father of Enlil and Enki, who is my master and ruler of this world.”
“Is he here now?” I ask eagerly. “Can I meet him now?”
Ninnis frowns and looks to the floor. “He is not here. He has not been among us for a very long time.”
“Where is he?”
He continues staring at the floor, like he can see straight through it. “Below us. In Tartarus.”
Tartarus. “I thought that was a Greek version of hell?”
“Tartarus predates the Greeks. It is a physical realm, unlike hell, and is far worse. He is a prisoner there. His spirit is trapped. Unable to escape until bonded with a body strong enough to enter Tartarus and return.”
My eyes grow wide. “They think I can do this?”
Ninnis stands. “I’ve said too much.”
“But—”
“Speak of this to no one,” he says. “You will be told everything when the time is right.”
“Ninnis, please,” I persist, but that just fuels his anger.
“Quiet, Ull! You best focus yourself on the final test! Eat. Regain your strength and wit. If you fail tomorrow you will learn nothing more than what hell awaits you in the afterlife as you are torn limb from limb. You have earned a place of honor here. See that you retain it!”
I bow my head, acknowledging his wisdom. “What is the final trial?”