The Last Hunter - Descent - Jeremy Robinson [67]
I collect the items and retreat to my room. I dress first and find that everything fits perfectly, from the soft soled leather boots to the plain metal crown. I find a satchel attached to my belt, big enough to hold the climbing claws and a pocket that buttons, in which the telescope fits snugly. There are also two clips on the belt. I’m not sure what they’re for until I find that Whipsnap fits in them securely. I bent the shaft around my body, clipping the other end in place so that the blade and mace are to my sides, both pointing back. It seems like a silly design to me until I take hold of the weapon and give it a tug. Both ends detach simultaneously. Whipsnap springs out, snapping open in my hands. One second, it’s hardly visible around my waist. The next it’s in my hand and ready to kill. I’ll need to unclip it for tight squeezes, but having my hands free most of the time will be a great help.
After securing Whipsnap to the belt, I don my cresty hood and cloak. I once again long for a mirror and then remember the bowl of water. I place the bowl on the floor and stand over its still surface. The perspective of my reflection makes me look like a giant. Like the great Ull, himself. My garb and red hair, which is a darker red than I remember it being before, complete the illusion.
Looking and feeling like a giant, I can no longer resist leaving my room. I have not been formally welcomed yet, but I know this is my home now. I can go where I please. As I leave my room behind, I decide I won’t go far. Though I can go wherever I want, I still do not know my way around and would not want to miss the banquet being prepared in my honor.
I start by inspecting some of the other nearby rooms. Some are completely empty. Others hold weapons and discarded clothing, I assume from other hunters who are somewhere else in the citadel, perhaps tending to the needs of their masters or preparing for the banquet.
I think about who will be there. Ninnis said that at least one member from each of the warrior tribes will be there along with a representative from each class—seekers, thinkers, breeders, feeders, gatherers—along with many of my fellow hunters. I wonder what they’ll look like. What they’ll sound and smell like. And what will we eat? Will there be new meats to try? Will we dine on roast cresty or egg-monster stew?
As my mouth waters over the possibilities, I notice one of the human-sized doors is closed. Was it open before? I think it was, which means someone might be inside. I head for the door, hoping the person inside will recognize me, bow and show me respect. I just can’t get enough of this, which I suppose is good, since I suspect it’s a habit that will carry on indefinitely once I accept the spirit of Nephil to live inside me.
Ull confirmed what Ninnis told me about Nephil, but left out many details. “Enki has reserved that honor for himself as Nephil’s first son,” Ull had explained on the hike back to the citadel. “Your patience will be rewarded.”
And it would be. Of that I have no doubt.
But patience is hard to come by when boredom is stacking the odds.
So I knock on the door.
No one answers.
I knock again. When no answer comes a second time, I decide that I not only have the right to wander the halls of Asgard, I also have the right to open doors. I find it unlocked and step inside.
The room is as plain as mine. An egg-monster skin bed. A stone shelf. Little more.
A lump in the corner moves. Shakes, really. Is that a person?
“Hello?” I say.
The body trembles.
I search the room for clues and see a splash of pink just beyond the bed. A quick peek reveals a thick pink jacket. This is the woman I captured. Her lack of response immediately fills me with anger.
“Answer me, woman.”
I hear a squeak of sound. Did she speak or simply cry