The Last Hunter - Descent - Jeremy Robinson [75]
Then I’m howling with them.
A smile creeps onto my face.
Ull is rising.
36
Energy courses through my body. I feel bonded to all in the room. The howl, just now ending, creates a strong sense of belonging to the pack. Like wolves. A tingle rolls down my spine and my hair stands on end. And when the chamber has fallen silent again, I stand in awe of what I have just experienced. When the energy fades, so does Ull, and that awe is replaced by repulsion. But that dark side of me arrived at an opportune time. When Ninnis claps me on the shoulder, I know joining in was the right thing to do.
Enki bows his head slightly and opens his arms, motioning to the room as if to say, this is all for you. Then he sits and begins to eat once more. The menagerie of Nephilim follows his cue, and the feast begins anew.
I am thankful for this. There will be no speeches. No idle chit-chat. This is a time of primal bonding.
I follow Ninnis down the staircase and into the stadium-sized lower floor. The first creatures to greet me look like gatherers, but are covered in green scaly skin, almost like a cresty’s, and have yellow eyes, like Enki’s. The things ooze malevolence, but they bow as we pass.
“The seekers,” Ninnis says to me. “They work closely with, but do not always get along with, the gatherers. They have been subservient to the gatherers since their coup failed.”
This news astonishes me. I pictured the Nephilim as one big happy—yet exceedingly evil—family, bound to a common goal. Ninnis senses my question. “The Nephilim have warred among themselves for centuries, culling the weak as they do.”
“Have the hunters ever revolted?” I ask.
“We are not fully Nephilim. It is not our right,” he says, and I think, revolution is never a right, but is always an option. I stay silent though, because he continues, “…though we may take part in battle if commanded by our masters.”
“Aren’t all the Nephilim our masters?”
“No. Ull is your master. Enki is mine.”
“What happens if one of our masters dies?”
Ninnis looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Such a thing hasn’t happened since the death of Nephil. Killing warriors is near impossible, but it’s also forbidden. They are the strongest. And will lead the battle against the topside. By your side, of course.”
I make an effort to puff up my chest with pride, but I’m really just trying to keep myself from passing out. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Without a master,” Ninnis says. “You would be free.”
A genuine smile fights to spread my lips. I resist it, but the twitch in my facial expression hasn’t gone unnoticed. “You find that pleasing?”
“Not at all,” I say. “I will be free soon enough.”
He turns fully toward me, confusion and anger tensing his forehead into a maze of crisscrossing lines. In that moment I am reminded of how old Ninnis is, despite his physical ability. “When I accept the spirit of Nephil,” I add. “I will have no master.”
Ninnis pauses. And then laughs. “Right you are!”
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I feel positively puny, like I’ve been shrunk down to the size of an ant. The ceiling is so far above me. Even the smallest of the Nephilim, the gatherers, stand taller than me. And the tallest, Enki and the other warriors, tower over me, even when they’re sitting on the floor.
But all of them bow. Every single one, until we reach the fat one.
She (I call her a she because her eyes are vaguely feminine) is revolting. From a distance, I could not see the details of this thing. Where a nose and mouth should be, there is something that looks more like a beak. And indeed, there are feathers on her head instead of hair. The body is composed of rolls of fat that have enveloped her arms and legs almost completely. I think I see wiggling fingers protruding from a spot half way up, but it’s impossible to tell. She could just as easily have stubby wings. Her head sits atop the mass of flesh like a cherry on a fifteen foot tall ice cream sundae.
“She does not bow,” I observe.