by Ali Cross
“I know nothing—save that he is my friend and that he keeps a precious artifact from Midgard in his safe-keeping.”
“What you seek,” he grated, “is of no concern to me. Enough of this.”
He lifted a finger from his grip.
And then another.
I felt myself slipping, sensed his fingers trembling with my weight.
One more finger and I would fall.
One more, and I would die.
A hint of a smile darkened his face. It would cost him nothing to send me to my death. With my parentage, he had every right to distrust me.
He leaned forward, his face inches from my own, until I could see his intent in his clear blue eyes. He meant to let me go.
I’d never been good at asking for what I needed. At voicing my feelings. At needing anything at all. And so, on the brink of death, I said nothing.
Instead I pictured Miri and James, Lucy and Aaron. I pictured Michael. The faces of those I’d loved. It will be good to die.
A low rumbling sound began in the center of the guard’s body, working its way up his arms until his whole body shook with his laughter. My right foot slipped and lost its grip on the edge. I tilted sideways, reaching out, desperate for some purchase on the smooth surface of the guard’s armor.
A sudden wave of relief washed over me, leaving a calm and peaceful sensation in its place. I closed my eyes, let my heart and mind fill with memories of Michael.
“Goodbye half—”
He opened his fingers wide.
“Hold!” a booming voice thundered.
Under an unknown power, my body froze; the guard froze—his mouth open in an angry cry, his right hand held up, fingers splayed. My body suspended over the blackness of space.
A great sorrow filled my heart—the idea that I might be rescued seemed a sadness.
Over the guard’s shoulder I saw a being approach. I wished I could close my eyes against the burning brilliance of the Ascended One’s light.
As he came closer, his light receded to a muted glow.
Aaron?
As I watched, he became younger, his black hair flopping forward into his eyes. Piercings appeared in his lip and on his left eyebrow. He lifted his hand, gesturing to the guard, “Step back,” he said. Black tendrils snaked up Aaron’s arm, assuming the tattoos he’d worn when I’d known him as a boy on Earth.
At his command, the guard shook himself like a dog, free to move once more. He bowed his head and scurried backward, his fist over his heart.
Aaron reached forward and took hold of me, his hand warm in mine. He smiled in an open, disarming way, a feat he’d never been able to master in real life. He pulled me onto the platform, and into his arms. I held on to him, and not only out of gratitude for saving my life. Aaron was here, Aaron. Warm, solid, his heart beating in his chest.
And something snapped inside me. A wash of feelings overwhelmed me and I burst into tears, sobbing so hard I could barely support my weight. I grasped his t-shirt in my fists, clenching my fingers, clawing in the agony of my sorrow.
“Shh,” Aaron soothed. “Shh.”
I don’t know how long he held me, but it felt like I had cried an ocean by the time I could properly regain my feet and my tears slowed to a trickle. At long last he gently pushed me back from him, holding onto my shoulders, spearing me with his familiar, clear-blue gaze. It was easy to forget he wasn’t still the boy I once knew, but he had power now. He had Ascended.
He turned and gestured for me to walk with him to the pillar of white energy that pierced the center of the wheelhouse—the Bifrost, source of Heimdall’s power. The warrior I had encountered returned to his post at the perimeter, joining at least a hundred brothers in their surveillance.
Near the Bifrost, Aaron pulled me closer, turning me so I faced him once more. “Why did you return, Des? This isn’t a good time for you to be here.” He flicked the stud in his lower lip with his tongue.
“You mean, for a half-breed. Yeah, Yeti over there told me.”
Aaron chuckled, lowering his chin to his chest in that shy kind of way he had.
“Heimdall—he was keeping something for me. I thought there was no safer place in all the worlds than here. Thought no one could harm him. Get by him. Surprise him.”
Aaron turned and slid down the smooth, warm stone column that encircled the heart of Bifrost. He pulled his knees up to his chest.
I wondered if the guard thought this strange—an Ascended One, a god, looking like a boy, looking like a teenager. And a kind of screwed up one at that, with his floppy hair, and mess of tattoos and piercings. I sat beside him and put my head on his shoulder the way I never could in real life. I’d been too afraid of having a friend, afraid of what he expected from me—things I couldn’t give, like love. But my fear hadn’t stopped him from giving, and, it appeared, hadn’t stopped me from reciprocating. Because I did love Aaron. I always did.
“So, what happened?” It felt wrong, somehow, to ask, to talk about Heimdall, as if behind his back.
“No one knows.” Aaron replied matter of factly, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. His ease relaxed me and I let a whoosh of air breathe out of me. He cast me a sidelong glance and a lopsided smile. He knew me, more than I knew myself—which seemed to be a hallmark of the good people in my life. It seemed I was always the last to know—especially about myself.
“We can only assume he knew his abductor, otherwise, there is no way he would have been lured from the Bifrost, no way he could have been taken.”
“So there’s a traitor.” I thought the words, saw the scene in my mind’s eye, saw how Michael could have come and set the trap for his friend.
Aaron nodded, the stud on his lip making a light ticking sound as it clacked against his teeth—a sound that soothed the tumultuous thoughts in my mind.
“It’s not your fault, Des. I know you think it is, but . . . well, it isn’t.”
“You can’t say that.” I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to my knees. “Without me, he would never have gone to Earth, never gotten involved, never gotten himself captured by Father and . . .” I can’t believe I’d nearly said them, said the words that spelled my utter undoing. At some point I’d sat up straight, my arms wrapped around me, and Aaron had angled his body so he could watch my face.
“Without me he wouldn’t have been sent to Hell.”
One of the guards glanced over his shoulder, but when I met his gaze he quickly turned back.
“You’re right,” Aaron said, his voice surprisingly kind, despite the slug to the gut his words were. “Without you, Michael would have died.”
“I think death would have been better than . . .” I waved my hand in the air in an anything-and-everything sort of way. “Than betraying a friend. Working for Loki.”
Aaron quirked his lips and continued to gaze at me, unwavering, unflinching, unapologetic.
“Without you, there would have been no reason for living,” Aaron said. And oh. Would my grief over my many sins never cease? No. I didn’t deserve them to release me. I deserved this pain.
“And I suspect without him, you wouldn’t have a reason for living, either.”
I searched his face for the sword of accusation, but there was none. His smile widened and he lightly touched my forearm with his fingertips.
“You made the greater choice, D. You made the right choice.”
“But—”
“No buts. While both of you still live, somewhere in the worlds, there is a chance. There is hope.”
“But—”
“D. It’s true we believe Michael came, played upon Heimdall’s love for him and their great friendship, and convinced him to go with him. But I don’t believe Loki could’ve turned Michael. I believe you can still draw the darkness out of him. I think that because of you, Michael can still be saved. You can’t lose your hope.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he raised his eyebrow, ring glinting in the light of the Bifrost, and shut it again.
“Now, what is it you left in Heimdall’s keeping?” He stood before I could answer, reaching his hand out to his side. With his other hand he pulled me to my feet.
“Maybe this?”
And in his hand my staff materialized—my spear, I corrected myself, as it now bore Longinus’ lethal spearhead at its tip. I practically fell forward in relief and clasped my hand around the familiar rod. I rested my head on Aaron’s chest.
“Thank you,” I whispered again and again.
He wrapped an arm around my back and stroked my hair with the other, letting his essence take on some of the brilliance of his aura, letting it seep into me, renewing my strength, my confidence.
When I finally stepped back, Aaron had lost the look of his boyish self and I had a sudden wish that I’d been able to say goodbye—even though he was still here just . . . different. He wasn’t a boy anymore, but a god.
And when he fixed me with his gaze, I felt the power of Ascension.
“Believe in yourself. Believe in his love for you.” Quicker than my reflexes could react, he grabbed my wrist and rubbed his thumb over the spot where the horseman’s sword had nicked me. He let more of his brilliance overtake him. My wrist burned ice-cold and Aaron frowned for an instant—and then the moment was gone.
“Believe, and set things to right,” he said.
Aaron disappeared in a flash of white that propelled me out of the wheelhouse and across the vastness of space, back to the cemetery. Back to war.
chapter fifteen
I found them standing at the outskirts of the graveyard, watching the sky. Watching for me. I came up behind them. They looked so human, even though I knew two of them weren’t. But three were . . . Cornelius, his white hair reflecting the starlight; and James and Miri, hand in hand, their heads bent together in shared whispers.
“I have it,” I said softly. Miri still jumped.
Her hair stuck up at weird angles and she wore her pajamas. I’d practically forgotten that normal people were still asleep at this hour. I looked away from Miri, regret—again, always—making me wish she’d never met me. The sky had turned a navy blue, brightening with the new day that wasn’t far away.
When I looked back at the group, I found Longinus looking at me. His shoulders sagged with relief while his gaze traveled hungrily over the spear in my hand. He licked his lips and his fingertips twitched, but he dragged his eyes to mine and nodded tersely.
“I’m off then.” I gripped the staff tighter and avoided looking at James or Miri. They’d be worried for me, try to . . . well, they wouldn’t try to talk me out of it, but they’d do something. Remind me I had obligations now, I had friendships and relationships where people cared about me, cared what happened to me.
I turned on my heel and spread my wings, tensing them for flight.
“Wait!” Miri’s voice, high and sharp, cut through the night. I half-turned, looking over my shoulder. “There’s speculation,” she dropped James’ hand and jogged forward. “That the blood of certain demons—or even their weapons—can infect you, can turn you.”
I laughed, but she looked at me with such intensity that the laughter died away in my throat. “Mir, I am a demon, remember?” I won’t deny it thrilled me to see her eyes widen with a breath of fear at my words. I’m a demon. Ademonademonademon.
She reached out and lightly touched my arm—the arm that was aglow with golden light. “That’s not all you are.” Her bright blue eyes dove into my soul until I remembered who I really was and shut her out.
But she did have a point. “Got it.”
She let out an exasperated sigh and stepped back. “Just be careful.”
I stared at her for half a second more before turning my face to the sky and pushing off and away.
The closer I drew to the ocean Door, the quicker my heart beat, the more my stomach flipped. I couldn’t explain it, and I certainly would never admit it to my friends, but the horseman scared me. I didn’t know what he was. Didn’t know what he could do. Didn’t know why Father had hid him from me. It seemed the longer I stayed in the human world, the less sure I became of my own—and I thought I knew everything, thought I’d explored every nook and cranny over the centuries.
I remembered Michael telling me about the goddess Hel, the creator of Helheimer, and how Odin believed Father had imprisoned her somewhere on Helheimer. I’d never heard of her. Couldn’t fathom a place in Hell where she could be hidden and I not know about her. Now I wondered how it was that Hell hadn’t given up its secrets to me.
A flash of memory struck me—walking the corridors of Hell, ignoring all around me. Eternally training with Akaros. Countless hours in the throne room where I lost myself to my own thoughts and Father counseled with his minions. That had been my life. I realized now that I hadn’t wanted to know the secrets Hell possessed.
Now I knew that Father had the goddess chained somewhere in his kingdom, and had monsters I never knew of—including demonic horses and riders with no faces who could bring death and destruction to thousands just by riding in their midst.
At least this would be one ride I could prevent.
I bent myself to greater speed and forced all thought from my mind.
Except for a tiny worry that squeezed my heart with abject fear.
What if I can’t kill him?
chapter sixteen
I watched a couple walk down the beach and go beneath the bridge. They whispered to each other in low voices and he slipped his arm around her shoulders when she complained of being cold. My thoughts circled around Michael, but I forced them away. I couldn’t afford to think of him; needed to forget him.
My breath caught in my throat.
Forget him? I couldn’t. I’d never.
I rubbed at my right wrist where the horseman’s blade had nicked me and reached for the warmth of my Halo, willing myself to think of Michael. To Remember him—the surest path away from the cold, dark feelings that rose in my veins like a coming tide.
I thought of the first time I’d seen him. Of the way he looked when I found him in my garden, the sun shining in his lion-eyes, a fistful of Lily of the Valley in his hand. Of the way those eyes shone with love for me from the very beginning, and until the very end.
Of the way his lips felt on mine, the soft strength of them, the way they forced me to forget every other thing and be only in that moment. With him. With love.
I closed my eyes, hoping for a Remembering, for the sweet smell of oranges and the taste of honey on my lips that came with reliving the past—but I smelled and tasted nothing. So I trudged through what memories I had.
As I reached for each thought they dodged away, like mist slipping through my fingers. My head pounded and my right arm felt numb as if hypothermic, the sensation pushing away the past and staking me to the present. And in this present, I couldn’t coax to life the spark of warmth at the center of my being. I couldn’t muster up love and hope for Michael. I couldn’t shake the desire to dive into the water, bust down the Door and move back into my life there.
A tortured sound escaped my throat, like the wrenching cry of a strangling infant, and I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes.
I didn’t like the changes I felt inside of me. Didn’t like this leash that seemed to have snaked around my neck drawing me back down to Hell.
I was meant to destroy Hell. To rebel against the dark and all my father stood for.
And yet . . .
My soul longed for the peaceful emptiness of my childhood home.
For the endless sameness where I knew exactly what was expected of me and exactly who I was.
This . . . This conflict felt like a burden of a million mountains. I didn’t know if I could carry it anymore.
Didn’t know if I wanted to.
I waited for hours, huddled in a tight ball on the top of the bridge, battling my inner demons, but the horseman never showed. The constant whisper of Hell assured me the Door still lurked beneath the waves, but it did
n’t once crack open.
When I knew my resolve to resist breaking down the Door myself hung by a mere sliver of starlight, I stood up, stretched, and dove for the sea.
At the last possible second, my wings brushing against the freezing water, tiny, icy particles clawing my face, I leveled out and flew away.
I wouldn’t go back to Hell, back to my one-time home.
Not today. Not ever.
I didn’t stop at James’ open door, but I didn’t try to be particularly quiet, either. I fell onto my bed, kicked off my boots and crawled under the covers. I shivered beneath them until I finally gave in to sleep and an entire nighttime of dark dreams.
The next morning I left before James came out of his room. Before yoga. Before coffee.
I drove to school in silence, even though all I wanted to do was spread my wings and fly—anywhere and everywhere, just not here. And yet, school is where I ended up. Only two cars were parked in the school lot—the dean’s and one I didn’t recognize. I pulled into a spot I didn’t recognize until I’d shut the engine off.
Only a couple months ago I’d parked in that very spot, with Michael’s big white truck parked beside me. He’d talked to me. Held my hand. He’d awakened feelings and memories that I’d kept buried for an eternally long time. Now I waited, expecting the feelings to resurface, but they didn’t. I used to use music to feel something—anything—but now I wanted . . . nothing. I’d discovered I could create my own Hell within my mind—empty of all fuel for my senses. No sound. No regret. No sorrow. No memories. No pain.
I sighed and stepped out of my car, letting the door swing shut behind me with the barest snick.
My feet moved me forward without me telling them to. I wasn’t lost in thought; I was lost in the absence of thought. I left the path and walked across the cemetery, not caring whose grave I stepped on, or if I knocked over a bouquet or two. A copse of trees stood like sentinels at the far perimeter of the church grounds and I trudged toward them and the dark shadowed freedom they promised.