Desolate (Desolation)

by Ali Cross

  “Release it,” I commanded as I climbed to my feet. Both Hounds clapped their ankhs over their chests. The living zabaniyah, once free, pounced upon its fallen comrade, tearing into its flesh with great ripping teeth. Either it knew me and my presence didn’t alarm it, or its hunger for fresh meat overrode its orders to guard the Door—either way, I stepped past the Hell-creatures and faced my Hounds.

  “We serve the young mistress. We serve the grand mistress,” they intoned.

  “Who is the grand mistress?” They answered with stony silence. I decided to take the gamble. “I need you to find your mistress Helena. Can you take me to her?” They clapped their chests once more, then their elbows and knees bent backward while their hands and feet curled in on themselves forming into clubs, then into large paws. Their staves and ankhs dissolved into air as their hunched backs bristled with razor-sharp needles. “Lead me to her.” But they had already taken off at a run.

  They coursed through the palace like greyhounds while my Shadow flew behind them.

  Desolation, my father hissed. He no longer sounded proud. He didn’t welcome me home.

  With my name came a demand, an accusation. Father knew the mission I was on, and he did not approve.

  chapter thirty-five

  Desi

  Both dead and demon cowered as we passed, scrabbling to get out of our way. But their fingers reached and grabbed, always wanting, conflicting with their need to hide from me.

  Down and down, running along the curving paths on the outside of the palace, down where I had never gone before.

  We passed the lowest tier of Hell, that place reserved for the truly depraved. The ones who murdered their mothers. The ones who raped and killed their daughters. The ones who relished evil, who sought it, lived it, died for it.

  These did not reach for me—these were perhaps the only ones in all of Hell who enjoyed their eternal damnation.

  We descended beneath them all.

  I felt my father watching, felt his eye upon us. Felt his growing anger, masked by a thin layer of amusement.

  He allowed me to continue, though I suspected he knew what I was after more than I.

  The oppressive cold clung to my Shadow, coalesced before my eyes like shards of ice hanging in the air. And still the Hounds ran on.

  The ridges of bristling hair that ran down the Hounds’ backs encrusted with ice. I could hear it crackling as they ran, slowing them down. Their breath labored in bursts of frigid wind. And still they ran.

  Fear gripped me. I didn’t know where we were. Didn’t even know this part of Hell existed. And there was something else. Something more.

  An ancient, powerful presence loomed ahead. I could feel it now, feel it calling me. The Hounds seemed to feel it as well, as they redoubled their efforts, bent their heads and surged forward, faster, faster, faster.

  Ahead, I saw a cavern—a deep, dark maw opening up at the bottom of Hell, at the very bowels of all the worlds. The Hounds rushed forward and leapt, disappearing from view. I hesitated, fear twisting my insides, and I thought, I can’t.

  Go, my love, go, Michael told me.

  And so I went.

  Forward, forward over the ledge.

  And into the abyss.

  There was no sound. No light. No sensation.

  I leapt into space—the bottom of all the worlds, the bottom of Ygdrysill—my wings keeping me from falling forever in the deep darkness. The Hounds landed on a ledge, one on the left, one on the right. They sat, panting, their drool hanging in icicles from their lips.

  Space weighed on me from every side, but this far beneath Ygdrysill there were no stars, no beauty. Only dark nothingness.

  And then . . . something else.

  “Ah, my darlings, you have come at last.” A voice like shattering glass clashed through the barrier of soundlessness. There had been nothing, and now this—a voice out of the darkness, a voice made from nothing.

  The Hounds straightened, their legs and arms returning to those of men. The spine of hair that ran down their backs slipped beneath their skin, but they did not reclaim their weapons. Instead they folded their arms and glared at me.

  When I met their gaze, they looked down, and that is when I saw it.

  Or rather, her.

  A goddess, a stunning vision of beauty, hung from the bottom of the world, hanging in the dark void of space, her hands shackled to the ledges on which the Hounds stood. Her flame-red hair cascaded down her body, passing her feet and swinging freely.

  “Hello my child,” the woman said. “I have waited long for you to visit me.”

  I beat my wings, but they didn’t move the air, they didn’t disturb a single hair on her head.

  “Who are you?” I asked, my voice a whisper, cascading into nothingness.

  “Why, I am Helena, my child, the goddess of the Underworld.” As she spoke, her voice lost its icy edge until it rang like crystal chimes, with sweetness and clarity. I moved forward. Until recently I hadn’t even known she existed—but the reality of her was far beyond anything I could have imagined.

  I had never seen a woman more stunning—even hanging by her arms as she was, she appeared as regal and glorious as Father. More, even.

  “How long have you been here? Like this?”

  She laughed, a sound like water tinkling over pebbles in a stream. “Perhaps forever, perhaps a few moments. It matters not.” A benevolent smile graced her face. I took a step closer.

  She looked up at me. Her green eyes flecked with red and her teeth sharpened points. I blinked and saw I’d been mistaken—her eyes twinkled with quiet innocence and when she smiled I couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Shall you release me?” Her words clung to my soul and I felt a sudden urge to flee. I shook my head, trying to set things right in my mind. “Wait.”

  “But my Hounds brought you to me—you must have told them you intended to release me. Otherwise they were commanded to stay away.”

  My pride bristled. “Your Hounds? They are mine.” She was the one in chains, not me.

  She laughed again and I cringed. “Surely not. They were a gift, a loan from me to you—who do you think trained them? Why do you think your foolish father can’t control them? Because they are, and always will be, mine.”

  I looked at the Hounds, my servants for so long—had they ever truly been loyal to me?

  “But of course they obey you, child. You are the young mistress, made in my image—it is my honor to share them with you.

  “But you didn’t come to talk about my Hounds—you need me. I can see your need, feel it. Let me help you. I want to help you.”

  Her voice rolled over me like honey, smooth. Warm. Reasonable.

  “We do need your help. Father, uh, Loki, has captured Heimdall and—”

  “No!” she cried, and her eyes grew wide with shock. “He wouldn’t!”

  For a second my mind went blank. Her affected behavior, so unlike any god I’d ever met, threw me off, disconcerted me. I found myself stumbling over the words in my head, unable to find the ones I wanted—unable to even talk like myself. “He did. He, um, he got Michael, a Gardian, and . . . Do you already know this?” I bit my tongue and fought the strange rush of emotions cascading through my body. First I felt rage, then I felt . . . adoration. I clenched my fists.

  She looked at me with tenderness in her eyes, tears brimming in their bright depths.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but choked the words back down. I dug my fingernails into my palm and ground the words out. “Akaros wounded him with the Spear of Destiny.” (Helena gasped) “And Father offered to heal him.”

  “Oh, Desolation, I am so sorry,” she said, and she sounded for all the worlds like she meant it. Like she had never meant anything more. “You and Michael have long been inseparable, have you not?”

  I nodded. “Michael’s gotten free, but before he did he, uh, lured Heimdall away and Father captured him.”

  “How can I help you, child? You see how I am. Ho
w low I have fallen.” She glanced at her feet and a sad laugh escaped her throat. “I’m afraid I cannot do really anything at all, but I surely would if I could.”

  “If I could get you free, do you think you could help us free Heimdall, too?”

  “From Loki, you mean?” She smiled sweetly and my heart lurched. I knew I’d do anything she asked of me. Of course I’d free her “That would be my pleasure.” Her voice dropped an octave and her eyes flashed red. But I thought nothing of those things and gladly set about releasing the goddess from the chains my father had imprisoned her with.

  In some dim part of my mind, alarms rang in a wild cacophony. This isn’t right, my conscience whispered. And yet, I couldn’t stay my hands—I didn’t want to.

  The last of the shackles fell away and the Hounds pulled Helena to her feet. She stumbled a little, smiling shyly when they helped her gain her balance. Behind me and around me, the rocks seemed to move—shifting and melting, breaking apart and coalescing into shapes I couldn’t quite see out of the corner of my eye.

  I started to turn, feeling as though I was surrounded by . . . what, I could say. But Helena threw her arms around me and I stumbled back from the surprise of it. “Oh, you’re the best! Thank you!”

  When she finally stepped back, she smiled. Her hair crept upward, getting shorter and shorter, until it hung just below her shoulders. In a blink she replaced her once-white-now-mostly-gray shift with a black pencil skirt, emerald green silk blouse and ruby red heels Lucy would have gushed over.

  “Uh, it’s a really, really long ways from here to the Door—I think, maybe—”

  She laughed, reaching out to take my hand. “You’re so silly.” Behind her, a form took shape from the rock . . .

  In a blink I found myself stumbling forward, the lone zabaniyah, sated and curled in a corner near the Door. It twisted its lip and growled, but made no move to intercept us.

  “How—”

  Hel waved her hand in the air in an oh-it’s-nothing sort of way. “I am the creator of this world, after all. Of course I gave myself certain advantages.” She winked at me and I had one second only to register a dark and shadowy presence lurking behind her before she took my hand again and stepped through the Door.

  We crossed through the Door together—something I had never done, I’d always passed through alone.

  I slammed into my physical body with the force of a freight train. Michael’s hands were on me, helping me find my balance, helping me to my feet, holding me tight.

  “Aw, it makes me feel so good to see the two of you together. You guys were always meant for each other.”

  Helena stood in front of the Door, her hip cocked and her hands upon them, while I dry-heaved and tried to catch my breath.

  “How-how did you do that?” I’d never gone through a Door without a Remembering.

  She tilted her head and her hair sprang into soft curls.

  Michael tugged me tighter. “Hello Hel,” he said, his voice cold and dark, his eyes guarded.

  “Perfect! You’re perfect together!” She clapped her hands. A very large Doberman whined and lay down at her feet, his head on his paws. A Hound, I assumed.

  Helena stepped close to Michael—too close—and pinched his cheek. “You’ve grown up so beautifully.” She let her hand trace down his neck, until she squeezed his bicep. “So beautifully.”

  Michael cleared his throat.

  “Oh, I know, I know. Hands to myself and all that jazz.” She whirled away, dancing among the rubble as if she were in a ballroom. “Oh! It feels so good to be free!” She clapped her hands again and bounced on her toes. “What should we do first?”

  “You didn’t need to come here, Hel. I’m sure Odin would not approve.”

  She made a dismissive sound in her throat and flipped her hand in the air. “Oh, Odin wouldn’t approve.” She leaned to me and whispered conspiratorially, “He almost never approves. Such a party pooper.” She danced away again. “Besides, I wanted to come here. I love it here.” She kicked a stone with the toe of her glamorous shoe. “Except, you could do with some remodeling, for sure.”

  “Heimdall,” Michael roared with such force small stones skittered on the floor. “We rescue him, we defeat Loki, and you reclaim Helheimer.”

  “Sure, sure,” Hel said, stepping past the debris and peeking into the graveyard.

  “Hel.”

  “Whatever you say, Studly. Where do we start?”

  Michael’s shoulders were nearly to his ears with tension. I could hear his teeth grind together before he spoke. “You know where Heimdall is being held?”

  Helena laughed and rolled her eyes. “Duh. Even Desolation here could figure it out, now that she’s discovered Daddy’s nasty secret.” She inspected her fingernails and grimaced. “I need a good manicure. Like, yesterday.”

  Michael grasped her elbow. “Let’s go.”

  She squirmed and said, “Testy. Fine, hold on, then.” I barely had time to take a breath before she shoved me and Michael, side-by-side, through the Door.

  My mind filled with images of unspeakable cruelty. And a golden Halo that did not belong in Hell—until, it seemed, it did.

  These Remembrances were not my own. They were wild with sorrow, pain and regret.

  They were Michael’s.

  Silence pressed down on me like an anvil.

  Burning cold choked my throat, stopped my heart.

  We were deep, deep in Helheimer, beyond Father’s kingdom in the bowels of the world.

  I doubled over, braced my hands against my knees. “How . . . How did we get here?” Because we sure as hell weren’t in Father’s throne room—I’d never seen this place before.

  “I brought you here, silly.” Helena asked, lounging against an icy wall that seemed to move beneath her touch, shifting into the vague form of strange creatures. I narrowed my eyes, peering more closely, but when I looked directly at the wall, I only saw stone.

  “Pleasant, isn’t it?”

  Hel pushed herself off the wall and flicked her wrist. The Hounds bounded on ahead—their growls and occasional barks echoing off the cavernous walls. “Pardon the mess. I didn’t think I’d ever entertain in my basement.” Her words echoed while Michael and I walked behind her in silence.

  We turned down a hall I recognized from when the Hounds had led me to Helena, but this time, maybe because we moved more slowly, the cold was nearly unbearable. My teeth chattered.

  “Loki’s not too creative—if he had me hanging beneath Helheimer, I imagine he has Heimdall similarly detained.” She craned her neck forward and peered around a corner as the Hounds began to howl.

  “Oh, goodie, we’re here.” She looked back at us and gestured for us to hurry. “Come on!” And she ran ahead. On high heels. In the cold, icy depths of Hell.

  Helena turned a corner and I lost sight of her. Dread and doubt raced through my blood with equal intensity. I tucked my chin and ran after her, narrowly avoiding a face plant on a sheen of ice. How the hell did she do this in heels?

  And then I was skidding to a stop, pulled up short by the sight in front of me.

  Michael slid into my back and I stumbled forward, the two of us clinging to each other in an effort to avoid going down.

  “I know. Stunning, isn’t he?” Helena didn’t spare a glance for us, her attention focused on the sight before her.

  We’d entered a shallow cavern with the end opposite us almost completely obscured by a giant slab of ice. A giant slab of ice with Heimdall trapped inside.

  chapter thirty-six

  Desi

  The god of the Bifrost stood more than twice as high as Michael, and almost twice as wide. Both his arms were outstretched, one reaching out for his sword (as tall as Michael) encased beside him, just out of reach. In his other hand he held a golden horn. On his black-as-night face he wore an expression of ferocious anger, his eyebrows drawn down, his silver eyes glittering, his mouth wide open in a scream I could almost hear.

  Helena
skipped up to him and traced a finger over the outline of Heimdall’s shoulders and face. “Isn’t he glorious?” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Did you know we used to date? He was such a shy one, Dally was.” She leaned toward me and whispered conspiratorially, “That’s what I called him. My little Dally-Wally.” She paced in front of him, sizing him up and down. “So careful. So bo-ring.”

  She sauntered toward Michael, carefully putting one foot in front of the other. I felt Michael tense beside me.

  “Now, this fine young man—I bet he doesn’t have a single boring bone in his body.” She placed a finger on his chest, but Michael’s hand darted out and clasped around her wrist. His body trembled, but I couldn’t tell if she fought him, or what caused him to shake. His skin paled and the mark on his cheek darkened.

  “You said you could help us free him.” He could barely form the words around his clenched teeth.

  Helena leaned into Michael, a seductive smile on her face. You’d guess he’d just asked her to dance from the way she swayed against him. “If that would turn you on.” She stayed there for a moment before whirling away again, her wrist slipping easily from Michael’s grasp.

  I wanted so badly to reach out and take his fingers in mine, but I didn’t dare. I didn’t know if he’d want me to.

  My right arm burned, and I gasped before I could stop myself. Michael turned to me, his eyes wide in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Helena interrupted him.

  “Are you sure we can’t keep him like this? I like him better this way.” She pouted and looked up at Michael with big, blinky eyes. “He really is so pretty.” She bounced on her toes like a kid at Christmas and tugged on the front of Michael’s shirt. “Please?” Her perfectly red bottom lip popped out even more. She batted her lashes.

  My vision clouded over with icy pain. Desolation, Father’s voice whisked through my mind.