Desolate (Desolation)

by Ali Cross

  “We must help him—” I took a step back to Hell, but found myself trapped by an invisible barrier that prohibited me from reaching Knowles. Heimdall put a beefy hand on my shoulder and applied a little pressure. I wobbled beneath the weight of it, pain suddenly coming alive in my leg.

  “We cannot help him now,” Heimdall said. When I looked up at him, he nodded toward Knowles who was already fading. Even while I watched, Knowles disappeared in a flash of shadow and smoke until there was nothing left of him at all.

  Heimdall and I stood and watched, marking the moment a brother had given his life for another. There should have been some reward, some token of the good he had done, some way to acknowledge the choices he’d made—the good choices, the ones to return, to redeem himself when no other redemption was available to him.

  Instead, Heimdall shut away the view and in a moment delivered me to the foot of Valhalla. I fell to my side on the golden stones and stared up at the blue sky streaked with golden rays of sunlight. The tears that slid down my cheek were warm against my cold skin.

  chapter forty-four

  Desi

  I stand on the roof of the crypt and spread my arms wide. Father, I call.

  Instantly, he is with me. I feel him within me, beside me. I feel him everywhere. He is me. I am he. We are one.

  I spread my arms wide and welcome my Second, Taige, who leads all of Eleon’s followers, and many more besides, to the base of my makeshift dais. She kneels and they follow suit.

  Daughter. You have truly become desolation. As I always knew you would, Father hisses in my mind. All that I have is at your command.

  The ring on my finger spins. The serpent wraps around my heart.

  I know what he says is true.

  chapter forty-five

  Michael

  I knelt before Odin on the steps of Valhalla. Valkyries, their golden armor gleaming in the sunlight, stood on either side of me.

  “Rise, my son,” Odin beckoned. “We have much to discuss.” He turned, his crimson robe swirling out behind him, and climbed the steps, confident I would follow.

  The warrior on my left offered her arm so that she could help me upward. I could feel my strength returning, but my left leg, where the soul eater had latched onto me, still felt numb, as if it was no longer a true part of my body. The three of us climbed slowly, but I felt no urgency from my companions, no frustration at my slow pace. Rather, the way they bowed their heads when I look at them, the way they were careful not to step ahead of me, spoke of their admiration and respect.

  At last I was taken to join Odin in his study. Hope, held at bay until this moment, swept over me as I sank into the deeply cushioned wide chair, only feet from Odin. He held a golden goblet in his hand. No sooner had I considered the condensation on his cup and licked my lips, than a white-clad child pressed a drink into my hand. Instantly I knew I was being granted a most generous gift, for in my cup was the fragrant juice of ambrosia, the nectar of the gods.

  “Drink, my son,” Odin told me softly. He raised his goblet and drank.

  I hesitated. I feared I was not worthy of such a gift. I did not know how much of Hell was yet within me. Perhaps it was a part of me and ever would be—like Desi.

  “Michael.”

  Against my will, I met my king’s gaze. He looked upon me with such kindness and compassion that I was forced to look away. Instead, I watched the golden liquid in my goblet swirl with lazy and unattainable hope.

  “Loki has marked you,” Odin said.

  “Yes, my king.”

  “For what purpose did he do so?”

  I frowned, unsure of this line of questioning. Surely Odin knew what evil I performed while under Loki’s control. But then, if speaking my crimes aloud pleased my king, I was unwilling to deny him.

  “I lured my friend, the great god of the Bifrost, from his post. I played upon his love for me.” I swallowed, considered the ambrosia once more, then set it on the table next to me. I raised my eyes to Odin’s. In a stronger voice, I continued. “I allowed myself to be pressed into Loki’s service. I gladly took upon myself the calling of a horseman. I would have brought the plague to the people of the world if—” And here my bravado failed me.

  I choked, coughed, and desperately wished for something to quench the burning of my throat. The ambrosia mocked me. With resolute determination I looked away from it.

  “If Desolation had not stopped you.”

  I nodded.

  “If Desolation had not stopped me.”

  I met his gaze. I did not look away again.

  “And in stopping you, she was injured.”

  I nodded, though I had no memory of that.

  “I injured her?”

  “Indeed. You didn’t know?”

  I hung my head in shame. The cost of my sins could never be replayed.

  “Michael,” Odin said again.

  “Yes, my king,” I mumbled into my lap.

  “Look at me.”

  And so I did.

  His compassion was too much for me to bear. My eyes watered with the need to look away, but my king forbade it.

  “Your love for Desolation has shaped this world. You have taught us how to love. Your heroic deeds in the Great War are told to our children as bedtime stories. Michael and Desolation—there have been few other loves as powerful as yours, and certainly none greater. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, my king.” My heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest. I could barely breathe, couldn’t think. My mind filled with memories of Desi. Memories of love.

  “Was it your choice, then, to kill her?”

  “No!” I half rose out of my seat. “I would never willingly harm her.”

  Realization dawned in my mind like the sun rising over Midgard. I shook my head—I did not deserve forgiveness. My crimes were my own.

  “And I suppose you also did not desire to bring death and destruction to your brothers and sisters during their sojourn on Midgard.”

  “Your Highness, please—”

  Odin stood, cutting off my plea with a stern expression. He stepped toward me and I longed to sink to my knees at his feet, but he stood too close to me and I was trapped in my chair.

  “You are too great a warrior to deny the truth in your heart. I will not tolerate your self-abuse.” He spoke with resonant power, he spoke a command.

  “You cannot claim the responsibility of the acts of my son Loki. If anyone is responsible for his crimes, it is I. It is either by his creator, or his hand—which are you, Michael?”

  Despite my lingering need to punish myself, I looked at my king and answered the truth. “I was his hand.”

  “You were his hand and Desolation cut you off.”

  I breathed. “Yes.”

  “And does the hand, once cut off, continue to serve its master?”

  “No, my king.”

  Odin nodded. “No.” He placed his hand on my head, conferring his blessing. I felt the warmth of his power as it slipped through my veins. My halo, though I had feared testing it since I awoke in Desi’s arms, now flashed with blinding light. It tore through me until I spread my arms wide and leaned back against the chair while my Halo resonated and I received its purifying power.

  When my Halo was once again contained, I opened my eyes to find Odin smiling at me.

  “Now,” he said, holding my goblet out to me. “Drink.”

  chapter forty-six

  Michael

  For a long while I stood outside the wheelhouse, gathering my courage. Little scared me. Or at least, little had frightened me at all—until recently.

  I had never betrayed a friend before. I had never been the cause of heartache. I thought of Desi, then, standing in the luminous light of the Bifrost with space stretching out on every side. She lived with this burden, this guilt, every moment of every day. She carried the fates of Aaron, Lucy, even Miri and I, on her heart.

  The back of my throat burned with tears I refused to shed. Midgard was at war,
and if Loki had anything to do with it, it would not only be war, but Ragnarok that would light that world on fire.

  I thought of the . . . work . . . I did for Loki, when he fashioned me as his horseman. I only remembered some things, and what I did lived clouded in gray mystery in my mind. But I did remember the veil being drawn from my eyes, the moment I returned to myself. I remembered seeing my love’s eyes, wide with hope and fear as she first recognized her enemy as her lover and then when she realized I had betrayed her.

  Now she carried the beast inside her.

  And I lived with the knowledge that I had placed it there.

  “Are you going to stand here for the duration of your very long life, my friend?” The booming voice of the god of the Bifrost roused me from my dark thoughts. I looked up to see him standing before me, his hands on his hips and a wide smile on his face—though his eyes looked upon me with tender sorrow.

  I knew not what to say.

  We took our measure of each other and then Heimdall clasped onto my forearm and I held onto him. We stood in this manner for several heartbeats and though we said no words, shared no memories, I understood him better than if we’d sat for hours over a barrel of ale.

  All was forgiven.

  All was understood.

  All would be given.

  I fought the clog of tears in my throat, and with one last squeeze of his arm I let go, turning away so he wouldn’t see the battle I fought in my heart.

  “Come,” Heimdall said, turning toward his wheelhouse. “We have much to discuss.”

  I took a moment to compose myself. Once inside, any lingering questions I had about the turn of events since Desi left my side would be answered—and it was the answers I feared the most.

  What I hadn’t expected was to find that Heimdall and I were not alone.

  Standing on either side of the pillar of light that is the core of Heimdall’s power, stood two Ascended Ones. And I knew them.

  Aaron nodded at me, then stepped forward. By the time we clasped arms, he’d shed his glory and stood before me as the boy Desi had known. We said no words, but I understood. He loved Desi. This fight was his as surely as it was mine.

  Once Aaron had let go, I turned toward the second being. She had already shed her glory and now stood, no less glorious. Her deep brown skin carried its own glow next to the simple white dress she wore. She waited while I stepped up to her, her brown eyes glittering in the light of the Bifrost.

  Desi had likened her to the goddess Calypso, never knowing her lineage did in fact extend to that benefactor of seas and sailors.

  “Lucy,” I said, stepping up to her and reaching out to take her hand in mine.

  But she pulled me into a hug and held me to her as if I were her child. “Oh, baby,” she crooned and Odin help me, the tears I had so carefully held at bay now fell freely on her shoulder. “It’s okay, baby.”

  When she finally released me, I kept my head down until I felt certain I could look up without embarrassment. Except when I did, I discovered not one of them had dry eyes.

  Heimdall spoke first. “We have little time,” he said. “Loki has begun the Ragnarok. Using the Doors he had me create he has called forth an army of the damned—and others I had thought destroyed eons ago. And he has assigned Desolation to lead them.”

  I watched my friend as he opened a window to my love—he did not seem at all troubled by his admission—that he had opened the Doors for Loki. I admired him, wished to be as forgiving of myself as he was. I had so much to learn, so many ways I could yet grow.

  Between us, an image came to view. I saw my love standing on the top of a crypt on the grounds of St. Mary’s cemetery. Loki stood beside her, glorious and terrible in the form of his spirit. At their feet knelt a hundred mortal souls and the shadows of thousands of the damned, demons—and more.

  “She wears Solomon’s Ring,” Aaron said quietly.

  Solomon’s ring. A cold finger danced up my spine as I watched my beloved’s face contort into the demonic form of Loki’s general. “How is this possible?” I choked. “How has she denied the good in her?”

  Lucy placed her hand on my arm. “The mark on her heart.”

  “What?” I turned to her, hoping she would relieve me of this burden, but she only shoved the knife deeper.

  “When you pierced her chest with the spear—the weapon cursed by Akaros before you were taken to Hell—Lucifer gained entrance to her heart. He burrowed deep and now a portion of his spirit lays curled around the golden spark that belonged to Asgard. She cannot feel it. She cannot find it—though she has tried. She is utterly without hope, Michael. She cannot break free of his hold without our help.” Her eyes shone like liquid chocolate and in them I read hope. She made me believe.

  “How do I help her?” My voice sounded strangled. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the desperate need to free my love of the darkness that consumed her, that hid her true self from her view.

  “Get the ring off,” Aaron said. He flicked the stud in his lower lip. “It’s like an electrical circuit. Take it, and you break the current that Lucifer rides between her heart and her hand. Take it and you cut his connection. His hold on her heart will fade and she will recover herself.”

  He stepped forward, walking through the image of Desi and her army, until I saw only him.

  “I love her. But I can’t go there.” Aaron gestured toward the image. “So I have to trust you to do this. Can you?” He stared at me, challenging me. I could help Desi—and I would. But before I could speak, he continued. “Remember who she really is. Remember she does not Remember. It’s up to you to save her.”

  He stepped past me and joined Lucy. He put his arm around her. “One more thing,” he said, turning around and capturing my gaze in his. “She’s not responsible—for my death, I mean. She thinks she is, but she’s not. Lucifer told me I could save her, if I gave my life for her. I loved her. I still love her.” He dropped his arm from Lucy’s shoulders and faced me full-on.

  “Do you love her enough to die for her?”

  “I do. And I already did.” With a sigh I dropped my guard. I didn’t need to fight him. He loved Desi—that was what was important. “And I’d do it again—a thousand times I’d do it again.”

  Aaron nodded. He reached forward and clasped my forearm. “If you get the chance, will you tell her? I am tired of being a burden she carries. She needs to know the truth.”

  I gripped his arm and gave my word.

  He held my gaze and my arm for a moment more, before letting the barest of smiles grace his face.

  I looked at Heimdall. “Can you take me to her?”

  “There is one thing,” he answered. “You will have to contend with Loki’s army—he will not allow you near her unless you go through them first.”

  “Then I will go through them.” My eyes flicked to the horde of Shadows crouched around the humans at Desi’s feet.

  “You cannot do it alone,” Heimdall said.

  I bowed my head and curled my fists into tight hammers of frustration. “I will if I must. And I must. Now take me to her, my friend.” My eyes begged him to grant me concession. All these words while my love suffered—I was determined to get to her so she could be rid of this evil that consumed her.

  “I said, I cannot allow you to go alone,” Heimdall restated.

  “Nor can I.” Odin’s voice rang like thunder.

  I whirled and fell to my knee in one movement. When I looked up, I saw my king—and a hundred Valkyrie behind him—standing on the Bifrost.

  “And so you will not.” He smiled, but did not bid me stand. “My warrior daughters will be at your command. Lead them true and they will serve our purpose. However, once you remove the ring, Fahria is tasked with bringing it to me—and with her, the others will follow. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. “I understand, my king.”

  He reached out his hand then and pulled me to my feet. He clasped his right hand on my shoulder. In a near-whisp
er he said, “Desolation is my most precious child. Her path is clouded in mystery—even to me. Rescue her from Loki’s grasp.” His deep blue eyes filled with emotion and he swallowed hard against that same lump that plagued me. “And when you do, give her my love—the love of a father for his daughter.”

  He squeezed my arm again and I choked on my own tears. “I will, my king. You have my word.”

  “And your heart?” he asked as he stepped back and raised his voice for all to hear.

  I shook my head, though I fell to my knee again. “Only she has my heart, my king.”

  Odin smiled.

  “As it should be.”

  He turned then, and walked past his Valkyries until I lost sight of him.

  Fahria stepped to the front of the warriors. “Let us go,” she said.

  I did not move. I let my gaze linger on each of the hundred warriors before me. Desi belonged to them—their own queen, Desi’s mother, had given her life so that Desi could be the ultimate warrior, the ultimate weapon against Loki. Each Valkyrie shone with the golden glory of Asgard, from winged helm to winged boot, from golden armor to crisp white tunic. They held bows and quivers, swords and spears depending on their ability. Each wore a golden hilted dagger in her right boot. They were suited for war, as they always were.

  I locked eyes with Fahria, sister to Desi’s mother. Yes—this battle was also hers, as it belonged to all of us.

  “For Desolation,” I said quietly to Fahria. “For Midgard!” I shouted for all to hear, calling my sword from my Halo and raising it high.

  Fahria turned to her army. “For Asgard!”

  As one, the warriors raised their weapons and shouted their answering call. To my right a bridge appeared. I stepped toward it, but turned at the last moment.

  “Thank you,” I told Lucy and Aaron. “I will bring her home to you.”

  They smiled and nodded as they embraced the white brilliance of their eternal glory. I had to look away, but I heard them as they took their place in space.