Destined (Desolation #3)

by Ali Cross

  “Testy, testy,” Helena teased. “You may be right, Loki. And perhaps you do have more claim to this world than my friends here, but I don’t think it’s me you have to worry about convincing—I think it’s all of them.”

  A burst of power shot outward from Helena’s litter, sending Father flying backward and releasing me, and everyone else, from his control. I had barely recovered my freedom before I was on my feet, running through the black wind, diving for the litter out of instinct—and finding it gone. I spun around.

  “Helena!” I screamed. “Where are you?” All around me, Giants and Svarts fell on my people. I took to the sky, searching for Helena, for James, but all I saw was the battle, and there, beyond the line of Odin’s warriors, I saw a sight that made my blood run cold.

  Father alighted on the ground, and held out his hand. A woman stepped forward, placing her hand in his. Even from where I hovered, I could tell who it was—her wild hair and pale skin could only be one person. Ophelia.

  Father held his left hand out, and Ophelia mirrored him on his other side. And there—ripping through the fabric of space, came an army of dark, sharp-edged creatures as black as Father’s granite mountain. Ophelia and my father commanded Helena’s own creations, the genii, and they fell upon everyone before them, on Valkyrie and Gardian, Svart and Giant, trapping my people between them and Helena’s pawns.

  My heart cried out for James. With every ounce of my being I longed to follow Hel—wherever she might have gone—and find him. But carnage roiled across the battlefield with such ferocity that I had no choice but to join the fray. I saw Michael, his golden light shining brighter than any of the others, and fell to the ground beside him.

  I am here, I told him, my hand brushing against his arm. I reached for the staff within my Halo, but it was gone—probably lost when I’d been thrown to the ground and there was no time to search for it now. I tossed my sword into my right hand and thrust it at a genii crowding in on the left.

  I will not leave you, Michael said.

  And then there were no words, no thought.

  There was only the sword in my hands, the sweat on my palms, and every thought focused on the desperate need to prevail.

  I watch my hands, willing my wrists to stay strong, to stop trembling. I’ve been in this position for as long as I can remember. My knees and wrists have long since gone numb, but it wouldn’t do to lose my strength beneath my lady’s feet, to embarrass her in such a way. No, I will not fail her.

  But then . . .

  I hear a name.

  James.

  My head jerks up when I hear it, though I can’t exactly say why. The reaction is as sudden and automatic as if my lady has yanked on the chain she keeps coiled around my neck.

  She pulls upon it when I move, a hiss of disapproval escaping her perfect lips. It’s not right for me to act on my own volition. I’m my lady’s pet and I’m a good one. I don’t disobey her.

  But before I return my attention to my trembling hands, I see a face. Hear that name again. And both make my heart race with something new, a mystery that slips into my brain and makes me wonder.

  Do I know that face? That name?

  My lady tugs on my leash once more and I push the traitorous thoughts away, focusing on what’s important—my lady, and only her.

  Our forces were divided, fighting against the genii on the south, and the Svarts and Giants on the north. Father and Ophelia viewed the scene from atop one of the great rocks that bordered the desert. I remembered the last time I had seen him—when I stood beside him in a similar situation, commanded the genii then as Ophelia seemed to do now. I wondered if she knew she would be just one in a constantly changing retinue of Father’s favorites. How quickly she would fall. I wondered if she even cared.

  The Gardians had reduced the Giants to a handful of groups, all on the run. One climbed the rocks west of us, and while I ran forward I was aware of the mounted Valkyrie flying downward, picking off the giants as they climbed. I was the first to reach those moving north. My sword flashed in the fading sunlight as I sent another giant to his death. I jumped over the enormous man at my feet and lunged forward, only to be caught at my ankle by the one I’d thought dead. He pulled me to the ground, wrapping his fist tightly around my hair. He produced a blade—a dagger for him, but it was as long as my arm.

  He yanked on my hair, forcing my head back and I felt his blade—icy cold and red hot—slice through the skin at my neck.

  My eyes flew open, and I saw nothing but the blue sky, colored with the warm reds and oranges of the setting sun. Everything seemed to slow. I felt the Giant expel his last breath. Felt his hands go lax around me. Felt the warm flow of blood as it sluiced from my neck and down onto my shoulder.

  I closed my eyes.

  I hadn’t seen the end of the battle. Hadn’t experienced the pleasure of seeing the last of the Giants and Svarts escape through the portals to their worlds. Hadn’t seen what Father did then, with his genii. I tried to send my thoughts to him.

  Go, I said. Leave them alone. I tried to fill my words with the tang of commandment, but I heard no reply.

  I opened my eyes. Noted how my vision had narrowed to a pinpoint. I saw a tiny patch of blue. Saw a fingertip’s pink-tinged sky.

  Closed my eyes.

  Odin, I thought. Protect them. Miri. Cornelius. Longinus. Fahria. All the Gardians who had to pass through the mortal challenge of Midgard.

  Please protect Michael.

  The Giant’s great fist fell from around my hair and I slipped down until I lay mostly on the dirt, my head cradled on the bend of the big man’s elbow. I tried to lift my head but . . . it was so much easier to just lie still.

  My heart found a new rhythm. One that lulled me into a peaceful rest.

  Thump. I opened my eyes, stretching them wide.

  Michael. Promise you’ll find James.

  Thump.

  Promise you’ll save him.

  Thump.

  I love you.

  Sleep beckoned me and oh, I was so tired.

  I’m coming! he replied.

  I opened my eyes. Where are you?

  Thump.

  I’m coming, love.

  But I couldn’t wait. Darkness descended on me from the inside out and I closed my eyes.

  I hadn’t seen her fall. Didn’t even know I was about to lose her, until she called my name.

  In the moment her voice dropped into my thoughts like rain, I knew.

  I’m coming!

  With her words came the impression of all we hadn’t said, all the hopes for a future we wouldn’t have.

  Where are you?

  Without thought, I shoved a Svart into the portal, and spun around—seeking Desi. Searching for her. I shouted her name. Screamed for her.

  I’m coming, love.

  But there was no answer, and that silence terrified me more than anything else. I couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not like this.

  I ran from one cluster of fighters to the next, though there were precious few left. I found her nowhere.

  My eyes sought out Loki, standing on the rocks above us. “Where is she?” I screamed, letting my cry echo through my thoughts while it tore like thunder through the air, hoping someone—anyone—would find her.

  Loki Became, his Shadow bursting outward and sending a shockwave over the last of the skirmishes. Everyone, including myself, fell to the ground, but I was the first to rise. And that’s when I saw her.

  Lying several hundred yards north of me, I saw her pale green tunic, her black hair.

  I ran for her, jumping over and skirting past anyone and anything that stood between us. I cursed the injuries I’d taken to my wings that robbed me of their use. My feet were too slow and with every step I saw the truth of the situation, saw it and dismissed it. She isn’t dead, I told myself.

  But she did not move.

  She can’t be dead.

  A shadow passed overhead, but I did not look up. Loki hovered above her. “Don�
�t you touch her!” I screamed as I ran with all my strength. As I came to her, saw her lying on the arm of a Giant, saw her hand outstretched, palm open, her sword on the ground just out of reach, Loki disappeared.

  Blood on her neck.

  Blood everywhere.

  “No, my love! Don’t leave me!” Love, love. Don’t leave me.

  I tore the Giant’s shirt and pressed the cloth to her neck, telling myself all the while that her heart still beat. Told myself she hadn’t lost too much blood.

  I could feel my knees soaking in it.

  I tied the cloth around her neck, fearing if I tied it too tight she wouldn’t be able to breathe, but anxious to stop as much of the alarming flow of blood as possible. With great care I extricated her from the Giant’s dead limbs, laid her upon the blood-soaked ground, pressed my ear to her chest. Willed myself to stop breathing, to stop the beating of my own heart so I could listen for the only sound that mattered. The only thing.

  Please.

  Thump.

  “Longinus!” I pulled Desi to me, cradled her in my arms as I jumped to my feet. “Fahria!” I ran—ran, I didn’t know where. After stumbling several steps I suddenly stopped, fear finally overriding the adrenaline.

  I pressed my ear to her chest.

  …

  …

  Then, oh so quietly, almost imperceptible—

  thump.

  I threw my head back to scream for help, just as a portal opened and Heimdall was there. I burst onto the Bridge, running, calling to them—calling for anyone who could help me save her.

  While I ran, she lay motionless in my arms, her breath a mere whisper against my wrist, her heartbeat indecipherable from my own. No, my love. Don’t go.

  Don’t go.

  My mind ran through the options, raising questions to which I had no answers. Odin had already denied her Valhalla—he’d told me of her choice to go back to Midgard when she’d died at Akaros’ hand. And of course she’d chosen to fight for her friends. She always doubted her worth, but oh, she was the most valiant of us all. But if she couldn’t seek the eternal rest of Valhalla, would she go to Vanaheim and be with her sisters there? Could she, as only part Valkyrie? As Loki’s child?

  Because she was not human, Ascension was also denied her. Where then, could her spirit go? There was only one place I knew for sure that would take her. Loki would croon with pleasure if Desi returned to him. And oh, it would be an eternity of misery for her. And for me.

  Don’t go.

  Heimdall convinced me to put her onto the lap of a mounted Valkyrie. No stranger to the battle-wounded, the warrior cradled Desi’s head in the crook of her arm, careful to keep her as stationary as possible. She turned the shi’lil who flew as smooth as the wind toward Valhalla. Heimdall clasped onto me, holding me upright while we watched the warrior carry Desi away.

  I traveled onward, toward Asgard, and when Odin met me on the Bridge I fell into his arms and cried the sorrow of the battle weary, the sorrow of a general over so many lost soldiers, the agony of one with a broken heart.

  “It is well, my son,” Odin said, his deep voice rumbling through my ears and heart as if they came from both inside and outside of myself. “She yet lives.”

  “I must go to her.” I moved to step past Odin, but he restrained me with a hand on my arm.

  “She has been taken into the heart of Valhalla, to be tended by her sisters.”

  Though my face must have revealed the thoughts of my heart, I still pressed him. “But—”

  Odin waved his hand as if to dismiss my concerns. “In this moment all that can be done, is being done. She will be well. You have my word.”

  All the adrenaline that had fueled me until this moment left and I all but dropped, all but fell against my Lord. She will be well.

  Odin placed his hand on my shoulder, pressing down a little until I turned my face to his.

  “You must return my son. The battle yet lingers and you are needed.”

  Beyond us rose the shining city of Asgard and the golden spires of Valhalla. Could I go back? Could I fight a war while my love fought for her life?

  “You will give meaning to the sacrifice of your brothers and sisters who have already lost their lives.” My king did not spare my feelings or his own. I would return and fight or else deny my fallen comrades the worth of their souls.

  I nodded and turned sharply.

  “Michael,” Odin said, his tone softer, kinder.

  I looked over my shoulder.

  “I will send word.”

  I sat up, gasping for air, hungry for life. My hands clutched at my throat as memory flooded back—my throat had been slit. I thought I was dead.

  And yet . . .

  Here I sat in a narrow bed of white, blankets trimmed with gold. On the side table, beside a golden goblet with droplets of condensation on its side, lay my sword and dagger, polished to a mirror-like shine. I grabbed the sword and held it before me, stretching my neck this way and that—no scar. No indication that anything had happened to me at all.

  My thoughts clasped onto the only possible explanation—I am dead.

  The door opened and Fahria strode in. I saw other women at the door, but they stayed in the hall. Fahria closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath.

  “I am glad you are awake.” Standing by the foot of the bed, she clasped her hands behind her back. Her white tunic was splattered with dirt and blood, her face smudged and her hair radiated around her face like a halo. Even battle-worn she was beautiful.

  “I’m not dead?”

  She quirked a smile and bowed her head. “No, you are not dead.”

  “But how? I felt him slice my throat. I felt my heart stop.”

  “Well, you were wrong. He did cut your throat, but you did not die.”

  I traced my neck with my fingers, searching for a raised scar, for anything to prove what she said to be true. Maybe I didn’t get my throat cut after all.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Fahria plucked the goblet from the nightstand and held it out to me. “Drink,” she said. There was something about her—a hardness or impatience that made me feel like she was angry with me.

  I took the cup—I was thirsty.

  I took a sip of the cool liquid—realizing as it passed my lips that it wasn’t water. Without meaning to, I sighed and licked my lips. “What is that? It’s the most delicious thing ever.”

  Now Fahria’s expression softened and she gave me a small smile. “It is ambrosia. It is what gave you your life back, and healed the wound at your neck.”

  Ambrosia.

  I knew what it was in an abstract form—knew in some of the books I’d read they called it the nectar of the gods. “It gives gods their eternal life—right?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Fahria said. “Yes.” She sat on the edge of the bed, seeming about as uncomfortable as one can get. She fiddled with one of the leather flaps that hung from her belt.

  Even though my mouth and throat craved more of the refreshing liquid, I set the cup on the table. “I’m not a god,” I said, stating the obvious. “I shouldn’t be drinking that.”

  I couldn’t name the expression on Fahria’s face. Sorrow? Awe? Emotions that didn’t belong there, not on the stoic warrior.

  And that’s all it took to slam me with a truckload of fear.

  “What?” I asked, afraid to voice the question.

  Please tell me Michael is okay.

  Instead she said, “Odin insisted.”

  And I wondered: Does she resent me? Disagree with Odin’s gift of life?

  But then she surprised me by turning to me with great intensity. “Desolation, you must listen to me. You are my sister’s child—my sister who was the greatest Valkyrie I have ever known. There was no greater warrior—in war or in love. You are like her—in all respects.” She shook her head sharply when I opened my mouth to protest.

  “I know you don’t believe it. Maybe it makes it easier for you to be less than you
can be, maybe it’s easier to excuse yourself because of the dark that’s a part of you—I don’t know. But what I do know is that my sister died giving you life. Ensuring that you would be greater than her—greater than all of us. Whatever Loki has decided to do with his life, he is still the son of a god. Because he is your father, you have inherited his gifts—his strengths and abilities. You don’t have to adopt his darkness, that is not a given.”

  She pierced me with her direct gaze and I was powerless to respond.

  “Do you know how the Valkyries came to be?” she suddenly asked.

  I found my memories fuzzy—so I kept my mouth shut and twitched my head in response.

  “The gods created us—the Vanir gods. When the Æsir gods were forced to flee from their old home, the Vanir gods allowed them to rule the worlds they created for them—Odin, Helena, and the others. The Vanir gods created the Valkyrie to be Odin’s justice, as he, being the leader of the Æsir gods, would, in essence, rule the rulers—though through the passage of time the other gods have come to deny that fact. The Valkyrie have no leader except the woman we appoint to guide us. Mahria was our queen from the beginning, the only one we’ve ever known. In her absence, I have led—but it is not my strength, not my gift. I am seeking a warrior who will one day take my place.”

  Dread dropped like a stone in my stomach.

  “But I—”

  “No.” Fahria’s voice was surprisingly soft. “No, I know it will not be you. I remember when Odin invited you to Valhalla and you refused—and I know you made the right decision. The bravest choice.” She looked at her hands in her lap, though she kept them quiet.

  “Perhaps I will have a daughter one day.” A small smile wisped across her face then disappeared. “Or perhaps another of my sisters will reveal her gift for leadership. Anyway.” She straightened her back and focused on me, her expression somewhere between fierce and tender. “That is not what I meant to talk to you about, and my sisters tell me I am needed on the battlefield—I’d only wanted to speak with you because Michael is my friend and there is something I need to say.”