Destined (Desolation #3)

by Ali Cross

“James!” I shout. I need to warn him to get away, to run for the Door—but he isn’t there. I see a void in the debris at my feet, see where his body had lain only seconds ago. My cape lies empty—James is gone.

  Father steps nearer. I can tell from the way Hel’s hand trembles against my body that he’s doing something to make her let go of me, but whatever it is, it isn’t working.

  “Stop, or I shall end her life.” And then the agony begins.

  My head feels as though it’s being squeezed in a vice. I feel my eardrums pop, feel the warm rush of blood as it drips into my ear canal. And my head isn’t the only part of me that feels compressed. It becomes harder and harder to breathe until I’m only able to gasp out tiny breaths.

  “Release her!” Father thrusts out his hand, sending Hel and me flying off the dais. I land a few feet away from her, gasping and coughing, unable to even prop myself up on my elbows.

  “Aw, a little daddy-daughter love. I didn’t know you had it in you.” Helena rises to her feet, but I close my eyes and concentrate on staying alive because right at this moment I’m not sure I can.

  “You know nothing of love.” Father’s voice echoes in the room as his cloven hooves clomp down the stairs.

  Hel laughs and the rocks around me skitter across the floor. “And you do?”

  My chin jerks up, because that’s what I want to know, too. What does Father know of love?

  “I know everything about love,” he says, his face alight with truth and earnestness. “Everything I have done has been out of love for my people. I am the only one who truly loves them—not Odin. I am the only one who sought to ensure that everyone returned home. And now this world is mine and I will protect it. My chosen people deserve a home of their own—and you have not earned their love.”

  Hel’s laughter rattles small rocks from the walls, forces my body to sag against the floor, crushed by the sheer pressure of her will. Predictably, Father’s indignation has gotten the better of him and he lunges forward again. I feel, rather than see, the two of them fall to the ground some yards ahead of me.

  I manage to get myself onto my knees and look around once more for James. The place has been demolished. Not a single chair still stands—except for Father’s, which rises on the dais behind the dueling gods like some sort of sentinel or prize. I can’t see James anywhere.

  I hope he made it through the Door. Hope he knew to go home. He had to. Right? He had to have gone home. And that’s exactly where I plan to go, too. I crawl my way to the wall and use it to help me get to my feet.

  I slide along it, inching my way toward the Door. I’m almost there, I’m just stepping over the body of the dead zabaniyah when something slices down my back, making me arch away from the red-hot pain and stumble, falling onto the body at my feet.

  Something drips onto my leg, causing my skin to sizzle with unbelievable agony. I scream and roll over, scrambling past the dead body. Above me, towers the other zabaniyah. Where did he come from? But there’s no time for thought. I Become, thrusting the creature backward, and as soon as there’s room between us, I whirl, slicing diagonally through it with the tip of my wing. The demonic dragon falls to the floor with two sickening plops.

  Father stumbles into me, his wings beating forward, encapsulating us both for a moment. And in that second his eyes meet mine I see—I think I see—a glimpse of who he once was. I remember when I loved him. When he loved me. Before the madness overtook him, causing him to deny Odin and steal away a third of Asgard. His Shadow recedes and I see behind him where Hel lies on the floor, her beautiful gown ripped and torn, blood splattered on it like raindrops.

  “Are you all right?” Father actually sounds sincere. I let my Halo recede and lean into him, allowing myself to believe, for just a second, that he’s the person I remember, the one who was my friend. I’d always wanted this. More than anything. For Father to choose me for a change, to think of me before himself, before his great disagreement with Odin.

  Father stiffens in my arms, as if he’s been frozen in time. I feel a sharp jab in my chest, right through my ribs. Father drops his arms and his eyes go wide with disbelief. Between us, I see the blade of a sword—poking through my father and jabbed into my own chest. My breathing hitches, caught in my throat without actually delivering any lifesaving air to my lungs.

  In front of me, I watch as Hel pulls the sword from Father’s back. He falls forward, crashing into me. We both go down, Father crumpled in my lap, blood gurgling out of his mouth and onto my legs. I gasp, gasp, gasp and stare wide eyed at Hel.

  She drops the sword to the ground. Looks around for something to wipe her hands on, then leans forward to wipe them on Father’s shirt. She smoothes her hair. Produces a golden mirror and tube of lipstick and fixes her lips.

  “Wha—” I try to ask why she’s killing us, what she’s doing, but I can’t frame the words. I can’t seem to get anything past the junk that’s filling up my throat faster than I can swallow it down.

  Hel leans forward, her cleavage nearly equal with my eyes. “What’s that darling? I can’t hear you.” She straightens with a sigh. “It’s just as well. Bye now.” She spins around and exits the throne room, leaving me lying there with my father by the Door, our life blood seeping away along with my hope.

  Maybe this time I should just die. Death’s come for me so many times—maybe I need to give in this time. I mean, it will keep coming for me, right? As it is, I can’t fathom why I keep getting second chances. I am Loki’s daughter—part Gardian. Shouldn’t I be reincarnated? Or, as Mahria’s daughter, couldn’t I go to Vanaheim? Instead I just keep coming back to life.

  Unless the right answer is that I should just stay here, in Helheimer. I try to open my eyes, try to laugh at the irony. My body will die here in Hell—the perfect place for my soul to take up residence. I wonder if dying always feels like this—like a slow burn, like filling a bathtub, like waiting for the rain to stop before running outside.

  You don’t have to die, a voice, not my own, whispers inside my mind. Maybe a little craziness is part of death, of real death.

  The voice is wrong, anyway. Michael, James and Miri—they’ll be all right. Won’t they?

  Remember who you are.

  That’s a laugh. Because I know exactly who I am—that’s the problem. I’m the girl who nothing works out for. I always screw everything up. What’s the point of being who I am if I never get it right?

  Mahria and Odin were wrong to put their trust in me. To believe I was anything special.

  But Michael believed. He’d always believed, even when everything about me shouted he was wrong. Screamed its ugly defiance of what he thought I was. When I was with him last—even I had believed.

  Remember Michael.

  I Remember his hand in mine. His kiss. The way it feels when he holds me close, when we Become and glory in all that we were and all that we are together. Because together we are glorious.

  Michael loves me for all that I was. All that I am. I know it. It’s the one thing I know above all others. And he won’t be happy if I don’t come back. He’s perhaps the only one, but the thought of his sorrow stirs something in me. Drives me to Remember.

  Remember that I’d been created to protect Midgard. Remember all the sacrifices that had been made so I could fulfill my destiny. Remember how Michael said I was unlike anyone else, that I was glorious and fierce.

  My chest and throat burn, but I struggle to sit up. Struggle to clear my mind, to think only of Michael, only of the time we’d spent together in our garden. I push away the thoughts that want to convince me I’m not worthy of his love. I’d listened to that voice my whole life and look where it had gotten me.

  This time, I won’t die alone. This time I will die with Michael’s memory, his love, filling every part of me, every thought. I’ll let his love consume me, let it warm my cold veins, let it fill my Halo, my Shadow, let it cleanse every part of me with its purity.

  I reach for that love, try to be the person Mic
hael says I am. Because if it’s the last thing I do, if it’s what takes my very last breath, I want to be the person he believes me to be. For him and for Aaron, for Lucy, for Miri and for James. For everyone who loved me, I owe this small measure of my love.

  When I Become, sparks of gold and silver shoot up my arms, through my wings and outward in ever-widening arcs. The throne room trembles around me, stones fall and the ground shakes. I scream with every ounce of strength I have left. I scream for love—for Michael, and his belief in me.

  I face death, finally embracing all that I was, all that I am, because I am loved and finally, at the end of it all, that counts for something.

  “Shh, baby, shh.”

  Lucy wrapped her arms around me, her hand on the back of my head, and held me to her, like a mother cradles her child. Lucy had always known how to make me feel safe. There was a time when she’d been the only one I let into my heart. Before Aaron, before James, before Miri, before Michael. Before I had Become. And I’d never been sorry.

  “You’re all right now, baby.”

  I’m all right.

  I let the words sink deep into my consciousness. They filled every part of me like soft butter seeping into warm bread. I felt myself relax. Exhale. I’m all right.

  And then I Remember.

  I jerked back from Lucy’s arms, jumped to my feet and took three long steps away, my eyes searching wildly. I glanced at my chest, where blood darkened the crimson tunic. At Lucy whose white shift was marred by blood—my blood, and Father’s.

  Father.

  But he was not here.

  Lucy and I were in a garden, all green grass and fragrant blossoms. Lucy sat on a wooden bench, carved with flowers and trees. It struck me then, how this place suited her and how glorious she looked—even more beautiful than she’d been in life. Even more beautiful than in her Ascension.

  “Where am I?” I said aloud, though I didn’t exactly mean to.

  Lucy laughed, a sound like low wind chimes in the breeze. “Come sit, baby. I’ll tell ya all about it.”

  I crossed the grass and sat beside her, angling myself so I could face her. “I thought you were dead.”

  She shrugged. “So did I. And I think maybe I kind of was when Freyja found me and brought me here.”

  I let that name sink in, trying to find a home for it. I came up with nothing. “Freyja?”

  Lucy smiled into her lap, her thick black lashes brushing her dark cheeks. “I know. It’s crazy. I didn’t know a thing about these people when I lived on Earth—what I did hear I thought was a fairy tale. Ya know?” She glanced at me and I smiled, but I didn’t really know. To me, humans were the myth, the fairy tale.

  “I guess we all have somethin’ to learn though, ya know?” She smoothed the soft dress she wore and I noticed it was no longer stained with blood. “Take you, for instance. It took you a mighty long time to figure out who you are, baby. A mighty long time.”

  Lucy reached over and took my hand in hers. “But I knew you’d make it. And here you are.”

  I still didn’t know where I was. I might have thought it was Asgard, but the trees here were not leaved in gold but in varying shades of green. It seemed like Earth but . . . not.

  “No, baby. It isn’t Earth. You’re in Vanaheim, the home of the Vanir gods—the creators of all the worlds.”

  “So, am I dead? Fahria told me the Valkyrie come here when they die. And Father? What about him?”

  “Oh, you’re not dead,” she said with a laugh and small shake of her head that made my heart ache with how much I had missed her. “Though you aren’t quite the same, either.”

  “I don’t understand.” My mind reeled with possibilities and the sudden and fervent need to see Michael. Right away. “I have to go.” I jumped to my feet again and paced the garden. “How do I get outta here?”

  “I know you have to go, baby. But first, you need you to do something for me. And there are people you need to meet before you leave.”

  “Anything.” Anything for Lucy.

  “Take a look at yourself.”

  “What?” I saw my hands, my clothes. “What do you mean?”

  A standing mirror appeared before me, and Lucy got up and placed her hands on my shoulders. “Take a look. Really look.”

  I stepped up to the mirror. “I look the same.”

  “Look closer.”

  I started at my knees and went up the left side of my body. When I got to my left hand, my breath caught in my throat. It no longer swirled with the black ice of my father’s heritage, but was now streaked with silver. I hurried to look at my right arm, afraid I’d sacrificed my goodness, only to find it still traced with the gold of my mother’s gift.

  “Become, baby. I want you to see.” She took a step back, giving me room to spread my wings.

  It took me a minute to ground myself. I still wasn’t used to Becoming on command, but I knew when Lucy got an idea in her head, there was no getting it out until she’d seen it through. Still, I twisted around. “And when I do, you’ll tell me what’s going on?” She nodded.

  Facing myself again, I thought about how different everything was. From the clothes I wore, to this place, to all that had happened the past year. It hadn’t been that long ago I’d refused to Become at all, certain it would mean submitting to Father’s plans for me—or execution for harboring the golden spark. I feared it would be revealed if I Became, and Father would not tolerate its existence inside me.

  Now though, it was as easy as thought. I was already dead—or something. And Father no longer owned me. I owned myself.

  And so I Became.

  I expected to see the yin-yang of black and gold I’d grown accustomed to—one golden wing, one dark. I expected to see the golden ribbon light up my right arm and upward onto my neck, never quite reaching the black swirls that darkened my left side.

  I expected to see something ugly and freakish—because in my half-breed state I was neither truly lovely nor truly glorious, no matter what Michael said.

  But I wasn’t what I expected at all.

  I wasn’t ugly. I wasn’t a bizarre freak show that should have never happened. I looked . . . glorious. Truly, honestly, glorious.

  Ribbons of silver and gold snaked up both my arms, forming complicated knots that reminded me of Aaron’s protections. And my wings—I gasped as I took them in.

  They were Gardian wings—beautiful feathers in gold with silver sprinkled throughout. My spirit radiated outward, gold and silver.

  Lucy stepped in front of me and the mirror disappeared. “Now do you understand? Can you comprehend everything you were meant to Become?” I stared at her, dumbfounded, unable to find the words to express how little I knew and how much I hoped.

  “Ah, baby.” She pulled me to her and rocked a little while she held me. I let my— Halo? Shadow?— recede as I sank into her arms. “You can call it whatever you like, though I think it’s your Halo—don’t you think? It’s your spirit baby. Yours. Unlike any other in all the weavings of time. But—in many ways you are not so different from any of us.”

  She took my hand and walked with me back to the bench where we sat, my hand still in hers. Until Miri, Lucy had been the only one who’d ever touched me like this—the undemanding touch of friendship, a very specific kind of love. No expectations. Just the gentle exchange between two souls who cared for one another.

  “None of us are perfect. And none of us are completely evil. There is good and bad in each of us—you should know this better than anyone.”

  I nodded, thinking of Father and what he’d said before Hel stabbed him—that he knew what love was, that everything he had done had been for love. It wasn’t the kind of love I knew from Lucy and Michael, but to him, it was love. Didn’t that mean something? In the grand scheme of things?

  “You know, it’s precisely because of this disparity that Odin created Midgard and the quest for Ascension. Oh, don’t look at me like that—I’ve learned a few big words since I’ve been hangi
n’ around people a lot smarter than me.”

  She laughed then, and oh, she was beautiful. I leaned against her shoulder and we laughed and laughed and it felt so good. It felt perfect.

  “Come on,” she said, standing and drawing me to my feet. “Let’s meet one of those smart people, okay sugar?”

  We walked down a stone path with soft green moss growing in the cracks, and past a field of pale blue flowers where white unicorns grazed. While I watched, one raised its head, its gaze meeting mine. Its long silver mane fell into its eyes and it nickered. I felt a connection then, a greeting inside my soul. We passed through a copse of oak-like trees and stepped out onto a cobblestone street. Facing the right, I saw a castle standing at the end of the road—a castle with scorch marks at its windows and doors.

  As we drew nearer it became obvious the castle was not in use. While its grounds were well kept, there were neither doors in the doorframes nor shutters on the glassless windows. “What happened?” I asked, surprised that such a beautiful world could house something so dark and dreary.

  Lucy took the path to a cheery stone cottage adjacent to the castle grounds. “That is a story for Freyja to tell. This is her home.” She smiled before knocking on the door, then stepped in without waiting for an invitation.

  “Freyja?” she called, beckoning for me to follow.

  Light streamed inside the cottage, adding to the bright and homey feel of the place. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla hung in the air, making me take a deep breath and sigh in response. Embarrassed, I glanced at Lucy, but she only smiled and gestured to a room with a fluffy couch and two armchairs flanking an imposing stone fireplace. A bouquet of hundreds of yellow and pink blossoms decorated the cold hearth. And tucked here and there were the tiny nodding bells of Lily of the Valley. Seeing them caused a sense of peace to settle over me, a feeling of belonging.

  “Coming!” a sing-song voice replied. A moment later a woman appeared in a shower of silver sparks. For a second, she wore her Halo around her like a glorious cape—the impression of silver wings shining behind her.