Destined (Desolation #3) (20 page)

Odin reached for my hand. “She expects to find him there—with the two of you.” And before I formed the question in my mind, he said, “There has been no word of him.”

No word of James. 

The darkness no longer owned me, but all the light in Asgard couldn’t stop the stab of remorse and guilt I felt that James suffered because of me. But I’d spent my life running from my destiny, trying to avoid taking responsibility for my actions. I took Michael’s hand, taking strength from his firm grasp. I owed Miri the truth.

We shot to Earth like comets falling from the sky. I landed beside Michael, throwing a hand out to the dry, packed ground to stop myself from landing on my face. I watched as a thousand gold and silver comets plunged to Earth or circled the sky above us. I saw more lights falling all around—and not all of them the Gardians and Valkyries we had brought with us.

Fireballs of red and orange plummeted earthward, materializing into men the size of Heimdall with skin that glowed like red hot embers. Fire burned in their hair and beards. They marched toward us, swinging flaming hammers in each of their fists as they approached. 

I took a step backward, suddenly unsure if I could survive this fight, if I could do enough to save the Gardians and Valkyries I stood with. On my left, a flash of white-blue caught my eye as flashes of blue and black fell to the earth, materializing into elves that shifted and moved like living ice. 

We’re all going to die,
I thought.

Michael slipped behind me, his shoulders a reassuring strength while we stood back-to-back.
Don’t be so quick to underestimate our power, my love,
Michael said.
I am here. You are here. And together, we are fearsome. 

He sent me an image, a Memory. My subconscious dusted off my own long-hidden memories of the day we’d fought Father—Loki, as I knew him then—and all his many millions of followers. We’d stood like this—faced an innumerable host, impossible odds. 

And we had won.

Michael and I spun around so he was facing the Giants and I faced the dark elves—the creatures of Svartalheim. I hefted the staff in my hand— it wasn’t the treasured one from the Tree of Life Odin gave me so long ago, but I was glad for that. This weapon would never reek of the darkness and temptation the Spear of Destiny had. At my hip rested a Valkyrie’s blade, with daggers tucked into each of my boots. I curled my fingers around the smooth wood of my staff and felt Michael tense behind me.

There was no more time to fear what approached, because in front of me a host of dark elves drew their bows and raised gleaming kukris that flashed with cold light. 

Fahria fell into place beside me. She had a wild glint in her eye and a broad smile on her face. 

“Welcome to your proper place, Niece,” she said. “Join your sisters and we shall make quick work of this fight.” And without looking away, she Became . . . a creature too glorious to name. 

Become, she said in my mind.

Before closing my eyes I saw the sky alight with bright streams as Valkyrie and shi’lil rained arrows down on the enemies surrounding us. When I Became I let the good and the bad fill every part of me, embracing all that I was. All I was created to be.

A Svart dove for me, his mouth opening in a soundless scream, revealing two rows of sharpened teeth. He raised his weapon above his head, its blade gleaming in my golden light. I thrust my staff forward and blocked his arm, spinning three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around to my left, catching him on the side of the head with my boot. He fell to the ground. I kicked his sword out of the way before slamming the butt of my staff against his head.

I had barely lifted my weapon before another Svart dove low and tried to thrust his blade upward into my stomach. I shoved my knee into his sternum at the same time as I slammed each side of his head with my fists. 

I spun again, slicing the edge of my right wing through the chest of a Svart attacking Fahria. As I rotated I saw the scene behind me—the press of fiery Giants and Michael shining glorious in their midst, wielding his sword like a whirling dervish.

But my sisters and I were pressed on all sides by the icy Svarts and there was little time to consider my love and how he fared. I had to trust we hadn’t come this far to be torn apart now.

Gods, let it be so,
I thought.

Three Svarts fell upon me, one digging his blade deep into my left wing. I bit back a cry—no time for pain. My concentration narrowed down to one singular thought:
Survive
.

Only movement existed. Only thrust, parry, strike. Kick, feint, block.

My fists were frozen where they fell time and again on the icy skin of the Svarts. 

The staff in my hand slipped in my palm from their blood that painted it a pale blue.

My throat grew raw from screaming.

I barely moved from my spot as the enemy came to me. It seemed they meant to bury me alive in their bodies, as the pile of their dead surrounded me on all sides—yet still they came.

My arms grew weak, but I forced myself to fight on.

The sound of battle deafened me, gradually taking on the muted tone of Helheimer, as if it came through a long tube. Exhaustion teased me, made me long to lie down. Made me consider giving up.

Yet still I pressed on.

And then . . . the attack stopped. 

It took me a moment to recognize the change. To realize the air no longer rang with steel.

I climbed over the bodies surveyed the barren landscape. The bodies of Svarts littered the hard-packed ground all the way to the rocky mesas that dotted the horizon. A few Valkyrie sat or crouched on the ground, but I didn’t see any lying among the dead. I could not see Fahria.

I whirled around, seeking Michael—but I couldn’t see him anywhere, either. There were far fewer Giants dead upon the ground, and more than a handful of Gardians that I could see. The Svarts and Giants had retreated, no doubt calling for reinforcements—for though their number had surpassed ours by far, they had suffered badly in battle.

Where the hell is Michael?

An alarm went off in my mind. A persistent driving sound of need to
find. my. love
.

I ran toward the Giants, then flew, excruciating pain accompanying every beat of my injured wing. Everything fell into my peripheral vision, everything beyond the singular focus of my need. I darted from one fallen Gardian to another, but could not find my love. 

“Michael!” His name tore from my throat, burning fear, again and again.

Someone flew into me, plummeting me back down to Earth, holding me in her arms.

“Shh,” Fahria said, pressing my head to her shoulder. “Shh.”

I grabbed the shoulder straps of her armor, and wrapped my fists around them as I fell against her. I felt myself die. I could not exist without Michael. I didn’t want to.

“What’s it all been for?” I asked over and over. “Without him, what’s the point?”

Fahria made no reply, but continued to hold me. I wanted to die. I willed myself to die. My Halo faded. My knees gave way. Fahria held me upright by her own strength alone.

And then . . .

as quiet as a whispered breeze . . .

rustling the golden leaves of our garden . . .

as gentle as the nodding bells of the Lily of the Valley . . .

I am here, Love.

I am here.

I didn’t know if Fahria heard him, or if she knew intuitively, but she threw her arms back and I burst away from her, Becoming and taking to the sky in a flash of golden light and black shadow. I followed my heart across the battlefield, where the survivors crouched together, tending to their wounded and dead. I flew to the rocky outcropping and the soul of the person I would never again forget and would always find.

Landing near the rocks, I let my spirit recede into Halo and Shadow, unwilling to entirely let go of the strength and comfort they brought me. Fahria landed beside me. I glanced at her, then stepped into the cool darkness of a maze of rocks, my staff held ready.

A dark form separated itself from the shadows.

“Longinus!” Fahria cried and took two fast steps forward before stopping abruptly. She glanced back at me, and for a moment I saw her as a young woman in love, and not the fierce warrior she portrayed the rest of the time. While I watched, she assumed that mask and instead of leaping into Longinus’ arms like I knew she longed to do, she reached out and they clasped forearms. They didn’t say anything, but I understood it all.

This was relief at finding the other unharmed. This was joy in being in another’s company again.

This was love. 

I hadn’t known they loved each other, but it sat on my heart with the easiness of inevitability. They were perfect together.

Longinus stepped past Fahria, but I didn’t miss the way his fingers trailed up her arm as he let her go of her. He took my right hand in his. “Lady,” he said, bowing his head. The respect and care that radiated from him made me uncomfortable—I didn’t deserve either of those things. At least, no more than he did. 

“Come with me.” A stone settled in my heart as he led me behind the outcropping and into a small sunlit chamber between the rocks. Fear of what I would find slowed my steps and filled my throat with unshed tears.

The first thing I saw was Cornelius sitting on the ground, his head bowed. And then . . . Michael.

His back was to me, but as soon as I stepped into view he stood. In a flash he had me in his arms, lifted me from the ground, buried his face against my neck.
Oh, love,
he said in my mind.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“What is it?” I asked when he set me on my feet.

“Come.” He took my hand and led me forward to where Miri lay on the ground, her head in Cornelius’ lap. 

“Miri!” I fell to my knees beside her, stroked her hair and searched for how she might be injured.

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked when I couldn’t see any sign of injury.

Cornelius’s blue eyes sparkled with a brief smile. He reached out and touched my cheek. “I am so glad to see you, Desolation.”

I put my hand on his, pressing his palm to my skin. “And I’m glad to see you.”

Our focus returned to Miri, and Cornelius brushed back the damp hair on her forehead. “We stood together, near the rocks, watching the battle unfold,” he said. “She saw you return, saw Michael—and oh, she was happy.” He glanced at me and I caught his eyes.

“She asked where James was, and I didn’t know what to say. I put my arm around her shoulder, to offer what comfort I could, but her body began trembling, then convulsing, with great force. At first I thought it was sorrow or fear, but once I helped her to the ground I realized she was not responsive. Longinus helped me bring her here, where she is out of harm’s way.” His eyes met mine, as he added, “I believe she’s had a vision. A terrible premonition that has sent her mind into a state of shock.”

He poured a bit of water from a bottle onto a piece of torn cloth and dabbed it on Miri’s forehead. “She stopped seizing shortly afterward, but has since lain still, not waking, not stirring. Her breathing has remained even, which I take as a hopeful sign.” He looked at me, an expression of expectation on his face, though I had no idea how to offer him, or anyone, comfort. 

My mind spun, the usual war raging within me. If only we hadn’t needed to release Helena in order to rescue Heimdall. If only I’d chosen Michael over Miri—maybe an eternity in Hell would be better than all that I’d put her through since then. 

I felt Michael’s hand on my shoulder; warm, steady. “You made the right choice, love. This is Miri’s gift and her burden. She’ll come out of this, I’m sure of it.” 

“I fear she is dreaming, and what she sees has her heart and mind strangled with terror.” Cornelius’ tone was as soft as the touch he used on Miri’s brow, but it didn’t do anything to diminish the weight of his words.

“But what could she be dreaming about? How could there be anything more than—” I waved my hand to indicate all the hell we’d endured on the desert. “How could there be anything worse?”

Michael said, “Odin believes this is the Ragnarok—Midgard’s Apocalypse. This fight is not over, my love. The enemies are merely regrouping, taking time to tend their wounds and replenish their numbers.”