Destined (Desolation #3) (2 page)

Fahria let go of my arm and placed her helm on her head, the golden nose guard slipping down between her eyes, casting her face in shadow. I was ill-prepared for this fight—she wore armor while I wore a kilt, a tunic, my sword. And then I thought,
I have my sword. What need have I for more?

No sooner had I thought this than my blade was in my hands, the hilt a comfort in my grasp, and we had begun the slow dance of battle.

She was brilliant. Her armor reflected the light of the sun and several times it blinded me, distracting me and giving her openings I couldn’t afford to give. Already my thighs and upper arms stung where she struck me with the flat of her blade. But I was not without my cunning. A lock of her hair fell to the stone as proof.

Fahria laughed when she saw that, where any other woman would be furious. She held up her hand and bent to retrieve my reward. She held it out to me, encouraging a smile and attaining it. “Well fought, my friend.”

I bowed my head and closed her fingers around the lock of hair on her palm. “Give it to Longinus with my apologies.”

“Apologies?” Her full lips climbed into a half-smile, her eyes still lost to me beneath her helm. She seemed to hold her breath—probably waiting to see how much of their relationship I’d guessed. Their love for one another was as obvious as the sun on a cloudless day to everyone but themselves.

“That he must endure his days without the pleasure of your company.” 

She laughed, a warm sound that softened her usual stern demeanor—it was not hard to see how any man, but particularly Longinus, would be drawn by such a complex and remarkable woman. Fahria put her hand on my shoulder and I knew it was time to go. I paused for a moment, feeling myself slip again into what had become my fate. My sorrow fell upon my back like an old and tattered cape. 

Fahria walked with me to the doors, neither of us speaking, both of us remembering. It reminded me that there are myriad ways one can mourn. For Fahria, losing Desi meant losing a part of her own family—Desi’s mother had been more than sister-Valkyrie, more than queen. Mahria had been Fahria’s sister—with Desi’s death, Fahria had no one left to claim as kin.

But Desi is not dead.

I swallowed and raised my chin. I felt my gaze harden, focused on the one thing that mattered most—finding Desi.

“I can sense your restlessness.” Fahria stopped before the golden doors, blocking my exit. “I know what you intend to do.” By the set of her jaw, the fire that sparked in her eyes, she truly did know. “You can’t go.”

I glared at her. “No one can stop me.”

“Heimdall can. And you know he will.”

I adjusted my belt, the hang of the scabbard at my waist, before looking back at Fahria. “I will find a way.”

Fahria’s gaze did not waver from mine. I could sense her weighing her argument, considering how best to sway me. “Assuming you found her—and she actually wants to leave—” I opened my mouth to protest, but Fahria held up her hand, stopping me, “you know what will happen.”

“I know I am not as strong as Desi. My return to Helheimer would awaken the Demon inside me and the evil of Loki’s poison would lay claim to me once more.”

“And Desi would be called upon to kill you. You would do that to her?”

This time I didn’t need to consider my answer. “Yes.” I’d sacrifice her view of me, even her view of herself, it meant she was alive and safe. 

Fahria’s lovely face grew dark with disapproval, but I ignored her and stared on the door behind her. She pulled open the right door, and I opened the other, so we both stood in the threshold side by side. And so it was we saw Heimdall striding toward us, his footsteps thundering into Asgard, lightning flashing in his dark eyes.

The gigantic god strode to Odin’s hall, which stood adjacent to Valhalla. He glowered when he saw us and motioned for us to follow. We had to run to do so. As Fahria and I approached the entryway, a pair of youths, clad in white togas with golden spears at their sides and golden leafed circlets on their heads, lowered their eyes as they held the doors open for us. 

We slowed our pace, unwilling to disturb Odin’s hall with our noise, yet anxious to reach Heimdall and learn what news had drawn the great god out of his wheelhouse. We could no longer see him, but the boys lining the hall tipped their spears in unison to indicate the way in which we should go. We passed them in silence, the only sound the footfalls of our sandals on the tiled floor, and the occasional clink of Fahria’s sword as it bounced against her armored kilt.

We were directed to the courtyard behind Odin’s great reception hall. Heimdall’s face looked even more fierce than usual, his irises swirling like restless clouds in a moody sky. When Fahria and I stepped over the threshold, Odin raised his arm in an arc over his head, erecting a shimmering dome of privacy.

“Tell us; what is your news, my friend?” 

I flexed my fingers around my sword, foreknowledge filling my mind with a sense of doom. I both feared and hoped for news of Desi.
Please let her be well. Let her live.

Heimdall glared at each of us and I felt nothing of the friendship we shared—though we were the best of friends. The man who stood before me now was a god, his status lifting him above our bond for the moment.

“The Muspellarians are mobilizing.”

At first none of us responded. His words fell like bombs on my mind and it took me several seconds to process their meaning. Muspellarians—the giants of the fire world Muspelheim. The giants prophesied to play an integral role in the Ragnarok—the great war to end all wars, the end of everything as we know it. 

“Does Garin lead them?” Odin’s words were smooth, measured, as if he took great care to avoid revealing his emotions.

Heimdall shook his head sharply. “I cannot tell but . . . I think not. There has been much travel the past weeks, Svarts and Giants, but when I turn my eye to them, they retreat to their worlds. I fear there is some greater force at work, a leader beyond Garin’s capacity to rouse the other worlds.”

“Who do you think leads them? What could be the meaning behind this?” I’d taken a step forward, my blood rushing, urging me into action. A battle would be a welcome distraction. Odin leveled a dark look in my direction while the corner of Heimdall’s lips twitched minutely upward. “My apologies.” I bowed my head and inwardly berated myself. 

Odin placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently. “You are my general, Michael. In matters of war you have no need to stand on formality.” He looked to Heimdall. “This seems to be beyond Loki’s reach—have you seen any indication of his involvement?”

Heimdall’s mouth resumed its natural frown. “No. I have had my eye on Loki and he remains in Helheimer, playing his usual games.” He glanced at me and for a moment his eyes softened. “I’m sorry my friend, but we must consider . . .” He held my gaze until understanding dawned and I swallowed against the growing dryness in my throat.

“I fear it may be Desolation who is at the heart of this turn of events.”

“Desolation,” Odin said, his eyebrows drawing downward in displeasure. “What indication do you have that she is involved?”

“I have none. Only . . .” Heimdall glanced my way again, then angled his body so he stood slightly before me, and I could not see his face. And he could not see mine. “The source of this new threat, this new leader, is unknown to me. And while I have not been able to locate Desolation, it is still my belief that she lives.”

Heimdall had been the only one to encourage my hope that Desi had not been killed by the strange black tornado that swept across the battlefield eight months ago. He claimed to have a sense for her spirit, said he could still feel her—alive, somewhere. Though the where seemed to be the question no one could answer. He could not find her in Helheimer, could not find her on Midgard, nor on any of the other worlds. She seemed to have disappeared, vanished from all of the nine worlds. 

I believed she still lived—when I did not fear she’d been claimed by a soul-eater. If she had been taken by one of the ancient, ravenous creatures, there would be no trace of her. No spirit. No body. No soul. Nothing to hold my love like a sacred vessel.

Odin cleared his throat but did not address Heimdall’s statement about Desi. He believed Loki had killed his daughter as punishment for her betrayal, for her constant desire to leave him. Loki had never cared for anything he could not control, and when Desi cut her own finger off in an effort to separate herself from the evil of Solomon’s Ring—even with the poison of hellfire racing through her veins—she’d proven once and for all that she was not his tool, not a weapon in his hand. 

Desi was herself, something Loki had not predicted but Odin had hoped for. Desi had been a free spirit of the truest kind. Is, I told myself.
Because she
lives
. Somewhere, somehow, my beloved lives.

“We must investigate the war preparations on Muspelheim.” Odin’s smooth voice shifted from introspective to commanding, its deep resonance striking a gong in my heart. “Fahria, you and a small contingency—an honor guard, no more—will go to King Garin. Ascertain what his plans are, and remind him of our oath of peace.”

Fahria bowed her head and thumped her fist to her chest plate, her gauntlet causing the metal to ring out like a hammer on an anvil. 

Odin rested his gaze on me, considering. “My son. Fahria could use you at her side, but I understand you have not yet completed the mission you have claimed for yourself.”

My mission. To find and save Desi. 

To find and save a girl even Odin himself believed no longer existed. 

I fought the temptation to glance at Heimdall, or even Fahria. Fought to stay focused on the here and now, on Odin, on the question at hand. Could I set aside my search for Desi in order to help my sister warriors assess a possible threat?

“Yes.” My voice sounded only slightly less firm than I intended.

Odin nodded. “Very well then. You have my permission to leave immediately.”

As he moved, his royal blue robe, adorned with tiny sparkling diamonds, swirled out behind him. It reminded me of the falling night. Of stars in an azure sky. He raised his arm to drop the privacy dome.

“There is one more thing,” Heimdall said in his dark, gravelly voice. Odin dropped his arm as all of us turned surprised expressions upon the giant but he refused to acknowledge us. “There is a . . .” He clenched his right fist, the tendons and muscles in his forearm flexing like taught ropes beneath his skin. He seemed to make the decision to move forward, because he released his fist and looked up, meeting Odin’s eyes with his usual ferocity.

“There is a dog on the Bifrost.”

“A dog.”

“Yes.”

Odin coughed, then scratched at his temple. He stared at the floor and I saw the corners of his mouth twitch upward. He cleared his throat, fighting laughter, then met Heimdall’s gaze. “And how is this relevant, Lord Heimdall?”

“I believe it is a harbinger of some kind. A messenger. Its appearance at the Door to Muspelheim drew my attention to that world.”

“Then its message is to warn us of war?” Odin asked.

“I do not believe so. It seems somehow . . . more personal.” Heimdall’s eyes flicked toward me, the barest movement, but the suggestion was clear—he thought the dog had something to do with me. Something to do with Desi.

“Well, what do you propose to do about . . . this dog?” Odin asked, the slightest hint of frustration cutting into his voice.

“Is the emissary from Alfheim still here?”

“Yes. He is taking his repose. He is to be undisturbed.” Odin’s tone suggested he was not about to rouse the Alfahr so he could talk to a dog.

Frustration oozed from Heimdall’s countenance. He closed his eyes—I knew that look; it was Heimdall counting to ten before speaking, fighting to compose a more diplomatic response than the one he likely wanted to give. “I understand, great king. But perhaps . . .” Heimdall let his words trail away, his eyes fixed on something beyond the dome of light. 

I followed his line of sight and watched as a tall, slender man of unrivaled beauty came into view. He nodded once before stepping through the barrier that separated us. A barrier that should have been impenetrable. 

“You are in need of me?” the man asked, looking at each of us. His unnaturally pale skin radiated a pearlescent light as if lit from within, and when his gaze met mine, the silvery-blue hue of his large eyes took my breath away.

“My apologies, li’Morl. It was not my intention to disturb you,” Odin said.

“Your apologies are unnecessary, Lord Odin, for you did not disturb my repose. But do you mean to say I am mistaken? You do not have need of my gifts?”

Heimdall cleared his throat, but it was Odin who responded in an even tone. “We do have need of you, if you are willing.”

li’Morl smiled, a warm, radiant expression that reached into my soul, bathing my senses in warmth. I felt myself relax, my worries ease—and the Alfahr had not even looked directly at me. 

“Of course I am willing,” li’Morl said. “What is it you would ask of me?”

“There is a dog on the Bifrost, before the Door to Muspelheim,” Heimdall said.