Destined (Desolation #3) (16 page)

He led me behind the buildings, off the roads, and through a stand of trees with pristine white bark and shimmering golden leaves. I knew where he was taking me, and oh how I wanted to go there.

Beyond the trees we walked over verdant grass and followed a stream of turquoise water. I laughed when I saw the tiny fish flitting beneath its surface, their scales in all shades of the rainbow. I’d forgotten the glorious beauty of Asgard. Forgotten the feel of its breeze on my skin, like a caress from the sun. Forgotten the smell of hope and love that permeated everything here. 

Amidst another copse of trees, Michael held branches back for me as we ventured deeper into the woods. And then we were suddenly there.

A small clearing, the perfect size.

A stone bench, with cherubs carved into the legs. A bench for two.

And all around the perimeter, growing in the shade of the golden-leaved trees, their heads gently bobbing in the subtle breeze, stood hundreds of Lily of the Valley. 

Michael held both my hands in his, his right thumb tracing the stub of my ring finger. I closed my eyes, not wanting to think about what I had lost, or to remember that time in my life when I was overcome by Father’s dark poison. Instead I angled my face into the warmth of the sunlight, and breathed deeply. I was home. In this moment, in this place, I had everything I’d ever dreamed of. Everything I’d dared hope for.

When Michael pulled me to him, when his hands first cupped my face, then wound their way behind my neck and into my hair, when his forehead rested on mine, when his lips touched mine . . .

Even when there was too much perfection, too much honesty and love, I didn’t run away.

I lifted my face to his. 

Parted my lips and fell into his kiss.

Far too soon, we left our garden and Michael took me to Valhalla where Fahria stood at the gates. “The others will be waiting,” Fahria said with a glare. Michael only smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek before turning to leave. No way would either of us feel sorry for being a little late. 

Fahria bustled me past the gates and down a long corridor. We hurried through a courtyard where a staff spun suspended in a pocket of shimmering light. “Is that—?”

“Yes.” Fahria ushered me into a small room, one I recognized from so long ago. Mahria’s room. My mother’s room. “Now you must hurry,” Fahria insisted as she stepped back into the hall. 

A thought struck me, like lightning on a sunny day. “Wait, Fahria.”

She paused, looked over her shoulder.

“Mahria—she’s Ascended, right? Will I—” I took a deep breath to steady the sudden excitement and hope that made me all jittery. “Will I get to meet her?”

At first, Fahria did nothing. Didn’t even blink. 

Then she sighed and stepped into the room, folded her arms and leaned against the door she’d pulled closed. “Mahria is not Ascended.” Her voice lay low and sad in the room. “You will not meet her.”

“But Lucy and Aaron . . .”

Fahria was all business, and when she spoke she did it in a matter-of-fact way, leaving me with the distinct impression she would not be answering any more of my questions. “They were human—Gardians who had completed their quest for Ascension. That you’ve even been able to see and talk to them is . . . unheard of. I can only suppose that they have not entirely completed their Ascension because once they do, they will no longer have a connection to life as we know it—the concerns of the every day, well . . . Let’s just say it won’t be in their purview.”

I opened my mouth to ask how that can be true if soul eaters can destroy them, but Fahria hurried on.

“Mahria was not human. She went to Loki as a Valkyrie, as a warrior goes to battle. Valkyrie do not seek Ascension, are not born into a human existence so we can quest for it. We serve our goddess and when we die—I believe we go to Vanaheim, to live with her in peace. But many choose to stay in Valhalla—to train for the day when the Ragnarok comes and we are needed once more.” She stood out from the wall and opened the door, turning to leave.

“But—if you have to be human, born on Earth and completed your quest, in order to Ascend, and if Valkyrie don’t Ascend . . . What about Gardians? What if they die—” Michael filled my mind. Michael with the Spear in his shoulder. Michael, his sword flashing, as Father circled him. I took a deep breath and tried to mimic Fahria’s confidence. “If a Gardian dies in battle or whatever, what happens to him? I mean, them?” I held my breath as I waited for her answer.

She studied her hand on the doorframe for one, two, three heartbeats before she looked back. “He would be reincarnated as a Gardian once more. There is no rest for the soul of a Gardian until he has reached Ascension, or . . . Fallen. That’s why Odin created Ascension in the first place—he couldn’t bear seeing his children move through one meaningless existence to another. He thought all of them would achieve Ascension, but that was before Loki defied him. Before he learned how to tempt the Gardians-turned-human. Now many more are tempted away from their quest and end up spending eternity with that—that Defiler.” Her gaze had drifted inward, but when she spoke of Father it snapped up to meet mine. “My apologies.”

I laughed without mirth. “Ha. You don’t need to apologize. I know who my father is. What he is.”

She nodded, a sharp bob of her chin. “Well, then. I shall return for you shortly. You must hurry.”

“Right. Okay. And Fahria—” She closed the door. “Thank you,” I said quietly to the empty room.

Now another question floated to the forefront of my mind.
What would happen to me if I die?

Clothes had been laid over the narrow bed. I recognized them from my time here in Asgard; they were mine. I tried to be grateful they were clean instead of disappointed they weren’t a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. To my left, near the head of the bed, a door stood cracked open—inside I found a rainfall room. Father had tried to duplicate it in Hell, but no matter how hot he made the water, I never felt truly warm. Earth’s showers came close, but still . . . I hoped everything could wait for a few minutes of bliss. 

I tugged at my kilt while Fahria dragged me into a dining hall. We found them, Michael, Heimdall and Odin, sitting around Odin’s grand table, a feast spread before them, but no food yet on their plates.

Michael sat on the table edge, turning a dagger round and round, casting glimmers of light onto the wall. When he saw me, he nearly dropped his blade and oh, his expression was priceless. He froze, his eyes the only part of him that moved as he took in the sight of me. 

I felt self-conscious, knowing what he saw. For the first time in so long I didn’t wear black. No jeans. No heavy combat boots. I did wish I had my Chucks though, the ones with the silver knots—not that I needed their protection here. 

Instead, I wore golden laced boots that reached partway up my calf and a tunic the shade of new grass. Over that I wore the white kilt and gold armor of the Valkyries. I’d stared at myself for a long time, trying to come to terms with that. I knew my mother had been a Valkyrie. Knew I’d been raised and trained to be one. But it still seemed like a stretch to count myself among their number. 

“Welcome, my children.” Odin stood to greet us. “Come and sit down, we were about to begin.” I knew it was a lie. Knew they’d been waiting for us, but I was happy for it. Happy to be wanted, to be included. To feel something close to myself again after so, so long of . . . well, not.

Michael stood and held a chair out for me. I smiled sheepishly at him when we were sitting down. Heimdall grasped Michael’s shoulder and leaned down to him so they could speak quietly together. Michael took my hand and squeezed it. Fahria smiled at me from across the table and I marveled at the capacity for forgiveness that abounded here. I felt my shoulders relax and my heart and mind give themselves over to the sweetness of this moment.

Michael released my hand so he could fill my plate with meats, cheeses and glorious fruit I’d long forgotten. My stomach growled at the prospect of eating. Such a mundane act, the smallest of things, really, and yet there was more than taste here—there was life, there was living.

About halfway through the meal, Odin set his goblet down and cleared his throat. It seemed to be a cue of some sort as conversations around the table hushed. Odin turned to Fahria, but said nothing.

Fahria’s focus did not waver from our king. “My Lord, it is as we feared.” She folded her hands together on the table. “The Giants are rallying, and the Svarts are with them. I did not see Helena, but I felt her presence, heard her name in many whispered conversations.”

Fahria let her gaze momentarily settle on each of us. “They are moving on Midgard within days—I am unsure exactly when.”

Odin did not seem surprised by this news. “Were you able to ascertain why they would move on Midgard? It was our prior understanding they were being persuaded to move against Helheimer.”

Michael reached for my hand under the table. “It seems they have been led to believe they can conquer—and possess—it. That they can “liberate” it from your grasp.” He bent his head and took a breath before continuing. “They express dissatisfaction over you owning two worlds, Asgard and Midgard, and even that Asgard itself is already the largest, the best. They feel that the Vanir gods were misled and cheated by the Æsir gods when they granted you both worlds. They wish to set things right.”

For several heartbeats the room remained quiet and though I tried, I couldn’t read any of their faces. All I knew was war was threatening Midgard, a world I had come to think of as my own. No way would I sit back and let that happen.

“I see,” Odin finally said. And then he sighed. “It has been this way since we were first granted our worlds. Since we first left the home of our fathers. It has always been thus, and I fear it ever shall be.”

I watched them, watched them banish fear in favor of courage, watched the determination settle into their features, like mirror images of one another. And I thought,
These are heroes. Every one.

“We must not delay,” Heimdall said. “I cannot keep them from travelling the paths that are already lain. I cannot favor the Valkyries over the Svarts, Gardians over Muspellarians. You understand this.”

Odin hadn’t taken his eyes from Heimdall’s face while he spoke. When the large man finished, Odin reached over and placed his hand on his arm. “I understand, brother. I would never ask it of you.”

“I can, however, keep you informed of their numbers, the placement of their Doors.”

“Thank you.”

The two gods stared at one another for a moment, and I had the distinct feeling there was much more going on between them than what we were privy to. While I processed the information we’d been given, and tried to settle in to this new life, I thought of my father and how he might be involved.

I felt certain he would never invite the Svarts or the Muspelheim giants to join him in a fight over Midgard. He wanted all of Midgard for himself—he certainly wouldn’t want to share it. But Helena—could this be her doing? Would she want Midgard? Or was this just part of her plan to force Father from his throne in Helheimer? 

I looked at my hands in my lap, one with Michael’s clasped around it. He rubbed his thumb in soft circles over the tender side of my wrist. I remembered him doing that. Before. I studied his face in profile, his chin, his parted lips. They quirked upward when he realized I was staring at them. At the curve of his cheek and the way his eyelashes, darker than his hair, swept over them. At his hair, which had grown since I saw him last and hung in that way I loved, just long enough it curled over his ears.

Michael angled himself so he leaned over the table and faced me, cutting us off from the others. “What are you thinking?” he asked in a whisper, his lips barely moving to form the words. I contemplated telling him the truth—that even in the midst of . . . everything . . . all I really wanted to do was run back to our garden. To lie in the grass, with his arms wrapped around me. To watch the sky beyond the flickering golden leaves. To kiss him. To kiss and kiss and kiss him and never think of war again. Never think of Father again. Never Remember all I had done, all that came before.