Destined (Desolation #3) (23 page)

“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.”

She leaned toward me, her face fierce and alight with passion.

“What I want is for you to realize the greatness that lives within you. Yes you are, in part, great because of the people who have come into your life—every good general knows she is only as good as the warriors she commands. But you are not only great because of them. Recognize the gifts your parents have given you, and claim them for your own. Be great because they were. But don’t be only what they were. Be yourself.”

She trailed the back of her hand over my forehead and down my cheek, brushing aside my hair. 

“Be great, Desolation. Be glorious.”

She rose and left the room, leaving me alone with a million questions and a nugget of warmth that vibrated with the truth of her words.

Sheathing my sword, I fought to slow my breathing while I surveyed the battlefield. The scattered forces had regrouped, and though their numbers were small, they were still a fierce and deadly opponent. The Svarts had fallen back to the Door, but the Giants still pressed the Valkyrie. The way the Svarts had lined up, though, with the lethal, curved blades of their kukris held across their chests, I feared they drew their courage from a new wave of reinforcements about to cross the Bridge. 

I glanced up the ridge to where Cornelius had his makeshift hospital, caring for the wounded. It was then that I saw him struggling with a body in his arms. I cursed under my breath; fear that Miri had taken a turn for the worse forcing me to the sky toward the pair. My injured wings had already begun to mend, but flight still made them burn.

“Cornelius?” I asked, landing with an awkward thump, just behind the man. He startled and turned, but thankfully did not drop Miri. “Is she well?”

“I’m sure she will be, my friend. But she hasn’t woken, and her trembling has not stopped. Taige, my newest acolyte, has come to retrieve her—I thought perhaps, if she was away from the battle, her heart and mind could be put at ease.”

I nodded, then stepped forward to take Miri into my arms. “I will carry her to the car.”

“Thank you.”

“Perhaps you should return with her.” I looked to my left, willing Cornelius to meet my eyes, but he kept his focus on the rocky terrain in front of his feet. “I desire your safety as well.” 

Cornelius waved his hand in the air as he stepped off the rocks. When I caught up to him he said, “I feel my place is here. That this is where I should be.” He glanced back and I saw that he felt the same dread as I—but that he would not be moved from his decided course of action.

“You are not a warrior.” I couldn’t stop myself from stating the obvious, from trying to convince him, even while I suspected he would not change his mind.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shrug, saw him focus on the ground once again while we walked. “I am needed here. The injured—with my help they can return to the battle sooner. Perhaps, with my small skill, some may not have to die.”

I found myself without words to express how much his life meant to me, how much I worried.

Sensing my thoughts, Cornelius slowed and placed a hand on my arm, drawing me to a stop. “I will be fine, my friend. I am staying close to the rocks—the battle hasn’t come that far, as you and your people are doing a fine job holding off stray attackers. The fighting will be over soon, I’m sure of it. We will share a cup of tea when we are through.”

His clear blue eyes sparkled in the lowering light. He’d been my friend since he first joined The Hallowed some fifty-five years ago. He’d grown from eager acolyte to seasoned patriarch but he’d always been my friend. He turned and we continued toward the small convertible that had just arrived, kicking up dust in its wake.

I lay Miri on the backseat, her skin cool and her breathing even. I felt certain she only rested, that soon she would wake and be well once again. I stepped back and Cornelius leaned in to kiss Miri on the forehead.

“I’ll come straight away.” Cornelius put his hand on the driver’s shoulder—a girl with black hair and pale skin who I remembered from Desi’s dark days. When she glanced my way and I shared a smile with her, it pleased me to see the darkness no longer held her captive. 

Cornelius patted the car’s roof and we stepped back while Taige pulled away. We watched the car move across the hard-packed desert ground toward the road that lay far out of sight. Before long the dust obscured it from view, so Cornelius and I strode toward the battlefield. My heart lifted to see a fresh wave of Asgardian warriors leaping from the Bifrost to join us—just as the Svarts also received reinforcements. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and roused my waning energy.

“We will yet win this war.” I quickened my pace. “Stay safe.” I put my hand on Cornelius’ shoulder.

He nodded. “I will. And as soon as you can, bring me word of Desolation.”

Not,
Please beat Loki.
Not,
Please save us.
No, Cornelius was a man of great faith. We would beat Loki and send him away from this world—if not Helheimer, then somewhere. And when we had defeated him, Cornelius expected me to visit and report. And so I would. He and his brothers and sisters of The Hallowed had long been Midgard’s defense against Loki’s evil.

“Of course,” I said.

 “God be with you, my son.” I looked at him quizzically—he knew as well as I there were many gods. But then I realized that this was Odin’s world, as surely as if he were its god. He might not possess the omniscient, omnipotent power of the world’s religious icons, or that of the Vanir gods who more closely resembled the human concept of god, but he would be the world’s savior—he and the warriors who were the extension of his hand.

Desi. Me. And the other Gardians. Fahria, and the Valkyries. 

“And with you also.” I clasped his forearm, then ran toward the Giants and the Bifrost that shot like a pillar of fire into the sky. I called upon my memories of the good in this world, my hopes for Desi, to fuel my speed and lend strength to my arm. There was a war yet to be won.

As I ran on the hard-packed earth, taking notice of the shape of the battle around me until I found myself in enemy territory. Nearest to me the Giants swung their cudgels while swarms of genii attacked from all sides, outnumbering the Giants by at least five to one. Across the battlefield I saw other pockets of these pairings, and knew the giants would soon admit defeat. The genii were minute in size compared to the Giants, but they worked together as if of one mind and they were remarkably nimble, avoiding the hammer-falls that crashed onto the ground all around them.

Near the rocky outcroppings where Cornelius had his makeshift hospital, two dozen humans fought against the cruel and vicious Svarts who took far too much pleasure in the most painful forms of death.

I embraced my Halo, sending sparks of golden sunshine falling on those beneath me—some of the genii cried out as my Halo sent them reeling back. I huried downward, toward the Svarts and the humans who fought them. I saw Longinus there, Fahria by his side, and with a start recognized a few of the other humans as members from two other North American Hallowed watchtowers. 

“When did they arrive?” I shouted at Longinus as I released my Halo and reached for my sword. 

“Only just—but we are hard put. I fear their sacrifice will be in vain.” We fell into step together, back-to-back, our swords wheeling around like great shining wheels.

We fought through the largest pocket of Svarts, drawing their attention away from the others. A Svart taller than the rest, with regal bearing and a slow, almost casual spin of his curved silver blade, drew me away from the others. A prince, I felt sure.