by Ali Cross
I clomped down the hallway toward the Situation Room, the fluorescent lights lining the hallway flickering in their effort to turn all the way on. I knew The Hallowed would be there, expecting news. What I hadn’t prepared for was the look of determination on all their faces.
I stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, as I tried to make sense of their courage. Their totally misplaced courage.
“Tell them,” Knowles said. I might have taken offense from his tone—no one ordered the devil’s daughter—if it hadn’t been for sense of kinship I felt with him. I knew he, more than anyone else here, knew what it was to have once been Father’s—and what it was to deny him.
I stood straight and let my gaze linger on each of them before I spoke. Finally I stepped forward and placed the stone on the edge of the wide desk that stood in the middle of the room. “I fought him—sent him back through the Door before he had a chance to do anything.” At the look of relief on their faces, I plunged on. “He’ll be back. And he’ll be ready for me next time.”
I nodded to the stone. “Just the horse’s drool made that. And the scimitar bleeds like the zabaniyah’s weapons—it’s a part of him, a living weapon.”
Miri blanched and swallowed, her dry throat making a clicking sound. She squeezed James’ hand. I’d forgotten James hadn’t been there. Hadn’t seen the horrific creatures—Father’s own pets, who crawled from the Earth to claim their prize that night two months ago. The prize that had almost been Miri, but had been Michael instead. Knowles coughed and I resumed my report.
“I managed to disarm him, but he reclaimed his weapon before riding back into the sea. And next time, he won’t let me get the better of him. I’m sure of it.”
“Are you okay?” Leave it to Miri to be worried about me when Hell lurked around the corner. She leaned forward and clasped her warm fingers around my freezing wrist. For a moment I thought she knew. Thought she could feel the spot beneath her fingers that had so recently bled from the horseman’s tainted blade. I forced myself to meet her gaze, to give nothing away. Such a tiny scratch wasn’t enough to poison me, but if she knew, Miri would worry and she’d make a big fuss over it. I’d be fine. Totally fine.
“Yeah.” I tried to smile, to let her know I really was okay, but by the look on her face she didn’t believe me.
“So, what was it . . . him . . . whatever?” James said, propping his ankle on his knee.
I didn’t want to answer him. I wished he wasn’t here. Wished he and Miri were far away from this place—but I hadn’t been the one to pull them into this mess. Father did that—him and Akaros. Still, I felt the weight of their lives on my shoulders, the responsibility of keeping them safe.
I shrugged, using the opportunity to pull away from Miri. I took a seat and drew my knees to my chest.
“It was pretty much like Miri said, except they were huge.”
“They?” Cornelius asked, pushing his glasses higher onto his nose.
“Well, the horse, anyway. It was bigger than anything I’ve ever seen—anywhere. The demon was big, but once I got closer to him, I don’t think he was so big—not giant, anyway. But the horse was a nightmare.”
James snorted. Leave it to him to find the humor in a totally not-funny situation. I gave him a dirty look that shut him up.
“Otherwise, they were exactly like Miri said. They rode out of the ocean, but they weren’t wet. Everything about them was gray.”
“Did you see its face?” Knowles asked from the shadows. His tone held a note of hope and a bit of fear.
I shook my head. “No. But it wore gloves—so it wasn’t a Shadow, or a zabaniyah.” I paused, thinking about it for a minute. “I don’t know what it was. One of Father’s creations. Something new.” I replayed the fight in my mind, seeing the gloved hands, feeling the seed of doubt as I fought the demon. I shook my head again, fighting against what little I knew and all that I didn’t.
“Here’s the thing.” My voice rang in the room like a gong—all power and confidence, none of which I felt. I watched their faces brighten, and seeing the hope they suddenly had I realized, all at once, that I would let them down. I wasn’t strong enough to save them. To save anyone. I slumped back and put my head in my hands. “I don’t think I can fight it. Him. Whatever.” This time my words sounded like truth. They were as helpless and hopeless as I felt.
Because I knew—I knew—that I stood no chance against the horseman.
The image of the horse screaming as the demon whipped around to face me, made a shiver skip along my arms. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to erase the memory of the wide, wild eyes of the horse, or the hollow blackness of the demon’s face.
“Desolation,” Cornelius said, but then . . . said nothing more.
I leaned back, my gaze zeroing in on Knowles who was, as expected, watching me. “I can’t beat it,” I told him. And he didn’t question it. “I can’t.” And then I was trembling, shaking, my eyes closing, my heart pounding.
I wouldn’t cry.
I couldn’t.
Until this life I had never cried, but this world took everything from me, stuck its fist down into my soul and ripped my guts out.
I stared up at the ceiling, willing the tears away. I don’t cry. Not even on the dark, lonely nights when I couldn’t sleep for imagining Michael in Hell, being tortured, turned, every minute of every endless day.
But now silent sobs clenched my body like a fist of sorrow. I tasted the salty tears as they trickled over my lips, before they landed on my jeans, leaving a quarter-sized wet spot on my thigh.
James placed his hand on my back—didn’t rub, didn’t speak. Only touched me. Grounded me.
“There is a way,” Longinus’ low, quiet voice slid out into the room, filling it, and soaked into my mind. I held my breath, not wanting to miss his words, should anymore come. Longinus rarely spoke, preferring instead to listen and wait, to act only when it was necessary, and to speak even less often.
“Yes, there is a way,” Cornelius said. His voice sounded sad, so sad that I raised my eyes to meet his gaze. “But it will not be easy for you.”
I snorted, pulling my sorrow and fear into myself and locking it away. I swiped my hand over my eyes and sniffed. Regaining control. Regaining myself.
“Is it ever?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Anything to mask the copper taste of fear in my mouth.
Cornelius and Longinus watched me. Longinus’ expression was unfathomable, but Cornelius looked thoughtful, as though he were considering, weighing my chances against the horseman and the destruction he portended.
But when his gaze shifted to Longinus, I knew. There was only one topic on which Cornelius would defer to Longinus. The Spear of Destiny.
Once mine, a gift from Odin himself, the staff had been turned into something dark and twisted in the hands of my old tutor, the demon Akaros. Because of him, James nearly died in the ritual that turned the staff into a thing of dark power. In the end, I’d managed to get it away from Akaros. But not before he’d stolen the spearhead Longinus protected—the very weapon used to pierce Christ’s side at the time of his Ascension. And not before he’d used the spear to stab Michael through the heart.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of touching the thing again.
“No,” I said, bouncing to my feet. “I-I can’t.”
Once upon a time I treasured the staff. I still remembered the feel of the knotted hearts Michael had carved into the shaft to remind me of him. I’d always believed I could never forget, but I had. I almost hadn’t Remembered in time.
And now it was Michael who would have forgotten me. Though it had only been a couple months, I knew it would feel like an eternity to him, there in the timeless halls of Hell.
Still, the staff represented a history I had no desire to relive. Not to mention I doubted my ability to resist the evil taint that had infected it. Akaros had managed to complete the curse, claiming the weapon for Hell—had even bathed it in James’ blood. Even n
ow, just thinking about it, I felt my skin grow cold, felt the now-familiar curling fingers of hellfire as it painted my left arm in the inky claiming of Hell. My shadow-self stretched in response.
“I can’t. Please.” I looked at the two men, imploring. “There has to be another way.”
They were silent for some time, Longinus never looking away, while Cornelius rubbed his eyes. When he dropped them and looked up, he met my gaze with confidence and sorrow.
“There is no other way, child. You must wield the Spear of Destiny if you’re to claim any power over this evil that threatens us.” In a flurry of action, he flipped through the pages in one of the giant, ancient books that littered the desk’s surface. When he found what he was looking for, he turned the book around and jabbed a finger on an image.
“Here. Is this what you fought?”
It felt like my blood stopped pumping through my veins. “Yeah,” I whispered, not wanting to look at the picture, but unable to tear my eyes away. “That’s him.”
In uncanny accuracy, the image showed the horseman atop his gray horse, his scimitar, dripping a black, viscous fluid, raised high above his head. The likeness was too perfect to be something imagined.
“How is this here? How is there a portrait of it?”
Cornelius turned the book back to him and examined the text, which I knew to be in Latin from my studies with Akaros.
“A horseman of the Apocalypse,” Cornelius said, not reading from the page. “The fourth, if I’ve understood history correctly.”
“What do you mean? How is it there’s a pretty damn-good painting in a—” I leaned down to look at the book again and took a guess, “centuries-old book?”
Cornelius peered over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Because the horseman has been here before,” he said. He waved his hand in the air. “Well, not in California necessarily, but on Earth.” I backed up, and when the backs of my legs bumped into a chair, I sat down.
“There are two well-recorded instances of the horseman’s appearance—and one that is not largely accepted, but that I believe to be legitimate. That would mean this horseman is ushering in the fourth punishment,” he looked at the notes he’d made on a legal pad, “the time of pestilences.”
“This demon’s been on Earth three times before now?” I asked, incredulous. How had I not known? “And how is it the world is even still here? How did mankind survive?”
“Well,” Cornelius said, and cleared his throat.
“It is my responsibility.” Longinus stepped forward, a look of grim determination on his stoic face. Almost six feet tall, Longinus was much taller than his countrymen at the time of his youth—namely Rome, about two thousand years ago. No wonder he was the one ordered to pierce Christ’s side to make sure he was dead—he was probably the only one who could reach high enough.
Even though Christ had been dead, the gods, all of the Ascended Ones, punished Longinus for his act, cursing him to a lifetime on Earth with no chance of Ascension himself. Along with his exile, Longinus was charged with protecting the spearhead, or the Spear of Destiny, from those who would use its power for evil.
And he’d done a great job of it, too, until I came into the picture.
Now the spearhead was fused to my staff, a treasured rod carved from the Tree of Knowledge. Because of me, Akaros had turned the blessed gift into a thing of incomparable power, imbued with the life blood of a god, a lost soul, and a Gardian. Jesus, James and Michael.
Akaros had used the spear to mortally wound Michael, and I had used it to kill Akaros, sentencing him to an eternity of nothingness—even Hell wouldn’t have him now.
“Always in the past The Hallowed possessed some weapon of supernatural power—the Arc, Solomon’s Ring . . . and others.” Longinus swallowed, looking uncomfortable for a split second before reclaiming his normal hard expression. “Each time, the demon grew stronger; returned with an unprecedented fierceness. I do not believe I have it in me to defeat this monster; though the truth pains me to say it.” He ducked his head and placed his fist over his heart.
“It is for you to do, child,” Cornelius said, his voice soft, comforting—even if his words weren’t.
“You must use the spear,” Longinus added, his voice quaking in his fervor.
Longinus stared at me. Cornelius, too. And I could feel the others, though I couldn’t see their faces. Dread crept up my arms.
“Shall I accompany you to retrieve it?” Longinus asked. His eyes hardened and narrowed. I knew he feared I hadn’t kept it safe.
The dread I’d felt blossomed into full-blown panic. The night Michael had been swallowed up by Hell, I’d taken the spear to the only person in all the worlds I trusted to keep it safe—and who’d keep it as far away from me as possible. I never wanted to see or touch it again. I didn’t want to be tempted by its siren call. I had taken it . . .
“Let us go,” Longinus prodded.
. . . to Heimdall.
chapter thirteen
“Where is it exactly, child?” Cornelius asked, taking his glasses off and setting them on the desk in front of him. He leaned forward, expectant, and I could feel everyone else do the same. Like a magnet I drew them to me—when all I wanted was to break free. Their faith in me made it hard to breathe.
Especially when I knew I didn’t deserve it.
Especially now.
“Desolation?” Knowles asked, his voice hard, ready to accuse me, to punish. Despite a lifetime of dedication to right and truth, the darkness still raged within him. He still mistrusted and expected the worst in others.
I looked at them, all of them. I didn’t ask for forgiveness. I didn’t make excuses. They had all entrusted the spear to me, even Longinus, because the spear-head and staff had been joined. Longinus had relinquished his centuries-long stewardship over the Spear of Destiny to me.
They had trusted me to keep it safe.
And I thought I had.
I’d chosen the one guardian I trusted above all others.
And now he was gone—captured by Father. Captured, or worse.
“Heimdall.” The word landed like a bomb in the small room—everyone started talking at once.
Longinus lunged forward and pinned me against the wall. I allowed him to do it. The voices stopped.
“You left the Spear of Destiny with the god of the Bifrost?” His voice quivered with barely contained fury and his eyes bore into mine, wild and laced with fear.
“Yes.”
“And now your father has taken him.”
The shame bit into me like a bed of nails.
“Yes.”
He didn’t have to voice his fears. I could feel it. Could feel that same fear echoing from everyone in the room. From myself.
“Then the task is the same,” Knowles said. He was the only one who still sat. “It all comes back to Heimdall, doesn’t it?”
Longinus let me go and stumbled back, swiping his hands over his close-cut hair.
“My sources tell me Heimdall was taken almost twenty-four hours ago,” Knowles continued. “Souls have two days before they are admitted to Valhalla, gain Ascension—or claim eternal damnation.” Miri had sat down, but the rest of us still stood, waiting to hear the punch line to Knowles’ proclamation of doom and gloom.
“So I estimate we have another day before those who are unable to Travel are forced to reclaim their bodies. When that happens—” He looked at his hands, unable to continue.
James sat in his chair with a thud. “All Hell breaks loose.”
Knowles stared at James as if he’d suddenly sprouted horns. “You have no idea.”
chapter fourteen
No one tried to stop me when I said I had to go. My news had left them lost and speechless. Pretty much how I felt all the time.
Without Heimdall the gates to Asgard would be vulnerable and I felt certain Odin would have the bridge highly guarded. And though I didn’t fear him, knew that Odin cared for me, the last time we spoke he made it clear my decision to sta
y on Earth ensured Asgard would be closed to me forever.
I hoped that did not include the wheelhouse.
“I have to least try,” I told the stone cherub. All these one-sided conversations were making me despise the thing. Sometimes I imagined scratching its eyes out, to stop it from staring at me forever and ever.
But I closed my own eyes instead.
In my mind I pictured the wheelhouse—Heimdall’s vantage point from which he could see all the worlds in the Ygdrysill.
Please grant me access. I sent the words out into the ether, keeping the image of the wheelhouse foremost in my mind. And then I Became, willing my Halo to dominate, to mark me Gardian, in hopes the way might be opened for me.
With my thoughts winging their way to the Bifrost, I let my body follow.
I materialized—and found myself face to face with a warrior Gardian. His fist thrust forward and grabbed a handful of my shirt. The balls of my feet balanced on the edge of the wheelhouse, my body a millimeter from falling away, endlessly falling through space and time. The Gardian’s piercing blue eyes glared at me from beneath the shadows of his golden helm. I wheeled my arms, searching for purchase.
“You are not welcome here, half-breed,” the man said, his voice dark with the threat of violence. “Leave, or I shall let you fall.” He loosened his fingers a hair and I felt myself lean back. My heart beat like the hooves of a thousand stallions, making it hard to swallow, to think, to act.
“Speak, or be gone.” The warrior growled so effectively I wondered if he was not some half-breed himself, some hybrid between man and bear.
It took some effort, but I banished the fear and made the decision to plead ignorance.
“Heimdall has something of mine.”
The guard hoisted me upward so my face was even with his, my toes barely touching the edge of the wheelhouse. “What do you know of the Keeper?”
