by Ali Cross
“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.
“Ah yes, I am familiar with the place.” li’Morl straightened the lapel of his jacket and looked upward, as if seeing a vision above his head. “They make the most remarkable horseshoes there—did you know their shoes are the only ones our sh’lil will wear? You might not imagine that the giant Muspellarians could create anything so fine and delicate as the glass shoes the sh’lil prefer—yet they do. It is the strangest thing.” li’Morl chuckled and my ears tingled as though a chime had been rung.
He glanced around at us, making my knees quiver when his gaze fell on me. It seemed he looked for a beat too long, that he peered into my very soul. Something flickered behind his eyes, but the moment passed before I could name what it was I saw.
“But of course you have no interest in the sh’lil’s preference for the glass shoes. You say there is a dog on the Bifrost? How interesting. How, exactly, may I be of service?”
Heimdall cleared his throat, the sound like a rock slide grating against my ears, a stark contrast to the Alfahr’s musical voice. “It was my hope that you could communicate with this dog, as I feel it is an emissary of some kind.”
“An emissary from the lost girl, I presume?”
His words hit me like a physical punch to my gut. “What do you know of Desi—of the lost girl?” I blurted out before I could restrain myself.
li’Morl looked at me once again and I wished he would look somewhere else. His scrutiny was more than I could bear. It felt like he saw right through me and straight into the part of me I wished to keep secret—even from myself. . “Why, I know precious little,” he said, though I had the distinct impression he knew more than he let on. “I do know you cherish her. I know she has walked a path no one in all the nine worlds could walk. I know she has defied Loki and his plans to lay waste to Midgard.”
I sighed, frustrated with this light elf’s circular talking. His charms were beginning to wear thin and my patience was nearly lost.
li’Morl stepped very near to me, so close I could feel the warmth of his body, so close the hairs on my arms rose and reached out to him. I rejected his natural charm—anything that aroused such a response in me without my permission made me uncomfortable.
Even while I raised my arms to gently push him out of such close proximity, I found myself drawn into his eyes. A part of my mind screamed for me to look away—I’d heard stories of Gardians whose minds had been forever captivated by the wonders and beauties of Alfheim and the light elves.
But in the moment I stared into the elf’s eyes, I thought I saw Desi, hanging by her wrists, her head flopping forward so her hair hid her face from view. I jerked back, shocked at the vision, then immediately leaned forward to peer into his eyes again. But li’Morl moved away, an indecipherable smile on his face.
“Wait!” I reached out and grabbed the elf by the elbow, tugging him toward me. “What did you do? What did you show me?”
“Michael.” Odin’s voice held the sting of warning. “Unhand our guest.”
But I was powerless to obey my king.
“What is it you think you saw, young warrior?”
“Desi! You showed me Desi. Is she alive? Where is she? Please—” I tightened my grip and stepped as close to him as we had been before, peering in his eyes. “Show her to me. Tell me where she is.”
“Michael.” Odin repeated, this time not a request but a command. Fahria put her hand on my arm and applied pressure, pulling me away from li’Morl, forcing me to let go of him and the vision he had given me.
li’Morl only watched, the same infuriating smile on his lips. “I’m afraid I do not know what you saw, Michael. You have my deepest apologies.” He ducked his head in a small bow, but it felt insincere. It felt like deception.
Fahria placed her hand on my chest, her other hand still gripping my arm, and walked me back to the edge of the dome. Odin glowered at me before returning his attention to Heimdall and li’Morl.
“Ah, the fervor of youth.” li’Morl chuckled, his laughter like pieces of sunshine sprinkling around us. I grit my teeth and dug my nails into the palms of my hands. How could he be so flippant in the face of my agony?
I shrugged away from Fahria and she smirked, but her lips stayed shut.
“Shall we go then?” li’Morl asked, gesturing toward the hall. “And Lord Odin, do not fear asking me to serve in this small way. It is the least I can do in thanks for your generosity.”
“You are most kind.” Odin’s voice stretched tight with tension, but the Alfahr did not seem to notice. I realized then that Odin did not trust the Alfahr, or at least this particular one, very much. I had always assumed their relationship with Asgard was an easy one, but I had never before stood this close to a light elf, never had such an extended interaction with one. The way I seemed to lose myself under his scrutiny, even slightly, disturbed me and fueled my discomfort. Perhaps Odin, like me, disliked anything that aroused so much emotion without his permission.
li’Morl stepped forward and as he passed through the dome Odin had erected, the barrier fell away. I wondered if Odin had removed it, or if li’Morl had done it himself.
The brief glimpse of Desi hung before my mind’s eye like a beacon. The elf knew something and I would not stop until I discovered what it was. I made to turn and follow the others from the hall when Odin said my name.
I couldn’t recall the expression on his face as one I’d
ever seen before—it looked like shame. He tipped his head, as if unwilling to meet my eyes. He put his hand on my arm and leveled his gaze with mine. I read everything in his eyes—his love for me, his hope for me and for Desi. His fear for his people, for the children of Midgard.
“There is something you need to know.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“You asked once, some time ago, about the Ascended Ones, Aaron and Lucy.”
I didn’t answer, only watched him. Of course I remembered, and he knew it. I’d wondered if he could contact them, asked if they could find Desi, if they knew of her existence. The Ascended Ones had become friends to the Vanir gods when they took to the great expanse of space. And the Vanir gods were widely accepted as knowing everything—or certainly most things—as they were the creators of the Nine Worlds. If anyone could have detected Desi, dead or alive, it would have been the Ascended Ones and the Vanir gods.
I’d asked Odin, but he had been evasive, claiming he could not call upon an Ascended One, that they had to initiate contact. He had not heard from Aaron nor Lucy since the day we’d gone to battle against Desi and Loki eight months ago.
“I had meant to offer you some hope, but I fear my efforts may have only added to your pain.” Though sorrow and regret fought within Odin’s eyes, this time he did not look away.
“What is it, King Odin?” Hope and dread clutched me like a tourniquet had been wound around my heart and twisted tight. I swallowed against the bile that rose in my throat. What reason would my king have to lie to me, if not to save my feelings? She can’t be dead.
“After you asked about Aaron and Lucy, I went in search of an answer for you, but they were already gone.”
I listened to his words as if he spoke them from a very deep well. It seemed to take eons for the sound to reach my ears and just as long for my brain to comprehend it.
“It is my understanding that they suspected where she might be, but it was a place where no Ascended One has gone, indeed a place where nothing exists. They put their eternal lives at great risk, and I fear—” he closed his eyes, as if striving to retain his composure. When his eyes finally met mine, he looked so sad that I felt my own heart breaking. “I fear they are lost.”
“Where—” My voice cracked. I looked down, cleared my throat, rallied myself to try again. “Where did they believe her to be?”
“At the bottom of everything, my son. Beneath Ygdrasyll.”
My world shattered. I felt as if I were falling—off the Bridge, through the vastness of space. Cold. Alone. Desi.
Opening my eyes, I swallowed the curse that rose to my tongue and forced myself to clasp Odin’s arm. I squeezed, perhaps more firmly than I ought to have done, while he looked at me with surprise. “Thank you my Lord,” I choked out. But while his gaze met mine a feeling of peace wound its way around my heart. Whatever his reason for keeping this information from me, at least now I knew. I softened my grip while the first genuine smile in so long found its way to my face. “Thank you.”
I hurried to the Door, my hope a radiant thing that buoyed my steps and my heart. Now to find a way to reach the end of the worlds—but at least I had a place to look. Surely there would be a way.
I caught up to Fahria, who cut me a look, but didn’t inquire why Odin wanted to speak with me.
“When will you leave?” I finally asked, eager to think about something else, anxious for a distraction from the wild beating of my heart.
“I will see what information this Alfahr is able to glean from the dog. Then I will rouse my sisters and head for Muspelheim. You never said,” her eyes flicked to mine, “whether you will join us, or not.”
I considered the question as I stared at li’Morl’s back.
“I will join you.”
I stood with the others in the wheelhouse, the blood in my veins rushing even faster in response to the great power housed there. The white iridescent light of the Bifrost cast all of us in its shadow—except for li’Morl, who himself shone, his inner light rising to match that of the Bifrost.
I remembered a story I’d heard as a boy when my mother taught me about the nine worlds. How Odin came to be the Great King, ruler of Asgard and Guardian Regent of Midgard. She told me that the Vanir gods had collected material from all across the Great Unknown and created the Bifrost, a well of their power and good intentions. With that power they made the worlds and stars, and connected them all to one another, because they were family and the gods wished to always have a way to travel between each of their worlds. She said the Svart god’s children were among the first to be created and would often play unsupervised on the Bifrost.
One day, one of the children, for they were a wild and unruly bunch, pushed another over the well and directly into the Bifrost’s energy. They thought the child lost, but after some time, he returned, though he was never the same. And so the light elves, the Alfahr, were born—out of a Svartalfahr, now known as the dark elves, and the magic of eternal light.
Now as I watched li’Morl reflect the Bifrost’s light I came to accept what my mother had told me as true. It only helped ease my fears a little—the Svarts were creatures of endless self-satisfaction and mischievousness, after all. I had no promise the Alfahr were any different.
“Let us speak with your dog,” li’Morl said.
Heimdall raised his horn to his lips and blew one low, perfect note that reached between my ears and squeezed my eardrums, setting every nerve in my body humming. I closed my eyes against the exquisite pressure—until a moment later the sensation eased and I opened my eyes once more.
Before me, just past li’Morl who knelt on the Bridge, sat a dog. Or rather, a Hound.
My mind looped on all the times I’d scowled at the immobile Hounds as they stood guard over Desi’s chambers—the very place Loki imprisoned me. Occasionally I would see the pair of them, in dog form, watching me as I walked the corridor to Loki’s throne room. Now one Hound stared at me so intently that li’Morl twisted around to look at me as well.
“It seems he wishes to speak with you.”
I cleared my throat and rubbed the back of my neck. “What makes you think that? And how can he talk to me?” I knew I was stalling. Knew I wasn’t speaking the whole truth. Knew that I’d be forced to live this reality, this pain, the second the words were out of my mouth.
The Hound rose up on its haunches and began to shift from dog to man. His hair slipped beneath his flesh and his legs and body straightened until a golden-skinned youth appeared, dressed in a shendyt, his bare chest adorned with a wide gold and turquoise collar. For a moment he wore the face of Anubis until it, too, faded away. The Bifrost caused his golden adornments to sparkle in its cold, multi-faceted light. Beneath his headdress, warm, brown eyes regarded me. I could read nothing in their depths but an endless sorrow.
“We serve the young mistress,” the Hound intoned. His voice sounded flat, and somehow less resonant than I thought it had been before when I last heard him speak in the accompaniment of Helena and Desi. Then I realized: I was used to hearing the Hounds speak in unison. Not once had I ever heard one of them speak alone. Nor had I ever seen one without the other. I craned my neck to locate his companion, but he was not in sight. Only this one Hound stood before me, his dark eyes fixed on my face.
“The young mistress?” I asked, when my thoughts singled in on what he had said.
“We serve the young mistress,” the Hound repeated.
“What about the grand mistress?” I asked. Helena had created the Hounds to be her own personal bodyguards. When Loki had overthrown and imprisoned her at the bottom of Ygdrasyll, she ordered the Hounds to stay with Loki’s daughter—the young mistress. Desi. Helena’s goal was to have them one day lead Desi to her prison, which was exactly what they did.
The Hound clenched his jaw—a greater show of emotion than I’d ever seen from the creature. “We serve the young mistress,” he repeated.
li’Morl smoothed the front of his tunic and smiled ingratiat
ingly at me. “It seems he serves the young mistress. Does this mean something to you?”
“Where is your companion?” I asked the Hound, stepping past li’Morl, ignoring both his question and his person. I stopped when I stood close to the Hound, when I could look into his black eyes, and see the rise and fall of his chest.
The Hound fisted his hands—I noticed the tendons beneath his collarbone flex as he did. “He is no more,” he said at last.
“No more.” I shook my head sharply, trying to make sense of the Hound’s words—of his very presence here in the wheelhouse. The Hounds were created by Hel—truly glorified dogs. That one spoke to me, seemingly of his own volition, was a marvel.
The Hound met my gaze and nodded his head in the barest of movements.
“And yet you said “we”,” I pressed. “‘We serve the young mistress,’ you said.”
The Hound did not look away. “I . . . misspoke,” he said. “It is only I. Helonius no longer . . . exists.”
“What happened to him?” I asked before I could stop myself. I was vaguely aware of Odin joining us, the others shifting to make room for him. Everyone was as intent on the answers as I, but I didn’t let myself feel concern for any of them. Hope tingled in my belly, threatening to rise, to sweep me away on its promise of Desi-returned. I swallowed, forcing the hope down, forcing it to remain hidden away until I knew what the appearance of this Hound might mean.
“The grand mistress, she . . .” The Hound shuddered and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. Moisture glistened under his eyes and along his neck. He raised his chin. “She bargained his life in a duel to the death with the pet of the king of the Svarts. Helonius fought valiantly, but in the end the zhaghmar creature overcame him and . . . and devoured him.”
The pain in the Hound’s eyes radiated in almost palpable waves. “The grand mistress laughed,” he added.
And I understood. Helonius had been his brother, his companion through what might have been centuries, eons even. And Helena had treated his life as though it meant nothing.
