Free Desolate (Desolation) by Ali Cross

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.