The Last Gate: The Sacred and the Profane
It ain't exactly prison
But you'll never be forgiven
For whatever you've done with the keys
-Leonard Cohen
''You may proceed.''
As the Voices in the wall hissed their consent, Darcy and Loki found themselves in a large, wide chamber that stretched for what seemed like miles. This was a place that few had ever seen. Rather than being ancient and grim like the others, it was ancient and shining—the chamber had a strange aura of sacredness about it, as if it were a temple. It was illuminated, yet there was no discernible source of light. The floors and walls alike were cast in a shimmering marble. In the distance, columns flanked a corridor that led off to who knew where. A single stone slab, almost like an altar, stood bare and lonely in the center of the room, a few feet from them.
''More tunnels,'' came Darcy's voice, laced with disdain. These were the first words she had spoken since opening her eyes. Now she stared sadly down the marble pathway, unimpressed with their new surroundings. ''I had hoped that there wouldn't be any more tunnels.'' The color was slowly beginning to return to her skin and lips, she grew warmer under his hands.
''What happened?'' Loki asked her. He seemed to have a difficult time finding his voice for a moment, the words sounded sickly and breathless, anemic.
Darcy blinked at him. ''I...I'm not sure,'' she admitted. ''I don't remember anything after walking up to the wall. There was a light, that's the last thing I know.'' She smiled at him a little. ''I assumed that when I woke up I'd be alone in some dark room with one of the Norns breathing down my neck, some strange hallucination playing itself out. At least we're still together.'' She breathed a sigh of relief, then her breath hitched when she saw the agonized look on Loki's face. ''What? What is it?''
''That light,'' he said, very softly. The words crawled, as if in terrible pain. ''It killed you. You were dead, Darcy. And then the light came again and you were alive.''
''What?''
''I told you, the gates demand sacrifice, especially that one. And in this case, the sacrifice was your life, at least temporarily.''
''I don't remember...dying...being dead...'' Darcy's disbelieving voice had fallen to a whisper, like ashes scattering.
''I don't suppose that there was much to remember. It happened very quickly. And being dead is never the difficult part.'' Loki hung his head, his long dark hair fell across his eyes and he was absolutely silent for a moment except for ragged breathing as he ran his hands over her arms, her neck, her hair, anything that he could touch to assure himself that she was still there.
There was a kind of raw grief so profound in him that Darcy wasn't certain how to respond. She had seen Loki furious, worried, disbelieving...but this was different.
''I'm back, though,'' she said, attempting at a lightness to her voice, as if she died and resurrected every day and thought it no more unusual than running out to get a cup of coffee and then returning. Physically, mentally, she seemed to be absolutely fine. She wasn't in any pain. As far as she knew she had simply...woken up. Whatever had happened to her seemed to be affecting Loki more adversely than anything.
''Well...I guess we should get moving,'' Darcy said, sitting up slowly, glancing again down the endless, shimmering corridor. Without a word, Loki helped her to stand, putting his arms around her and gently pulling her to her feet. They stood there together, and he did not let her go, nor did she want him to. Suddenly, Darcy didn't want to go anywhere, didn't want to venture on off down another endless maze in search of the Tesseract. And, she realized with a cold flare of panic, she didn't even know where it was. The movie screen inside of her mind had vanished, as had the sensation of being guided by a thread. The whispering wall hadn't given her any clue to the Tesseract's location as far as she could tell, in fact it had left them moving even more blindly. Whatever sacrifice they had required of her—her life, apparently—hadn't worked. 'Maybe that's why they put me back,' she thought, very darkly. No, she really didn't want to go anywhere. But they had to. She was alive, and so was he, and they had a job to do.
But Loki refused to let go, keeping Darcy gently trapped in his arms.''Just a minute, just a minute,'' he whispered in a low and slightly trembling voice. He ran his cool fingers down her throat to the zipper on the front of her black bodysuit. ''A minute of our time. I need to touch you, I...''
Her lips closed over his before he could say another word. She tried to reassure him that she was still there, solid, real. And once she pressed her mouth against him she knew that they both needed reassuring, because this journey had been strange and terrible and Darcy just wanted everything to be quiet and them again. She kissed him softly and tentatively.
He slid down the zipper with an almost painstaking slowness, revealing velvety skin. As Loki worked to undress her, Darcy felt the invisible cloak fall from her body with the rest of her clothes. It became a transparent shimmer as it fluttered to the floor and then it vanished completely. And then she was naked again and he was kneeling in front of her, just staring for a long moment as if contemplating what to do next. Then he got to his feet and his mouth was crushing against hers again, the ferocity of the kiss nearly bruising her lips. It was wonderful.
''Slow time with me,'' he whispered against her mouth, an almost desperate tone to the request. ''Pretend that this can last for as long as we want it to.''
''We're always here,'' Darcy said. ''The only two people in the world.''
''I like it here,'' replied Loki, sliding his hand down between her legs. She bit back a moan, then looked around, as if worried she might be heard. ''Are you sure that...you know...that we're alone? Could...someone be watching?'' It was a revolting thought.
The god shrugged. ''Well, if they are then they're going to get an eyeful. Might even learn something.'' The familiar wicked grin that Darcy had come to love so much, that look that made her blood simmer, returned to his face. Then, growing serious once again, Loki added, ''I'm so sick of it all. So tired of our lives being meddled with. I'm tired of this endless walking, of the fear. I've already almost lost you so many times.'' He began to slowly move his hand back and forth against her, teasing strokes that made Darcy gasp a little. ''And you were all I wanted, since the very beginning,'' Loki continued, now slipping two of his long fingers inside her wet heat, coaxing a delicate moan from her lips, her back arching slightly.
''And I don't know what's going to happen next. But I do know that I want this to be a memory that I keep, even if everything goes wrong. Because I'm selfish like that.'' He pulled his fingers away from her, she flushed as she watched him bring them to his mouth, licking them clean.
''But you knew that before, didn't you, love?'' Loki added. Darcy nodded, her eyes darkened with desire. ''You told me.''
Now taking her breasts into his hands, he rolled his thumbs over her hardened nipples as his tongue delved into her mouth, tasting her. He kissed like he was memorizing.
Darcy moaned, unconsciously bucking her hips against him, seeking friction. Without taking his mouth from hers, Loki wrapped his arms around her and lifted her easily, turning to set her down on the stone rectangle in the center of the room. She lay back against the cold, grey-white slab; there was such an utter, primitive beauty in the sight of her naked body splayed out against it like a goddess atop an altar. Loki felt stabbed. He realized that he had never wanted anything quite so much before. This wasn't desire for power, for nations and worlds and kingdoms. It was pure hunger, blinding want.
She was certain that she could hear his heart pounding as he slowly removed his own clothes, revealing delicious pale, bare skin to her, near miles of lean muscle. The connection between their minds illuminated like a live wire, shrieking with the pulse of electricity. It nearly dizzied her. A rush of desire came over her skin like water, like lightning between her legs. It was power; it charged through her, possessed her. Darcy forced everything out of her mind except the look in Loki's eyes as he leaned down over her, nudging her legs gently open and sliding down to put his mouth on her, sucking her swollen clit, torturing her.
Darcy cried out again, her voice echoing wantonly throughout the chamber. ''S—sorry,'' she gasped, despite his reassurances that no one was watching, no one was listening. Bringing her hand against her mouth, she bit down on her fingers to muffle the sound. Loki paused a moment; she let out an angry mewling sound at the sudden lack of contact, then pressed her hand more tightly against her teeth. ''No,'' he said roughly. ''Don't quiet yourself. I want to hear every sound you make.''
He waited until she was begging for him, then gently gripped her legs and entered her with one quick motion, a shock of something like relief hitting every nerve in his body as he slipped inside of her soft heat. She made an unintelligible sound of pleasure, the inner walls of her sex clenched around him. For a minute, Loki didn't move, just stared down at her. Darcy gripped at his shoulders, needing desperately to grind against him, angle herself so that he could hit her spot, wanting only to come apart in his arms.
''Not so fast, love,'' he said, his hands around her waist, stilling the frantic motion of her hips. ''Don't always go rushing ahead. That's how I seem to lose you.'' Darcy only moaned in response, a slow ache beginning to burn inside of her, torturous and wonderful. ''Yes,'' he whispered. ''That's it.''
He moved inside of her, back and forth very slowly, watching the delicate way that her eyelids fluttered in ecstasy, her full lips parted as she tried to breathe. It was a beautiful look, undone and worshipful. The look of a priestess in rapture. Or perhaps simply a woman in love.
Loki brought his arms around Darcy's waist and, in a fluid, lovely motion he hooked her legs around him and moved them up so that she was straddling him, nearly in the lotus position, so that they were face to face, meditating upon each other with their bodies locked together.
''That's it, sweet girl,'' he told her. ''Breathe.''
''Oh...oh god, that's...'' Darcy's mouth couldn't form any more words, the positioning of their bodies allowing her to take him impossibly deep. ''Sssh,'' he soothed, tangling his fingers through her hair.
She felt a familiar slow tension begin to flare deep inside of her. ''I'm going to c-''
''No, not yet,'' Loki whispered, a smile creeping across his face like a desert creature across sand. He smoothed his hand down to rest against her lower back, within an instant Darcy felt the oncoming wave of climax recede, the urgency abated, all that remained was that awful, wonderful throbbing ache deep within her, making her choke back a primal shriek.
She forgot her name for a moment, forgot where she was from. But it wasn't frightening, this echoing vacancy in her mind; rather, it allowed her to be more perfectly aligned and centered within her own body, within the universe, with him.
Everything was so quiet.
She looked into Loki's eyes, there came the sensation of falling, once again. It could have been a thousand years for all Darcy knew, she was all wrapped up in blue and green and green and blue and back again. Time skidded to an absolute crawl, tearing its knees upon the pavement and rendering itself concussive and unable to be measured.
''Do you regret anything?'' Loki asked her, his words a cool whisper against the shell of her ear.
''Not a thing,'' Darcy breathed. Her skin was slick with a sheen of sweat, it made her seem to glisten. A droplet ran down between her breasts, he leaned forward and darted his tongue out to lick it away. He felt her gasp at the contact, her body was at its limits; she was like a bottled supernova, a chaotic system forced into tight order, waiting.
''And do you want me?'' he asked, his voice all smoke and velvet. He moved inside of her, just a little, felt her entire body tremble, felt her sex clench even more tightly around his cock. It was like music.
''Yes—yes, I want you!''
''Tell me again, tell me how much,'' he begged, grazing her soft neck with his teeth.
''I want you more than anything!''
Darcy felt her orgasm beginning to flare again, like a wave of heat threatening to consume her. Loki sensed it, returned his hand to the small of her back. The fire dulled itself. She wanted to thrash in frustration. It seemed that she had accumulated enough pent-up energy to cause a small nuclear explosion.
''Show me,'' he said.
Wanting to cry with relief at the invitation, Darcy pushed Loki onto his back, repositioning their bodies so that she was on top of him. He just lay back against the stone altar, smiling and waiting. She went wild, crashing against him, possessing him with her body, yanking on his hair as she rode him with a worshipful ferocity. His name was on her lips when she came, came so hard that her entire body shook and tears ran down her face.
It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
They lay together on top of the stone, still in a tangle of naked limbs and sweat. They listened to each other breathe, daring the seconds to pass.
Tromso Observatory, Norway
''One more thing, Dr. Martinsson,'' Natasha said, tracing patterns with her fingertip on the dust upon the bookshelves in Hesja's office, her tone of voice casual and bland, like khaki pants. ''Where is the Gosforth Cross?''
The scientist raised her head, her dark eyes briefly unreadable beneath her messy bangs. She took a moment before answering, ''Where it has always been, Agent. In England. St. Mary's Churchyard. Cumbria.''
''I'm sure that you are a lovely person, Hesja, but you are a terrible liar,'' the Black Widow said, in a tone that indicated that her patience was being tried. ''And if you even want me to consider bringing you back to New York then I suggest you stop trying to protect what doesn't need to be protected and answer my questions honestly, do you understand?''
Hesja let out a slow breath, then said, ''It's this way,'' and motioned for Natasha to follow her.
The scientist led the Black Widow to an elevator that descended for what seemed like miles. The doors clanged open to reveal a full laboratory. Natasha presumed that they were rather deep underground. Everything interesting was always buried, it seemed. Staff milled around, going about their tasks, many of them wearing protective gear.
The assassin followed Dr. Martinsson to a sealed door. The small woman took out a key card and swiped it over a slot in the doorway. It beeped, granting them access. There was a few feet of hallway, and then another door, but there was no keycard slot, just a pinpad beneath what looked like a retinal scanner. ''This area is restricted. Authorized personnel only. Please enter your Identification code,'' came a dull electronic voice. Hesja moved forward and punched a few numbers into the pinpad. ''Martinsson, Hesja,'' the voice stated. ''Your Identification code has been accepted. Biometric ID required.'' Hesja leaned her face toward the retinal scanner. Another moment, another beep. ''Access granted. You may proceed,'' the voice monotoned. The door slid open to an observation area, where behind a thick glass partition, in another smaller room there, was a strange, formidable looking obelisk, formed of ancient and weathered stone. ''There it is, Agent,'' Dr. Martinsson pointed.
''They say that the Gosforth cross dates from the early 10th century,'' the scientist explained, ''but it is actually much older. The cross in the churchyard is a replica, or...more of a derivative work. An altered replica, confusing enough to be interesting, not confusing enough to pose any sort of a threat. A strange blend of Christian and pagan symbolism. Yes, the stories are nice. Stories are always nice.'' She inclined her head toward this observation glass. ''This thing...it is real. And not so very nice at all. We must be careful of the things that we wish into being, Agent.''
''I need you to explain the significance of this stone to me. And I don't mean what they put in a museum or the history books, or what they tell the tourists.''
Hesja shifted, leaned hard on her cane. ''As I'm sure you may be aware, there are certain...objects at different points of the globe, and they've been here for a very long time. Longer than us. We cannot ever precisely date or explain them, but they are there, as a monument to our ignorance. They act as gateways, thinning the barriers between our world, and others. ''
''What others?'' asked Natasha, staring at the obelisk, summing it up.
''Many others,'' replied Hesja. ''Many others. But while have never been able to use these objects as a doorway from our side to theirs, they can..let other things through. The so-called Gosforth cross has been very temperamental at times, but it's been quiet, at least until recently.''
Natasha observed through the glass as a tech wearing protective gear, including a very intricate-looking headset, waved a device over the stone, taking readings.
''What's happening to it?''
''I believe, Agent Romanov, that it is waking up after a long sleep. And it has been stretching its legs and yawning for some time now. The stone has been emitting a strange frequency whose origins we cannot explain. It continues to grow both in pitch and bandwidth. If you enter the room, you must keep the headset on at all times.''
''What happens if you don't?''
''First, both your eardrums will rupture simultaneously, causing unimaginable pain. And then your brain will begin to hemorrhage. You'll be in a pile on the floor with blood running out of your nose and ears before anything can be done. You must keep the headset on.'' Hesja's expression was blank and grim. She suddenly looked very old.
''This stone looks much different from the cross in the churchyard,'' noted Natasha.
''I told you, it is different. It is older, and does not contain any Christian symbolism—it's all old Norse. People were afraid of this object.'' The Dr. walked over to a computer on one of the small work stations. She clicked a few keys and then linked into a camera feed from inside the room where the obelisk was being kept. It allowed her to pan in closely from different angles and give Natasha a better view. ''Look at the etchings in the stone, the intricate designs. See, there-'' Hesja pointed. ''We have many scenes from the mythology, depictions of Ragnarok, and here-'' she clicked at the screen and another side view of the stone appeared. ''Loki's binding. Here he is with Sigyn protecting him.'' Hesja let go of the mouse, stood upright, squaring her thin shoulders as she faced Natasha, trying to make herself look as authoritative as possible. ''Now Agent, I am growing curious once again as to what exactly you came here for. And I think that since I have shown you this, you owe me a better explanation.''
''Someone's pulling on the threads, someone's pulling on the threads!'' It was a ghastly sound, a pained keening.
''Stop your crying!'' Urd lashed out, kicking Verdandi in the ribs as she lay in a wailing heap on the floor. ''What is wrong with you?'' The Norn clutched at her head, swayed a little, then reared back and delivered another kick to her sister's side. Verdandi paid her no mind, simply continued to shriek and mutter, ''Someone's pulling on the threads, someone's pulling on the threads.'' She sounded tortured, like her fingernails were being torn out. She drew her knees up to her chest, folded herself into a pile of knobby bones.
Urd turned to Skuld with a furious and pleading expression. ''Make her stop.''
Skuld seemed to be having a harder time moving than usual, her skin had grown paler, gray. She stared ahead, eyes dark like onyx, coldly blazing. ''She'll tire herself out soon enough. It will pass.''
''I'll make it pass,'' hissed Urd, gripping Verdandi by the shoulders, shaking her. ''You must be able to see them. Where are they?'' Her voice was laced with venom.
''Someone's pulling on the threads, someone's pulling on the threads,'' came the chronic, wailing response and Urd threw her down and kicked her again and again.
''We've been here so long,'' whispered Darcy. ''It's getting dark. It's getting dark,'' she repeated as her own voice woke her. Her spine was stiff and she felt bruised, damp, and sore, though not in a pleasant way. Reaching out, her hands clutched at wet grass and twigs. It was night. She was alone. She was outside and it was chilly, the air empty and melancholy. There was no sound other than a low, ghostly rustle, the sound of wind through the spindly fingers of late autumn tree branches. Darcy blinked, disoriented, her teeth beginning to chatter. She lay back down, stared up at the sky, her mind numb and tired. There were no stars there, not even one.
''This place is so strange,'' she whispered, after what seemed like a thousand years of staring into the darkness, listening to the wet creaking of the tree branches. She curled up in a pile of damp leaves, broken ends of fallen branches beneath her clawing into her skin. Darcy's arms were suddenly, violently heavy, a jagged soreness striking across her back and shoulders with such an acute ferocity that she nearly gagged, wondering if she might be having a heart attack.
''It's getting so dark here,'' she whispered again. ''Why is it so dark?'' Nobody answered.
''Darling, please, listen to me—it isn't real!'' Loki's voice seemed to be coming from very far away, and not reaching her ears, even though he was screaming. Her once vibrant blue eyes now stared straight ahead, listless, her face drawn and pale as she used every last ounce of her strength to hold her arms above her head, to keep the bowl steady. Her head hung forward slightly, and her long dark hair fell over her face like a curtain.
''My beautiful Darcy. You have to come back to me. You have to remember.'' The words were ragged with a terror he tried desperately to control.
Now she spoke, and it was a terrible sound. ''Remember what?''
''Remember where we came from. Why we're here.''
''We've always been here,'' she replied.
''It's so cold,'' came the sound of her own mumbling again. It was always cold, and dark. The ache in her arms was so very terrible that she could barely move at all. Darcy's mouth began to form words, soft tuneless singing, a song that might be familiar. It tugged at her in an annoying way. ''They sat together in the park, as the evening sky grew dark...''
Memory licked at her skin like an insistent lover's tongue. And then came more memory, warmer now. Warmer and vaguely naughty. Reflections of naked bodies on glass. Long, dexterous fingers that knew exactly where to touch. The memory grew even warmer, like coals heating over a fire. More came to her now, like ghosts simmering out of the haze that now clouded over Darcy, cocooning her like a halo. A woman with stars all around her head. A woman with red hair charging into battle. A man who could fly, all red and gold. Lightning and thunder. The vague sensation that she was dreaming.
''Why is it always night?'' Darcy demanded of herself, of the cold, rattling air.
The questions and memories fatigued her, and she closed her eyes and fell asleep for what could have been another thousand years, before opening her heavy eyes and feeling her aching arms pinning her to the wet ground, finding herself in the exact same place, always.
But now this time, after what felt like centuries of the same unchanged sky, she felt cold wetness forming on her face, looked up and saw a sudden white shimmer begin, thousands of tiny, sparkling crystals falling and landing to die upon the weak heat of her body. ''It's snowing,'' Darcy said, this change jolting her into new alertness, set a familiar fear loose in her blood. A fear inexplicably tinged with powerful love. ''I remember the snow.''