The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (25 page)

Azrael pulled back from me and turned toward the wolves.  In a cluster, they stood close enough to pet, if I dared risk my fingers.
  “She is mine,” the dark angel told them, locking his gaze in turn with each animal.  “Remember that always.”

He wavered like a heat mirage in the desert and then was gone, leaving Amberyn and me to continue on our own.  I was not fooled, however.  I knew he was only a whisper away, bending reality so that his presence would not hinder negotiation.  Emboldened, I knelt, bringing my head level to the wolves.  I spoke softly, keeping my gaze lowered.

“Silver Wolf gave me the mask along with his true name.  His shade waits for me to call to him from the winds limbo, into the Courts of Death.  I need your help to do this.”

There!  If any of these were shape-shifters, I had made my case.  Now, I could only shiver in place, waiting for a response. 

The lead wolf hunched in on himself, rising on hind paws as if his spine were realigning.  He changed, or some glamour was set aside, for the wolf melted into a man wrapped in furs with a short sword sheathed at his side.  Only his eyes and the silver hair bristling on his scalp were the same.  Though I half expected the change, it wrapped me in amazement.  I stared, wondering if I would ever take such things in stride.

“Amberyn, good to see you again.”  He
nodded, then turned a measuring eye on me.  “Faang and D’elia will want to hear your words.  Come with me.”

Assuming obedience, he turned his back and walked away.  The remaining beasts retained wolf form.  I thought perhaps they might truly be as they seemed, with no other form to claim.

I retrieved the mask, returned it to my pouch, and climbed to my feet.  With Amberyn beside me, I followed in the shifter’s wake.  The wolves fell in behind us to make sure we didn’t dawdle.

The banks lowered along the frozen creek and soon the winds were whipping and cutting around us again, numbing my exposed face, making a streaming banner of my hair.  I could have worn the silver mask, but the thought was distasteful.  I was not sure I could ever wear the mask, remembering Aracus’ face burned away on Avalon.

We reached a place where several boulders made stepping stones up the right-hand bank.  Our guide went that way.  Amberyn copied him, pulling me along by the hand, aiding my balance, down a well-worn path.  A timber wall shielded a settlement.  The top of the logs were hewn into rough points. 

A double gate was sealed shut.  The wolf-turned-man advanced, shouting to some unseen sentry within as we neared.
  Slowly, one of the great iron-hinged doors creaked open.

I became aware that two wolves were immediately beside me, prodding with icy stares.  I hurried to catch up with Amberyn.

A sentry in human form—wearing chain mail and a blood-red cloak—stood watch where we entered the compound.  He had a two-handed broad sword strapped to his back and a double-bladed battle axe in hand.  His silver beard bristled as he smiled with little warmth.  A scar ran across his left eye which was clouded white.  The other orb blazed pale blue.

“What have we here, Rhaul?” the man asked.

“Strangers,” our guide said, “come with word of Silver Wolf.”

“I heard he was dead,” the sentry said.

“He is,” Amberyn said.  “We have traveled farther than you would believe.”

I stopped next to the elf and cast back my cloak, bringing forth the mask once more.  The sentry’s good eye widened, fixing upon the ring I wore.  “Apparently so,” he said.  “You are required to leave your weapons with me while here, unless given leave to go armed.”

I looked at Amberyn, ready to follow his example.  He handed over his silver blade and I gave up my rapier and dagger, then produced the whip.  It drew sharp interest from the guard who carefully examined the gleaming thorns worked into the white leather braid.

Rhaul looked up at my face, curiosity emblazoned across his own.  “I know
what
you pretend to be.  Tell me
who
,” he said.

“Celeste Comeyne.”

“She
is
the White Rose.”  Amberyn’s voice challenged.  “I swear it on my children’s souls.”

I did not doubt that the elf had a soul; I had seen a soul’s pain in his anguish over his abducted wife.  I had felt the kindness and seen the courage only a soul can produce.  The priests in my village church call
ed elves soulless, but I disagreed.

Suddenly, I realized that a stunned silence had captured those gathered around.  Our hosts’ gazes clung to my face as though to burn my visage into memory.  Still staring, the sentry spoke to Rhaul.  “Faang is in the Great Hall with the spirit-caller.  You’ll want to take these two there at once.”

Rhaul nodded, turning toward a massive structure that lay beyond a small village square.  The center of the square contained a well and a statue of a woman seated on a massive wolf whose size dwarfed those that escorted me.  We followed a track through the snow.  I looked left and right, taking note of stables, a smithy, and numerous other structures.  Some were personal dwellings, others businesses with wooden signs swinging over the entrances.  Caked with wind-blown snow, I could not read them.  Of course, I probably could not have read them in the best of conditions either—I doubted they were in French.

As I approached the statue, I tried to read the emotion in the woman’s solemn, graven face.  Her eyes were wide-set.  Her head tilted
to face the sky.  Her lips were open, as if calling to a hovering presence.  She wore a cloak of feathers and her hair cascaded to her waist.  There was majesty here, and grace, and strength ... many things I wished I had.

Curiosity prompted me to stop.  “Who is this?”

Rhaul turned to look at me, then the statue.  He studied it as if he had never seen it before.  Perhaps it had been here so long, everyone took it for granted.  “Reena and Grawl, the first bonded,” he said.  “They led our people to this place when the goblin hordes invaded our former world.”

“I know this tale.”  Amberyn caught my gaze.  “The Spirit of the Land only agreed to let these people stay if they could find a voice to speak for them.”

“What kind of voice?” I asked.

“According to legend,” Rhaul said, “Grawl went to the Lords of the Great Council, seeking any that would share blood-bond.

“And Reena prayed before the home of Owl.

“The lesser creatures did not want more hunters in the world, so they refused.  Bear feared our numbers and weapons, so refused as well.  Hawk and Eagle could not be bothered by such things.  Raven wanted gold and our servitude, but we had already abandoned a world to keep our freedom.”

I saw pleasure in Rhaul’s face as he told the history of his people.  I think he enjoyed the respect of our rapt attention.  Even the two great wolves sat to listen without impatience while flurries danced around us.

Rhaul continued.  “It began to look like our people would have to move on to the next world, but Grawl found a wolf pack at war with a wendigo, a cursed one.  It had killed two wolves already and was threatening a she-wolf who fought desperately to save her cubs.

“And Reena prayed before the home of Owl.

“Grawl entered the battle with a sword of great mystic power and pinned the wendigo into a rock face, trapping him forever in a cavern since he could not die.

“Afterwards, Grawl was badly wounded, but the wolves took him in.  His great courage had impressed them.

“When the time of the Great Council came, the wolves took on responsibility for my people, naming us brother.  And unexpectedly, Owl spoke for us as well.  She had been impressed with the wisdom of Reena who did far more than Grawl by offering prayers.

“Thunderbird made his decision, using great magic to bind our people to the wolf clan, letting spirits of wolves that have passed on bond to living men so we can wear their shape and know the world through wolves’ eyes.  Also, Thunderbird bound our women, letting the spirits of owls that have passed on bond to them, so our women can wear wings and know the night through owls’ eyes.

“It was thought by Thunderbird that humans, being contrary animals, needed to be kept close to the land so that they might not sin against it,” Rhaul said.

I was not sure who or what “Thunderbird” was, but the fascinating story cast a spell I did not want to break with further questions.

Rhaul turned once more toward the Great Hall and padded on.  A few steps behind him, I looked ahead and saw a villager waiting for us on the building’s wooden steps.  He had the look of someone important, wearing a fur cloak, gold medallions on his broad chest, standing in perfect stillness with a staff in hand adorned with eagle feathers.  His hair was black, not the silver of the other men.  I wondered if he were of mixed blood, or a stranger as I was.  He ignored me, but absorbed Amberyn’s presence with enormous interest.  Perhaps, with my pale white hair, he mistook me for one of the shifters.

We stopped directly in front of him, and Rhaul inclined his head in greeting.  “I bring strangers in the land.  They bear word of Silver Wolf.”

Rhaul turned to look at me, a smile on his face such as one would see on someone about to share a joke.  “She,” he turned back to the stranger, “is the White Rose.  Death comes at her call.”

That statement brought the stranger’s eyes to me.  He smiled.  “Really?” his voice boomed without much effort.  “D’elia will be delighted to meet a living legend.  Come inside and be welcome.”  He turned and led the way in.

I caught Rhaul by the arm.  “Who is he, and this D’elia?”

“He is Faang, our chief.  D’elia is a spirit-caller.  You will meet her soon.  I hope your heart is pure, for she has eyes-that-see.”

Pure?  I thought of the dark bud that had opened in my spirit when I was trapped in the obsidian tree.  I remembered the hunger that had come … and taken so much.  I dreaded what this spirit-caller might see.  Still, I could not turn back.  Phillippe needed me to succeed.  I
would not
fail him.  I would do whatever was needed.

I swept up the steps, across a broad porch, past a door with black iron rings set into its face.  The door closed firmly after I passed.  As I advanced toward a fire pit in the center of the hall, welcome warmth thawed my face.  The rest of me would take longer.

I looked around the cavernous space.  Beyond the fire-pit lay a raised dais occupied by a long table.  There was a central chair behind it, standing a foot higher than the others lined up right and left.  The oversized chair was probably Faang’s, a small concession to power by a people that did not appear to stand much on ceremony.

From the dais, the building winged left and right.  The right extension contained additional tables.  Beyond them, a door led to the kitchen; the smell of roasting meat reached me from that direction, causing my mouth to water.  The left wing ended with a fireplace bracketed by benches draped with furs.  Furs also blanketed the floor before the hearth.  Weapons lined a sidewall and the opposing one framed a block of granite, chiseled into a rough altar.  Only a few long white feathers lay on it.

I saw no sign of this D’elia.

Faang led us around the pit, past the empty main table, toward the distant fireplace.  Something stirred in the shadowed rafters, on a massive crossbeam.  A snow-white owl glided down to intercept us, its eyes—large and lightless—became silver stars.  Wings fluttered.  The owl hovered before, dripping streaks of light, losing substance.  The shimmering veil thickened into a woman who might have modeled for the statue outside, feather cape and all.

Once more I stared, enthralled by the wondrous transformation.

“D’elia,” Faang rumbled.  “Allow me to present the White Rose.  The elf, you will remember from his last visit.”

D’elia smiled at the elf lord.  “Amberyn, always a pleasure!  It has been a few years, but you are welcome still.”  Her gaze returned to me, gathering in the details of my face and hair, lingering on my eyes as if they were windows into some mysterious realm.  “Are you truly she, or someone playing the part for your own reasons?”

Rhaul stepped forward, joining the discussion, “She carries the mask of Silver Wolf and a dark angel haunts her shadow.  I believe she is who she says.”

“Do you know the game that Silver Wolf and I played?” I asked.

“Come.”  D’elia reached her hand to me.  I gave her mine.  She tugged me closer to the fire, and pointed to one of the benches.  I saw a disc-shaped game board sitting there, but unlike the one in the Necropolis, this one had two smaller discs attached.  In the Necropolis section, all the pieces were fallen, even the Gamesman.  One of the new discs was covered in forest, with an area scooped away to show a buried city—the forest of Avalon and the
Dar’kyn city.  The second addition was rough hills and trees with a miniature replica of the village.  My piece now stood at that location along with Amberyn’s.

There was no sign of the unicorn or of Silver Wolf anywhere.  They seemed to be somewhere the board
had not yet found.

I realized then that the game had not been stopped.  It had followed me to new worlds.  I was still a player—still in the game.  It didn’t matter.  I would save my son even if it meant kicking over the board an infinite number of times.

D’elia picked up the White Rose piece and held it between us.  “If I read the omens right, you have won the struggle against Death’s son.”