The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (27 page)

Azrael said nothing, standing as if carved from rock.

D’elia pressed on.  “It is my gift to see the shadow of Death on the faces of those going to meet him.  Celeste has no such shadow—you need not worry for her.  And interfering in a trial is an insult that will not win allies.”

“Stand or fall,” I looked beseechingly at Azrael, “let it be by my own strength.”

He looked at me a long time, his heart in his eyes.  “I will await your return.”  I knew it cost him much to say that since his given word bound him like the heaviest chain.

“I will do what must be done and return,” I told Azrael, “this is for Phillippe, and for our future as well, my love.”

As I devoured my breakfast, D’elia rose and swept toward Azrael, seeming to glide more than walk in her feathered cloak.  “What do you find so interesting?” she asked.  “These weapons are common enough on other worlds.”

“I find it interesting that you take weapons at the gate, but house guests where they can rearm themselves.  This is a test in itself, is it not?”

D’elia smiled.  “Your mind is as sharp as my intuition.” 

Finished with my meal, I gave thought to what I would wear.  A “test of heart” did not necessarily mean a battle or a duel.  It could be a trial of endurance or a challenge of wits.  This meeting would be as much politics as anything else.  I decided on making the strongest impression I could.  I now had the leather garments left me by my grandmother.  I would shed the clothing Amberyn had loaned me and go with whip and rapier.  I would be the White Rose.

While the others distracted themselves with conversation, I found what I needed and changed hastily, protecting my modesty by dressing under draped fur.  My body clothed, I threw off the covering, pulled my boots on, and rose to don my cloak.

I gathered the discarded items from the floor and piled them on the bench.  That’s when I noticed that game
board had changed once more.  The world of Avalon was gone, replaced by a disc where translucent gold flames danced without doing any damage.  In the midst of that blaze I saw a new game piece—a white unicorn, frozen in mid gallop.  Had his mission taken him to the heart of Hell?  I shook of the thought.  That couldn’t be true.  The ghost fire had to be symbolic of something I did not yet understand.  In any case, I had pressing business to prepare for.

I longed for a brush to run through my hair, having to settle for combing it back with my fingers and hoping for the best.  Were I back in French society, such a disheveled look would be expected; current fashion required women to look as though they had just slipped back from some secret tryst, having hurriedly pulled their clothes into order.  It was ironic that I usually ignored such trends, but had brought this one to another world.

I would have to collect my weapons at the front gate, but otherwise, I was ready.

I turned and jumped, finding Azrael immediately beside me.  I slapped his arm playfully.  “Trying to scare me?”

“I am scared for you, but I will try and have faith.  I suggest you do the same.  I am not the only angel present.”

I saw no other angelic presence.  My questioning gaze went to D’elia.  She appeared surprised, scanning the room hastily, but not as one who sees what they are looking for.  I supposed that the spirit-caller’s gift for seeing impending death enabled her to see dark angels, but not other kinds.  I shrugged.  If I were meant to see an angel of grace once more, I would in Heaven’s good time.  Meanwhile, I was greatly heartened to hear that Divine interest had not waned.

I cast the possessions I was leaving into the shadows of Azrael’s cape.  He bore it stoically, knowing that his capacity as an infinite wardrobe increased my pleasure in him.  My arms slid through his shadows until they found smooth skin.  I drew myself to him, delighting in the hard planes of his body, his pliant power.  I kissed him deeply and perhaps my hands wandered too freely, though he made no complaint of that either.

His mouth opened mine as his tongue searched.  Though new to kissing in this manner, I grew fond of it at once.  All too soon, I made myself draw away, but kept my hand in his a moment longer.  As our fingertips finally slid apart, I stared into his shadowed hood and whispered, “I love you.”

His eyes flared brighter.  “You have become my light and life.  Take care of yourself, or my heart will darken and shatter.”

I could only nod a promise as words failed.

I turned and rushed past D’elia.  Once I rounded the fire-pit, I headed for the main doors.  A moment or two later, I burst out into a brisk winter morning.  Blue-gray shadows sprawled thickly across the compound except for the area around the smithy.  Its windows were brightly lit, a testament to the blazing forge within.

I wondered if Amberyn had found his bed at last or labored still.

My face turned to dark, brooding storm clouds that had yet to relent, making way for blue skies.

D’elia caught up to me.  She smiled, folded my hand in hers, and led me toward the village square.  Two wolves sat there, waiting, grinning, tongues lolling past sharp white fangs.  They might have been the same two that escorted me yesterday, but I could not say so with certainty; I was hardly an expert on wolves, natural or otherwise, and barely at ease in such fierce company.

A snowy owl sat on the stone wolf next to the statue of Reena.  As we passed, the owl launched and swooped ahead of us, our vanguard and guide into the unknown.  The wolves followed a few lengths behind me with the silent grace of their kind.

At the gate, the half-blind sentry had been replaced with a younger warrior, and I was surprised to find Rhaul there as well.  He grinned widely at me for no particular reason and handed me my sheathed rapier and thorn whip.  I attached them to my belt.  Seeing my manner of dress, Rhaul’s grin threatened to split his head.

D’elia peered coldly at him in irritation.  “What am I then?” she asked.  “A withered crone?”

He turned her way, eyes wide in surprise, as if he had not realized she was present until she spoke.  “D’elia!  You know I would savor your beauty forever with adoring eyes, were I not afraid that Faang would rip my throat out with his teeth.”

D’elia sniffed with distain.  “Are you saying I am not worth such a death?  You should fear me more.  My power can wilt and wither your manhood.”

“D’elia, you wouldn’t!”

The warrior all but cupped his private parts protectively, but the spirit-caller smiled and he relaxed, falling in with the wolves behind us where he was safe. 

Our owl escort sat atop the gate as the young sentry opened it for us.  We strolled out into the open, walking the path toward the frozen creek.  The owl caught up and passed us, gliding ahead.  We crossed the ice to the creek’s far bank and kept going.  We left faint tracks on the hard-packed snow, and did not break the crust.  Afoot, we made better time than we would have with horses whose weight would have broken through, making our journey an ordeal.

Time was hard to judge since the cloud cover gave no hint of the sun’s position.  The surrounding panorama simply brightened in slow, careful stages.  Eventually, we reached a cliff face pocked with caves.  Several of these were guarded by wolves that watched with appraising curiosity.

D’elia motioned toward a large, ground level cave.  “The rock holds a warren of interconnected tunnels and chambers,” she remarked, “the home of the wolf clan that rules this area.”

The wolves trailing us ran ahead to be greeted exuberantly by the others.  The snow-owl dropped from the sky and settled on D’elia’s padded shoulder as if seeking safety.  The wolves and owls may have been on speaking terms, but I wasn’t sure if they completely trusted each other.  Without Azrael to guard my back, I too had a measure of concern despite the presence of the village shape-shifters.  After all, who could say how strongly the animal spirits would reign in shape-shifter hearts and minds once they changed, which could happen at any time.

No, I shook off doubt.  D’elia had opened her heart to me—I knew its worth.  I would trust her.

We waited outside the largest cave.  As I stared into the darkness, a silvery blur took definition.  The shape drew closer, and became a wolf a full hand taller than any I’d yet seen.  I dropped my eyes in submission, as he stopped immediately before me on a rock that brought our heads level.  I heard him take my scent, then his nose caught my chin and lifted my face for viewing.

Startled, I stared into his icy eyes until his face swung toward Rhaul.

Had I just been given permission to look at him in the human way?

As though the wolf had spoken aloud, Rhaul nodded, then once more turned his ready grin to me.  “Fenris says you are much like your grandmother.  You both smell of life and death, blood and anguish, and struggling joy.  He is encouraged by the ember of hope he senses in your spirit, and as the leader of his people, he is willing to put you to the test.”

The owl cried soft agreement.

So, I was to be tested after all.  Apparently, everyone thought it a fine idea—but me.  I drew a deep breath, strengthening my resolve as best as I could.

“What is the manner of testing?”

Wolf and owl locked gazes as if in consultation.  Then the owl turned its agile head toward D’elia’s face.  They silently communed a moment.

The spirit-caller spoke.  “You will be led into a section of the caves that the wolves no longer use.  There, your test will find you.  It is nothing you can prepare for,” her voice took on a grim tone, weighed down by foreboding.  “You are either ready, or—“

“If not?”  My voice trembled.  Why had I asked that?  It was not something I truly wanted to know.

Rhaul’s ready grin failed him.  “That would be bad.”  The master wolf turned and loped away.

D’elia took my arm and pulled me along in his wake.  “There is a time to follow your heart, and a time to deny it,” she said.  “Neither head nor heart can always rule, White Rose.  Find the balance, and walk that path.”

Darkness swallowed us as we moved into the cave.  I had to trust that D’elia knew the way or perhaps, she had the eyes of an owl even in human form.  I don’t know how she guided me so surely, but never did her steps falter.  We turned left and right and left again, with the ground rising and falling.  More turns followed until I was hopelessly lost.  Finally, shivering from fear as much as cold, I was deposited on a rock while a lantern was lit and placed at my feet.  It created a golden island of comfort around me, but served to deepen the outer darkness even more by contrast. 

D’elia held my face with both of her hands, planting a kiss on my forehead as if I were a beloved child being left in a nursery.  “Stay strong, White Rose.  Be wise in your choices.”
And then she was gone, fading back into the darkness from which we had come.

“D’elia?” I called after her, but there was no reply.  I would have to find answers within myself, or not at all.
  With darkness held at bay, an impenetrable shroud waiting to sweep in, I sat and stared at the lantern’s flickering flame, and listened to a thin whistle of wind. 

After a time, the sound thickened into a moan.  Words penetrated my consciousness.
  “Come … coommmm…”

That was my imagination—I hoped.

“Come to meee!”

No, it
was
a voice.  This had to be what I was waiting for.  I stood, picked up the lantern, and held before me, a talisman.  With one hand on my sword hilt, I advanced.  The voice came in fits and starts.  I waited at each tunnel branching.  Time and again, the voice came anew, but never grew stronger for all the progress I made.  It was as if whoever called burned through their strength with such efforts.

The summons led me to a cavernous space like those that had plagued me on Avalon.  I half expected to see an obsidian tree or some celestial ghost, but found only a distant metallic gleam.  I walked toward it, crossing a section of stone floor with a thin skin of water rippling across it.  The slick stone made me place each foot carefully.  Once, I half-screamed, ducking as a bat shot past my head with a shrill
skreeeee!

I crossed the rough stone floor to a lumpy wall that I suddenly realized was the dried husk of something once alive.  It was held in place against underlying stone by a sword driven deep.

The shriveled beast drew a shallow breath.  It lived.  Its claws flexed.

I jumped back in cautious fear.

Its great fanged head lifted.  Its eyes danced with red fire, radiating menace.  Scattered around the blood-smeared floor, were broken and ground bits of bone; the remnants of dead rats that had crept too near the monster’s saber-clawed feet.  Despite prolonged captivity, the desiccated husk remained a threat.

I made a point not to underestimate the reach of its long, shaggy arms. 

The embedded sword sparked my memory.  Rhaul’s tale of Grawl and Reena—the first leaders of the shape-shifters—surfaced.  Grawl had fought a terrible monster.  What was it again?  A windy-something; this must be that creature.

“Take sssword…!” it urged.  “Pow’rhh … you want pow’rrrrhh!”

I did need power.  That was why I had come, seeking allies and a weapon that even Death must fear.  Could this blade be it?  I hesitated to reach for the sword, though my gaze clung to its promise.  This seemed too easy.