The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (28 page)

“A hero must wield it,” the creature’s voice strengthened, gaining articulation.  I thought my presence encouraged it.  “Pull out the sssword!”

The last words lashed me, more threat than request. 
Very well,
I thought,
and a moment later you will be on top of me, tearing me into bloody chunks for your dining pleasure.

“You have ourrr word.”  It answered as though it knew my thoughts, losing the slur in its voice.  “We will not harm you.  We cannot; you will have the sword to protect you.  We are not so unwise as to face its threat a second time.”

The beast made a very intelligent argument.  The only problem was, I was not sure its intelligence could long override the fierce hunger it must feel.  How could I trust the promise of such a dangerous predator?  Wait a moment—it spoke of itself as a plurality.

“Who do you mean by
we?
”

“We are the Wendigo.”  I saw a flickering film of white uncoil from the beast’s sunken chest, reminding me of a flat white worm of monstrous size.  Where it showed me a sideways edge, it became invisible.  I was seeing a ribbon of a ghost.

Its flat face lunged.

My reflexes carried me further back, away from contact.

It stopped short, its spectral tail embedded firmly in the beast it possessed.  The spirit spoke, “I am the Wendigo, an undying curse.”

“Then what is the beast?” I asked.

“A sasquatch that ate the dead flesh of its kind to live through a killing storm—I am its punishment.  I
can
control the beast.  It will not harm you ... if you set us free.”

The spirit recoiled, sinking into the sasquatch.  The beast lifted paws to bracket the blade that pierced it.  “You want the sword, or you would not have come.”  Its eyes blazed brighter.  “I smell the lovely darkness within you.  It hungers as I hunger, so you know the pain I endure.  Be merciful in your strength, mistress, and I will serve you.”

The beast would make a formidable threat against the Gamesman, perhaps even against Death himself.  The Wendigo went well beyond the natural order.  But then again, could it really be controlled—even by itself?  Yet freeing it, I would at least have the sword.  The power of the weapon could make all the difference in the battles to come.

But at what price?

I saw the wendigo in my mind; prowling the dark caves, seeking out the wolves, tearing them apart with unholy strength in a savage rush.  I saw it splattered with blood, feasting on still-warm flesh, gnawing out failing hearts.  I saw it ranging the forest, killing for the dark joy of it to feed a never-to-be-appeased hunger.

I would be gone with this mystic sword to save my son, and the villagers would die under the teeth and claws of the Wendigo, cursing my name for betraying their kindness and trust.  I saw Rhaul’s wide smile become an eternal laugh as his face was torn away, leaving a grinning skull.  I saw D’elia and the owls trying to drive the menace from the forest with fluttering wings, diving out of the night only to be swiped from the wind and crushed underfoot.  Other shifters, with spell-forged weapons, would have no choice but to fight, or run from their homes once more, possibly seeking some new world.

As seen in my nightmares, I recalled my rose garden back home; white roses turning black, my world afflicted with consumption, destroyed by a darkness seeping from my spirit—the Black Rose unfurling as when the obsidian tree died.  This was the path of destruction, and it was being offered me now for this world.  It was a clever trap, baited with my son’s need.

My mind was shaken from the visions by a white light that blazed beside me.  A hand fell on my shoulder.  I turned my head and saw an angel of grace, perhaps the very one who had provided me the White Rose in the Necropolis. 

The Wendigo went silent and motionless, not once twitching an atrophied muscle.

The angel gestured at the sword hilt.  “It is yours to take, White Rose.  The beast will not be free to move until after we depart.  You can arm yourself safely, if that is what you wish.”

“Are you saying that I should?”  If Heaven agreed, then this path was the correct one, no matter the destruction that followed.

“No.”  The angel fanned wings behind it, giving a brighter glow to this dismal lair.  Golden hair streamed and rippled, though I felt no wind.  The angel’s eyes were flaming topaz.  “The choice is your own.  All I have done is show you the result of taking the blade while making it safe for you to do so.  Whatever you decide should not come from a place of fear.  The only thing balanced within your heart should be your son’s need against this world’s.”

“Can I save my son without this sword?”

“You ask for knowledge, but it is uncertainty you are called to, White Rose, the uncertainty of faith.  It is the hardest path, but ever the surest.  Though we hate the darkness, it is the only place where faith shines—for who counts stars in the light of day?”

This, then, was indeed a test of heart; of what my heart needed and what price I was willing to pay for it.  I asked myself a simple question:
Can I betray those who have befriended me, and darken their world to save my son?

I pulled out my locket and absorb
ed the gentle warmth of my son’s sapphire eyes, the sun-kissed blonde mane that fell to his shoulders, his dazzling smile.  I imagined explaining the terrible cost of saving him.  His eyes would darken in pain, and though he might never say anything, disappointment would forever cloud his eyes when looking at me.  My darkness would forever grasp him greedily.

Could I bear what he would think of me?

In the end, the knowledge that I could never justify this to Phillippe decided me.  There had to be another way.  I would find it.  I turned my back on the Wendigo and walked back the way I came, my small lantern providing sufficient light for the few small steps ever ahead of me.  I liked it that way after all.

Without looking back, I knew the moment the angel departed, for I heard the Wendigo calling after me in urgent desperation, entreating me to return and yield to hunger as he had.

The knotted darkness in my soul urged the same, but I knew that feeding
that
darkness would only make it stronger, more ravenous.  Should I ever let it loose again, it would probably destroy everything in me that Phillippe loved.

That price was too high.

I hurried my steps through the tunnels, keeping the wailing of the Wendigo at my back as a reverse guide.

At an intersection, I spotted shadows.  Their glowing eyes, like yellow embers, studied me, staring boldly.  I took another step and the shadows became wolves in the lantern’s light.

I met their gazes without flinching, for I knew myself better now.  I would forever be more dangerous to them than they were to me.  They knew this too, dropping their eyes from my gaze.  As I reached them, they turned to lead me on, an escort to the surface.

I set the lantern down as I approached the outer world.  It took a moment to adjust to the
gray light of day.  I found Fenris, Rhaul, and D’elia joined by an entire company of wolves.  The forest edge was thick with various species of owl, some small, some large, many differing in coloration.  One had the tail of a mouse sticking out of its mouth.  The tail vanished quickly.  My gaze swept across the gathered host.

Silence reigned.  I expected Rhaul or D’elia to say something, anything, but they seemed to be waiting for something to happen first.

I felt uneasy.  Just because I knew I had passed the test of heart didn’t mean the wolves would agree.  For all I knew, hearing the Wendigo, being weak enough to be tempted, had cost me their respect.

The wolf leader came ponderously forward, his blunt head offering a threatening grin.  I dropped my gaze from Fenris’ as a sign of respect.  My hand longed to caresses the reassuring hilt of my rapier, but I would not let it, not yet.

The wolf lord shifted his approach to angle past me.

I felt my heart slow its rapid beat, calming, though my mouth was dry, and my stomach still aflutter.

The wolf lifted a leg and peed on me.

14.
THE UNINVITED GUEST

Revulsion gave way to anger at the insult.  Wolf or not, no one pissed on me and got away with it!  I went for my blade, but before I could clear the sheath, one of D’elia’s owls flapped into my face, forcing me to fend it off with waving arms.  The owl retreated and my hand went for my rapier once more, but Rhaul’s urgent shout stopped me.

“Do not draw, White Rose.  It is not what you think.”

“Are you trying to say that was just a wolfish gesture of endearment?” I demanded.

“You are marked as a pack member,” D’elia said.  “It is a great honor.”

My mind absorbed her statement, strained at the concept, and found it doubtful at best.  Being pissed on … an honor?

More wolves advanced.  Knowing what was to come I sighed and assumed a resigned smile, unclenching my fingers from the hilt of my sword.  My leather-sheathed legs were drenched in warm
honor
that pooled around my feet.  I breathed shallowly through my mouth to lessen the potent odor.

“They are inducting you into their clan,” Rhaul told me, “marking you with their scent so you will be known to their kind.  It’s customarily done to their cubs.”

I looked down at my sodden legs.  “So, I’m a wolfling, am I?”

Rhaul nodded.  “You have an obligation to fight for the pack and in return, the pack will fight for you.”  Laughter danced in the warrior’s eyes, telling me he was about to inflict his humor upon me.  “You also have the right to challenge Fenris’ mate for her position in the pack.  I would not recommend it though.  She tore up the last challenger pretty badly.  If she comes up to you, lie down and let her nuzzle your throat—or she will tear it out.”

I looked to D’elia for confirmation.  The spirit-caller nodded gravely.  “It is the way of the pack.”

“This baptism aside,” I said, “they know I am human.  Surely, they won’t expect me to play all their games?”

Relenting, D’elia smiled, “Oh, probably not, but you need to at least understand their ways to get along.”

Here I was, dripping wolf piss, and they were making sport of me!  Well, why not?  I must look less than formidable under current circumstances, not to mention joyless. 

I had known men like Rhaul before; he would only prod away unless I gave him back jibe for jibe, so I did.  I grinned back.  “You go ahead and enjoy the
ladies
here.  Maybe they will have you.  I have the caress of a dark angel to return to.”

I thought I would remind him that he risked a more severe displeasure than my own. 

He got the point of my comment.  His face sobered with startling speed, which only added to D’elia’s enjoyment of the moment.  Her undaunted smile showed she at least had no fear of reavers, or their opinions.

A savage scream split the sky high above. 

I looked up.  Wonder suffused me.  I saw an eagle wheeling majestically, its body dark, its head and tail feathers bright white.  Its astounding wingspan was at least twenty-five feet, wing-tip to wing-tip.  If there were ever a bird likely to fly off with a goat or pig, this was it.

The magnificent creature passed from view and I breathed again. 

“The Thunderbird?” I asked.

“Yes,” D’elia replied.  “The Lord of Thunder has given you his blessing as well.”

“It cannot be,” I muttered, glancing over my body.  “There is not a single bird dropping upon me!”

Rhaul laughed at that, and gave me such a look of adoration, that I knew he would follow my banner when it came time to leave.

The wolves moved off about their business, as did most of the owls.  The party was over.

D’elia wrinkled her nose at me.  “I brought you a change of clothing,” she said.  “You don’t want to walk around like that in this weather.  Let us step into the caves and get you cleaned up.  There’s a chamber I know of with a water pool that smells a bit of spoiled egg, but it comes up out of the ground heated to perfection.  You can take a leisurely bath before we return.”

Smelling of spoiled egg was preferable to reeking as I did. 

“Lead on!”

“Should you require someone to scrub your back,” Rhaul offered sweetly, “please think of me.”

“Thinking of you is why I’ll have wolves guarding our privacy,” D’elia said.

Rhaul sighed.  “Sometimes, you are no fun at all.”