The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (32 page)

I stepped closer to him and let my hands trace the sides of his face.  I stretched up against him for a gentle kiss.  “It is enough that you love me with your heart and mind, your soul and strength.”  I put utter conviction in my voice, but there was a deep part of me that longed for more as well.

A roar gave me a start, sending my heart racing.  My hand flew to my rapier’s hilt.

Azrael spun to face the threat.

I kept a hand on his arm—recognizing the sound as laughter, not rage.  Looking past the dark angel, my gaze pried at shadows within the edge of the woods.  A monstrous shape moved there, larger than any I expected.  My mind shivered in fear at the thought that I was seeing the wendigo, freed, restored to vigor once more.  But, as the giant emerged from cover, I saw a different creature, equally formidable—a great brown bear that dwarfed those I knew of, rising better than ten feet.  It walked upright out of the snow-encrusted forest, eyes intent with dark passions I could not name.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping in a cave somewhere?” Azrael asked. 

The bear shook his shaggy head. 
Dreams of Death would not let me rest, so I have come seeking him.  I do not run from my battles, whether I can win them or not.

I pressed against Azrael, clinging to him.

The bear looked into my eyes, continuing to “speak” with his thoughts.

I did not expect to witness a dark familiar with a human lover on my final journey.  Life is as strange as my death will be.

I grew curious, encouraged by the great beast’s mannered restraint.  “What is this death you seek?” I wanted to confirm my suspicions.

I have seen myself falling on white sand beneath a green sky in a place where horse burn like wildfire and wolves fight alongside elves.  I have seen my adopted son there and his mate.  And as death takes me in hand, I hear sweet D’elia call my name.  I seek her now, to see if she knows where this place is that I must find.

“Green sky!  I know of only one world with such a sky, and D’elia is coming with me to that distant shore this very day.”  

The great beast settled to all fours, bringing its head down to our level while he rumbled in satisfaction. 
I knew I dreamed true.  I will be going with you as well.

“Your strength is welcome,” I said.  “I am the White Rose.  It is my banner that leads to the city of death.”

I know.  I have seen you in my dreams as well, but I do not know the fate you will find.

“Have you a name?” I asked.

I am Kodiak, the Voice of the Bear Clan—though not for much longer.

“We leave at noon from the shifters’ village,” Azrael said.  “Can you make it in time, or should I—?”

I will be there.  Do not trouble yourself on my account
.  With no word of farewell, Kodiak ambled past us, over the lip, taking the hard way down as if it were nothing.  I had no doubt that I would see him in my ranks when it came time to leave this world.  Silently, I thanked Heaven which had more to do with gathering my forces than I did.

Kodiak had spoken of D’elia, and his adopted son.  Could he consider himself a father to Faang?  I had assumed the shifters’ leader carried a wolf spirit, yet it could just as easily be that of a bear.  If so, that gave me two of the giants in my small army.  Such serendipity was suspicious.  This had to
be Heaven lending a hand.  I offered up a quick prayer of gratitude.

I was beginning to feel better about the odds of winning, except I had to face the truth
: I was leading Kodiak to an early grave and maybe others as well.  Yet I could not relent; Phillippe’s need drove me.  Though a grown man at seventeen, he would always be my child.  I could not forsake him.

“Where have you gone?”
Azrael asked.

Hi
s question turned my thoughts outward again.  “Gone?  I am right here.”

“Now you are, but a moment ago you were in some far, dark place, colder than my shadows.”

I did not want to burden him with my recent thoughts, so I changed the subject.  “Just what are these shadows that turn your cloak into an abyss?”

His gaze searched my face through a long pause, but he let me alter the flow of conversation.  He answered, “There is a veil made to separate world from world.  Some say it holds a spirit scaled entirely out of perception.  At times, I think I can almost feel this other mind…”  He shrugged.  “Mostly, the veil is an indifferent mistress that allows reavers to move easily from reality to reality.  Anything else I might say is guesswork.”

“And if I asked you to use that veil and slip into Death’s Courts to bring me my son?”

“I would have accomplished this already were it possible.  I cannot walk near Death without him feeling my presence.  Nor can I fight him and every reaver in his service.  I could bring you through to plead your case for Phillippe’s return, but…”

I tried begging once.  I threw away all pride to plead for Angelique, and the Gamesman ripped out my heart.  I will not plead for Phillippe.  I will demand.

The dark bud in my soul trembled, loosening just a bit, wanting to bloom.  But my will was iron.  No.  Not yet.  If
that
were the cost of my son’s freedom, so be it, but there were less drastic things to try first, such as a force of arms.

“Our course is set,” I murmured.

Azrael stared at me in silence.  Once more, I think my mood eluded him.  It was just as well.  It was not his understanding I needed just then.  I drew him close and we held each other, done with words.  Hungry lips fused.  My clothes slid free, falling into dark shadows that claimed me eagerly.

As we sojourned beyond time and space, his lips left a trail of cold fire, moving downward, exploring my flesh, drawing a pleasure
d gasp from me.  My nipples became hard pebbles, laved by his tongue and teased by his icy breath.  His caresses grew stronger, demanding, kneading my flesh delightfully as he asserted possession.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, “so fiercely alive.  I can
not help but love you.”

I arched back, drifting in soft black mists, apart from all worlds as
his lips worked ever lower.  I parted my legs for him, but he teased me with delay, trailing his attention along the inside of my thighs and back up.  Every nerve vibrated with pleasure, flaring to life.  At last, I breathlessly screamed in shuddering dissolution.  Swept away on sable-soft wings, I heard distant words falling from my lips—not French or any language I could name.  It was as if another stirred inside my soul, sharing my joy.

Languor suffused me in passion’s wake. 
I drifted between sleep and awareness, lost to both realms, and then I felt his arms gather me, holding me pressed against his length.

My hands caressed his flesh, running like water across a stone channel. 
His chest lacked hair and nipples.  His abdomen possessed no navel.  Though gentle with me, his was the smooth, hardness of a celestial being.  Before the war in heaven, he had walked the bright realm where human flesh burns like straw in a furnace.  He was iron that could not yield.  And I loved him beyond reason.  My hand slipped lower to where a man kept his pride.  Between his legs lay more smoothness, emptiness, for celestials were neither man nor woman.  Just … other.

“I have nothing there
to pleasure you,” regret tinged his words.  “In this way, I will forever be lacking.”

Azrael held me tenderly.  I opened my eyes to see his face immediately next to mine, staring deep into my soul.  His eyes gave off the only light possible in th
is black pall.

“What is wrong?” I asked.  “Have you never seen a woman in love before?”

“Not with me,” he answered.  “Those words you spoke in the height of passion…”

He read the incomprehension on my face.

“You spoke with a celestial voice,” he explained, “and your eyes were nearly ablaze.”

Ablaze
, how strange.  “What did I say?”

             
“You told me not to fear—your sword would guard our love.”

“Then it shall.”  I
sealed the promise with a kiss, and smiled at him, feeling passion heating my blood again.  “Surely, your tongue has better things to do?”

I pulled his head to my breasts.

He chewed lightly upon a nipple, then rasped it with his tongue, as one of his hands slid down my back, stirring my need to a fever-pitch.

“Oh, yessss,” I sighed.  “So much better.”

In truth, I did wish he possessed manhood that would swell at my touch and plunge deep within my body, making us one flesh, spilling seed into me for a child that would prove our love to the world.  But since that was not to be, I buried that desire, and endured the splendid torture of his attentions.

*  *  *

The sun was a bright smudge, smoldering through the thinning cloud.  My banner streamed from a wooden pole outside the gate, snapping briskly in the warming wind.  Protected by magic, the elves mounted the firemares, ready for battle.  Faang was off to the side with the shifters that chose to accompany me.  I saw Rhaul and the one-eyed sentry I had met upon my arrival.  The shifters changed form, and I saw ten wolves and a bear nearly as big as Kodiak.  Seven wolves from the forest swelled the shifter ranks.  My gaze passed across two supply wagons where a large number of owls perched.  Completing our numbers, I saw Kodiak and D’elia standing together.  The spirit-caller remained calm, but her face was wet with tears.  I knew she saw Death’s shadow on the great bear’s face.

It was time to go.  I put on my silver mask and approached the firemare that had volunteered to carry me.  I climbed into the saddle and went to the head of the column.  Ahead of us, a hastily built bridge crossed the stream.  It had been enchanted so that the firemares would not set it ablaze in crossing, not that we would reach the other side.

I extended my ring.  It gathered a misty white light, and gleamed softly as cold mists appeared.  A savage wind shrieked in protest as I took the lead, and moved onto the bridge.  Hooves sounded and the wooden span trembled a moment, then turned to stone.  The abyss hung underneath, above, and on all sides.  We followed a star called hope, thundering toward death and glory.

Take heart, Phillippe.  I am coming!

16.
RETURN OF THE QUEEN

My cloak streamed behind me as I crossed the Bridge-Between-Worlds.  The distance ahead looked infinite, unconquerable, as though we rode and ran in place.  No change announced our progress, so it was easy to believe we were caught in purgatory.  In a soft voice, I said as much to Amberyn.

“Be assured,” he answered, “the bridge’s length contracts as we travel, bringing us rapidly toward our goal.”

“I wished it had done that when I first walked the span,” I said.

“This span responded to the speed of the traveler, rewarding haste.  Hungry for victims, the Necropolis rewards the foolish.”

Anxiety tensed my muscles, eating at my nerve, as the yawning nothingness passed below, above, to every side in no way I could measure.  I focused on the thunder of hooves, and my horse’s mane, teasing my son’s face from the dancing fire.  This aided me in keeping fear at an arm’s length where it was manageable.  And perhaps Azrael’s loving gaze lent me strength as well.  In any case, I endured until the mist meeting us gained a sheen of tarnished copper.  I lifted my eyes to a massive shadow at the bridge’s end—the Land of the Dead.  The wretched mists still hid details, but the hulking mass of the Necropolis was there, waiting to pounce.

I reined in, encountering an unknown sentry.  A shock of confusion surged through my mind, disordering my thoughts until I took myself firmly in hand.  This was not Silver Wolf.  Another stood in his place, a man with a black fur cloak that made a shapeless beast of him.  A mystery behind my silver mask, I stared at the warrior, attempting to unnerve him with my presence and silence.  He did not ask who I was.  That was as evident as the ring on my finger.

He clenched his sword while his gaze roved uneasily over those at my back.  “What is your business here?”

I knew the appropriate answer according to the role forced upon me.  “I am the White Rose.  I have come to rule the city I have conquered.”

“It is the Gamesman’s city,” the sentry said.

“Can he spin the walls?”  I used a bored, yet patient tone, like one who speaks to a dull-witted child.  “Can he move a single building without my consent?”  I thought of all Phillippe might be enduring and my voice cracked out as a whip.  “Do not tell me whose city it is!  Now stand aside!”  I held my fist out.  My ring shimmered with white fire as bright as my passion.

I knew the sentry feared being struck down by a power his sword could not counter, for he moved with speed, clearing my path.  This was only reasonable.  After all, he wasn’t here to keep players from the game, but to test their resolve.  The city needed souls to exist, craving them for torture and sustenance—and doubtless the Gamesman was looking forward to amusing himself at our expense.