The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (33 page)

I counted on it. 
Further changes in the order of things were desperately needed.

I led my companions toward the wall which materialized first as a shadow, then a thing of rusted iron.  Yet it was not the same wall as before.  Dribbling down from its top, vines formed a knotted cascade, bejeweled with dew-studded roses.  White roses.  The whole aspect of the walls was dampened, muted by beauty where I had no
t expected it.

The gate gaped open, a mouth screaming silently.  It was my gate, engraved with the sigil of the rose.  We passed through.  Beyond, I saw the cathedral courtyard and fountain.  The sound of the firemare hooves was overly loud, echoing strongly, as if were had many more riders.  The area was empty of bleeders waiting to slice through white scars in payment for their sins.  The fountain no longer sprayed blood up into the air.  I did not miss that absence.

The streets further on were empty as well.  The people were in hiding, or had fled, seeking refuge in quarters where I had no need to travel.  If there was going to be armed resistance, it lay in some other quarter than this.  We reached a street that had a gap along one curb.  Here was a seam of the city, a section designed to move—frozen in the first moment of making such an attempt.  And within that open wound, welling up out of darkness, I was greeted by the clotted growths of more roses.

I looked closer at the building we passed, and saw creeping vines prying at various walls, rising up to choke chimneys, wreathing occasional windows and doorways.  This city, subdued by beauty, would never again be quite so cold and forlorn.

A gray shadow rippling close to the ground, Fenris flashed me a grin that promised retribution to anyone lying in wait.  He vanished ahead, leading the monstrous wolves who would clear our way past any traps.  As the wolves loped by, they kept a healthy distance from the blazing horses.  The wolves’ reasonable fear of fire had preserved peace in our ranks.

Without waiting for instructions, D’elia and the owls took wing to provide reconnaissance from above. 

I set a careful, unhurried pace, though I desperately wanted to plunge at full gallop now that the end of all this was so much closer.  Our column lengthened as we rode well away from anything that might burn from the heat of the horses.  Fortunately, most of the city was cold, pitiless stone.  I looked to see how the roses took the heat of our passage as we followed a new seam.  I expected to see the green ignite and burn away, but the roses ignored our passage, unnaturally vital.

As we passed hotels and private houses, shadows moved in the upper windows.  Pale faces peered down, curious, excited, and anxious.  These people were dead already; they had no reason to fear for their lives—but there were worse things than death that could happen to them.  I thought of Angelique.  The pain in my heart was still fresh over her loss, but the need for vengeance still smoldered like coals in my stomach--feeding my strength and resolve.

Threading the abandoned market section, Amberyn spoke with a disquieting tone.  “They fear to do anything to make it look as if they support you.  If we do not triumph, the Gamesman will make their afterlife hell.  And they know, if we do win, they can always beg forgiveness for not siding with you.”

Beg forgiveness … was I so feared?

Yes, I would be, with my roses everywhere—an extension of my will, a demonstration of my power.  They saw my hand at work, when they should have looked higher, to Heaven which was orchestrating this grim opera.

I looked into alley shadows.  The beggars were gone.

Later, I caught myself searching for the flower girl who carried an angel’s hidden face—and suddenly, she was there, grave and still.

“One moment,” I signaled to Amberyn my desire to pause a moment, then offered a hesitant smile to the
child
.  She closed her eyes and bowed her head, as if in prayer.  I hoped she was blessing me—I could use all such favor—but I did not ask.  Amberyn made no mention of her, looking at me curiously, no doubt wondering why I stopped.  But the unicorn’s head turned.  I knew
he
saw what I did.

The
flower girl
lifted her face toward me.  Her hand dipped into her basket, emerging with a white rose.  Flung my way, the flower trailed a miasma of light.

I reached out and plucked the bloom from the air.  The miraculous appearance of the flower upon my fingertips caused a stir of surprised voices around me.

“An interesting trick,” Amberyn said.  “You must have elf blood in your family tree somewhere.  It would explain your hair, pale as star-fire.”

“Perhaps it is Death’s blood that sets me apart.  He is my grandfather,” I said, “no matter what I think about it.”

The rose had a pearl-headed pin piercing its stem.  I used the pin to fasten the flower to the outside of my cloak.  Strangely, I felt armored now.  I lifted my head and discovered the disguised angel gone.  That did not concern me.  I nudged my horse into motion.  The column followed.

“I cannot credit that the Gamesman is neglecting us,” Amberyn said.  “Surly, some trap will soon be sprung.”

“He seeks to weaken our nerve with uncertainty and apprehension,” I said.  “Making us wait this way is just another of his strategies.”

“It’s a good one,” Elwren said.  “I feel my skin crawling, my shoulder blades tensing, expecting an arrow from the gloom.”

“Just remember,” my hand rested on my sword’s hilt, “the fastest way to end this is to boldly thrust through.”

Beyond the market, I passed the Golden Sow.  Its sign was nearly lost in a cocoon of leaves and roses.  The bottom half of the front wall was similarly veiled. 
Gray stood in front of the floral backdrop.  He was half supported by a scantily clad young woman.  Her laugh was shrill and drunken—as I expected.

The women cringed to see me, but
Gray lifted a bottle of wine in a toast.  “Giv’em a stab for me, lass.  I’ve got all my money riding on you!”

Though I didn’t stop, I smiled and called out, “Depend upon it,
Gray.”

He took a swig from his bottle and staggered as the woman hastily dragged him back into the tavern.

We passed a few more intersections, and reached a fan of roads leading every which way.  The wolves waited there with looks of expectation.  I reined in and checked my grandmother’s compass.  Its needle spun wildly, seeking a magnetic north that was not there.  I concentrated on what I wanted.  Show me the way to the Gamesman!  The red-tipped needle slowed and pointed.  Having my bearing, I picked the road that best matched that course and extended my hand to point the way.  The wolves burst into motion and I heard the flutter of wings as owls took flight from the rooftops.  My blazing mount required no urging on my part.

Amberyn’s gaze clung to the compass where it hung on its chain.  “An interesting item.  I will have to have one made for my own use.”  His eyes rose to my face.  “Where did you get it?”

“Part of my grandmother’s legacy.”  She was the White Rose before me, and left me the white leathers, as well as the whip coiled on my hip, but where she came by these things, I have no idea.  I was equally uninformed as to what had driven her to assume the role I had inherited from her.  I hoped to question her about these things before long.

“You know what that means?” he asked.

I turned my silver-masked face his way in a silent stare that prompted him to continue.

“If your grandmother was the last White Rose, but is no longer active in that capacity, it can only mean she has gone on to the Courts of Death.  Death’s betrothed has become his wife.”

He stared at me intently, but I did not take any deep significance from his words.  “Speak plainly.”

“Well, here’s the meat of the nut,” he said.  “Once we deal with her step-son, and breach the Courts, you may find yourself in opposition to your grandmother as well.  Have you thought what it would be like to cross swords with her?”

“I never knew my mother, but as a child, I always had Grandmama’s love and support.”  I had wept for her terribly when she died of miasma, coughing away her lifelike many others.  I made my voice certain.  “She will not oppose me.”

“How can you be sure?   Time and death change people.  You are doing the unthinkable out of necessity.  How do you know what necessity demands of her?”

“Elf?” I paused to seize his attention with a stare.  “Be silent!”

Amberyn grinned.  “As our Lady Celeste commands…”

If not for the clomping of hooves, we would have passed like silent wraiths through the winding streets, keeping an easy pace.  Stone giants with rose tresses, the moldy buildings held their breaths in expectation.  The same frozen sky of pale green cloud hung low above the city, denying us a sun to mark time’s passage.  If I had not known that the city’s buried mechanisms were immobilized, I would have believed that we were standing still and the city itself was sliding around us, a mockery of progress, dragging a net of gloom and despair ever tighter.

I only became sure of our course as we reached Queen’s Park and discovered a force had assembled to bar our way—an army of children.  They formed a huddled, ragged mass, fearful yet determined in the presence of our invading wolves.  Some of the younger children cried, but still clutched branches and stones, pans, and boards, anything they could press into service as a weapon.

I raised my hand to signal a stop, slid from the saddle, and walked forward.  Once away from my blazing mount, I removed the silver mask.  I wanted to show these children a human face.  Red-Blade and Amberyn joined me wading through the wolves.  Young faces swung my way.  I saw earnest eyes, fever-bright, welling with loneliness and bottomless need.  The children’s lips moved, sharing secrets.  Whispers went around, gathering strength, becoming a mighty wave pushing toward shore.  Bright with joy, audible words broke over me.

“Mother!”

“She has returned!”

“The Queen!”

Queen?   Hardly.  Ah, they thought me to be Grandmother.

“Wait here,” I told my escort.

Alone, I went closer.

The weapons were quickly lowered.  My gaze picked out the oldest child at the center of things, the natural leader of the group.  He was a tall boy with a smudge of dirt on his chin.  His eyes were brown and his hair was a ragged shock of blond, reminding me of a haystack.

“What is this about?” I asked.

“You are the only one who has ever loved us.  You made this place to protect us, and when they killed Angelique, you gave us vengeance, stilling the city so we need never fear being made into gears.  You fought for us.  Now it is our turn to fight for you.”

I stepped up to the boy and ruffled his head, the way only a mother is allowed, and let my hand settle on his shoulder.  I knew he was dead and ages old, as were all the children, but I could not use them as this evil place had.  It was not in me.

“I am grateful for the offer, but you will help me best with your prayers, and by staying where I know you are safe.”

“But we want to fight for you,” the boy pleaded.  “We will do a good job, really!”

The other children echoed the sentiment.

My breath caught.  A single tear rolled down my face at their earnestness.  I could not let them do this.  I made my voice stern.  “Do not argue with Mother.  You will do as I say … if you love me.”

The boy began to cry and I pulled him against me, offering automatic comfort.  As if a dam had burst, the other children pressed in, clinging, reaching past each other just for a touch.  I let them throng me for a time, but then gently began to peel them away.

“I must go,” I said.  “Be good to each other, and wait here for me.”

“Yes, Mama,” several of them said.

I smiled sadly and turned away.

With my face covered by the silver mask once more, my step turned brisk, my will resolute.  A reservoir of love had just been poured into me.  I had gained many new reasons to survive the coming battle.  I returned to my mount and vaulted into the saddle.  I consulted my compass with greater passion, and directed the wolves on a course that skirted the park, leading to the heart of the city where the buildings grew ever higher.

Wearing an adorable little mask of silver, an owl—D’elia I supposed—landed on the horn of my saddle to rest and keep me company.  All but in my lap, she studied me with knowing eyes full of mystery, then blinked.

I looked away, into the distance, into my heart.  I knew then that I could not give up this masquerade, even after my son was saved.  I had come too far, changed too deeply, and there were too many depending on me for hope, protection, and love.  Part of me had become detached, lodging in these small, precious children.  I had become as rooted as my roses to this city.  I remembered Azrael speaking to me on the dock by the lake.  He had warned me of this very occurrence.  Still, there was little else I could have done getting here.

Beyond the park, we entered unknown territory.  I had never made it so far, though I had certainly descended deeper into the city’s bowels.  As we traveled, building loomed ever higher.  Tension ate my nerve, draining my energy.  I wondered if it were the same with the others, or had campaigning become second nature to the elves.  Eventually, my body protested the strain of keeping to a saddle.