The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1)

by Blayde, Morgan

  Amberyn swept me back with an arm. “Run!”

  I scrambled toward the safety of the looming forest. The next thing I knew, something slashed across my back with more force than I thought possible, ripping through my clothes, bouncing me violently off of a tree trunk. I cried out as the world washed away in a sea of red agony, and fought to stay conscious, needing to see what was coming next.

  Somehow, I still held Amberyn’s silver sword in a tight fist, but my arm trembled from the effort of lifting it in defiance.

  From the corner of my eye, I noted that Amberyn remained on the ground, knocked unconscious. The battle now rested entirely on my unsteady shoulders. I forced myself up and braced my aching back against rough bark. The pain I felt sharpened, but added to my focus. I breathed deeply and moved my free hand to the sword hilt, to form a double grip.

  The blade no longer wavered. I would not let it! Phillippe hung in the nearby trees, vulnerable as the day I bore him. I would defend him with my final breath. Enraged, I hurled my thoughts like stones, hoping the elemental would understand. Vindictive bitch! You must kill me to take my child, and I will not make it easy.

  The blue-skinned girl rose, balanced upon a shimmering fountain of water. She leaped onto the bank with serpents of water winding around her, a slithery net of protection as she advanced, her eyes locked on my face.

  My wet dress hampered, clinging as I waited for her to come into range. I tensed, yet when I should have struck, I delayed. The dreadful, empty distance of her expression restrained me, striking a chord of resonance in my heart. Suddenly, I knew what lay deep in her core—loneliness and longing.

  She searched my features in turn, then made herself vulnerable by dispersing her rippling guardians. She walked up to me with hands down, as if I were the center of some magnificent attraction holding her in thrall.

  I grounded my sword’s tip to let her stand immediately in front of me. It was either that or impale her, which I was oddly reluctant to do.

  Slowly, she brought a hand up and brushed the tears on my face. Her hand withdrew. She put her fingertips to her tongue, tasting my tears. “Human,” she judged. “It has been a long time since your kind walked these woods.” She looked into the high branches at Phillippe. “You are truly his mother? I have often wondered what it would be like to have one of those. If I ever had a mother, I cannot remember her.”

  “Being a mother is blessing and curse. It is a joy when your child is happy, but a knife in your heart when he is in pain.”

  “What does your heart feel now?” she asked.

  “The bitterest of sorrows and blinding anguish. I cannot know anything else until I recover his stolen soul from Death’s cold grasp.”

  “A mother’s love makes you so bold.”

  I glared at her as if she were Death. “A mother will risk anything and everything for her child.”

  She paused a long moment, deciding on a course of action. At last, she spoke. “Follow the stream until it sinks into the earth. Search the bluff there for a hidden wall of stone. Behind that wall, you will find that which Death fears.”

  “Thank you.” I marveled at the abrupt change in her mood and behavior. In a matter of moments, she had gone from spoiled child to benevolent sprite.

  Her gaze bored into mine. “I ask that you do one thing for me in return.”

  I replied cautiously. “What is your request?”

  “Come back this way some day and speak to me as you would to a daughter. I shall pretend that I, too, am loved beyond reason.”

  This savage waif reminded me strongly of Angelique in that moment. My foster daughter’s frozen metal face, etched with a final eternal tear, filled my mind’s eye. Anguish I thought deeply buried burst from my soul in rolling waves. Having known Angelique for only a few days, I could not account for the profound loss I felt, nor the extent that the elemental moved me. I could only believe that I had been broken inside in some strange way that made me forever sensitive to the motherless—the way a broken bone may mend, but is thereafter more susceptible to the cold.

  I should not have been able to bear having another daughter so soon after losing Angelique, but I dropped the sword and stepped closer to the elemental. I pulled her into my arms. She stiffened at first, then relaxed. My tears beaded in her hair. Her arms encircled my waist. She was cold and made me shiver, though not as deeply as Azrael did. I did not care. She could have whatever warmth I could give.

  “I am Tyne,” she murmured shyly. “Remember me.” She sluiced to the ground and drained back to the stream.

  I wondered why so many hearts were empty, needy, and cold. It seemed to me that creation should be run much better than this. I shook off such thoughts; I needed to check on Amberyn.

  His eyes snapped opened as I dropped wearily beside him.

  “She’s gone?” he looked around.

  I felt anger as I realized he had played opossum, and left me the full share of danger to face. I remembered that I still had need of this creature, and withheld scathing words, but not an icy tone. “Yes.”

  He sat up slowly, stiffly. At least he had his fair share of damage.

  “I came back to my senses,” he explained, “as she tasted your tears. Since you had the situation under control, I allowed you to manage it.” He smiled brightly at me. “I hope you do not mind.”

  I forced a tight smile. “Oh, not at all. Now, how about getting my son back on solid ground?”

  “Alas, I cannot yet. I need a respite to recover. It will be some time until I can do more than turn a leaf. All magic has a cost, White Rose. However, if you want him down immediately, you can always climb and fetch him yourself.”

  The pain in my back dissuaded me from such an attempt just yet. “I suppose he is safe enough for the moment.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that I had not seen the unicorn in quite a while. He could have been useful earlier. I surveyed the area around the woodland stream and located a flash of bright white moving through some brush, coming our way. The unicorn joined us with a nonchalance that I found as irritating as the elf’s. Ty’hrall nuzzled at me, as if expecting some treat.

  “Where were you,” I asked, “while we fought for our lives?”

  I had to see a horse about a man, the unicorn explained. When you have to go, you have to go.

  “You must forgive him.” Amberyn laughed. “When he was just a colt, he had a bad experience with a water-wraith. It left him skittish with water-based creatures ever since. Against anything else, he has a lion’s heart.”

  “Do not be distressed,” I told Ty’hrall as he dipped his horn in embarrassment. “With me, it is three-headed dragons I find unnerving.”

  Mind, I had never actually seen a three-headed dragon, but it seemed like the right thing to say. The unicorn whickered softly in sympathy, coming closer to take in the scent of my hair. I stood. We rubbed cheeks. I patted his muscular neck. Like a gleaming shaft of sunlight through breaking cloud, a name appeared in my mind. Rigel, it is my true name.

  Wide-eyed, I turned to Amberyn. “Did you hear that?” I asked him.

  He lifted an eyebrow in inquiry. “Hear what?”

  Never mind.” Apparently, the unicorn had been speaking to me alone.

  I gazed thoughtfully at Ty’hrall. The Gamesman had said I possessed a quality that commanded the loyalty of strangers. I had to admit that was true—first Silver Wolf, then Gray, the angelic flower-girl, Azrael, Amberyn, the elemental, and now a unicorn. I had garnered a surprising band of adventures and allies. As long as possible, I would ride the crest of destiny’s movement. If others benefited, that was fine, as long as they helped me achieve my goal.

  Perhaps, as the White Rose, wearing my grandmother’s ring, I was charmed. Azrael had suggested the possibility that the ring could work dark alchemies on the soul—as long as I wore it. I had best keep a sharp eye out for changes in myself that I ought to resist.

  As the excitement of battle drained, I wavered unsteadily. My legs
were still weak from my recent inactivity on Earth, and I was not yet recovered from my collapse of heart and will in the Necropolis. I eased myself wearily to the ground once again, feeling my stomach flutter nervously in the aftermath of battle. My hands trembled, so I pressed them together, waiting for the reaction to pass. What strength I had gained from Amberyn’s magic water had deserted me, expended by this last battle.

  The elf lay on his back, eyes closed. There was blood along the side of his head, matting his golden curls. I wondered if he were hurt worse than he had admitted. I nudged him with words to test his response, “This place the elemental mentioned, have you heard of it?”

  There was a long delay in answering. Might he have fallen asleep?

  “I know of no ruin or place of power near where she directed you, and I do not think it wise to waste time hunting for treasure with darkness coming on.” With a groan, he opened his eyes and rolled over. A moment later, he levered himself to his feet. “Besides, the elemental could well have been lying.”

  He stood, without wavering. I was reassured that Amberyn had taken no lasting harm. He was my only real ally in this world, and served as a buffer against much strangeness for me and my son, but I did not agree with his decision. “Sometimes, the wisest course is not always best.”

  Amberyn stared down at me. His forehead furrowed as one eyebrow lifted higher than the other. “What foolishness is your heart telling you now?”

  “I must believe my path is guided by Providence. We should follow the stream.”

  “This is not the time for useless excursions.” The elf picked up his sword, and sheathed it with great force. “Unnecessary danger is best avoided.”

  “I think this chance needs to be taken,” I said. “Let us ask the unicorn for a deciding vote.”

  Amberyn looked askance at me, as if he suspected my mind of slipping its moorings once more. Considering my words, he shook his head in wonder, giving out a small laugh. “Very well, let us do as you suggest. This should be entertaining, if nothing else.”

  I held my hand aloft, as if offering the unicorn an apple. “My friend,” I called. “Will you bear me into danger, chasing hope’s voice in the wind?”

  Amberyn raised his voice, “Ty’hrall, my faithful companion, come to me.”

  The unicorn looked at us both, swinging his proud head left and right in indecision.

  The elf’s voice sharpened. “What is wrong with you? Come!” He spoke as a prince used to obedience.

  I softly breathed the unicorn’s true name, making a request of it. Without another look at Amberyn, the unicorn walked to me and licked my outstretched palm. “He has chosen,” I said.

  “That is obvious,” Amberyn stared. Then a slow smile stretched his lips. “So I guess we go wandering like dim-witted moon-calves.”

  I admired his graciousness. I had expected anger.

  He studied the unicorn thoughtfully. “Fool beast has gone love-struck,” he said. “I should have seen it coming.” He laughed, and turned to me. “You do have an extraordinary gift for shattering the best laid plans. Apparently, it is I who will need a new mount, not you.” He sighed. “Well, let us fetch your son out of the tree, and see where this wretched stream ends.”

  Amberyn offered the tree trunk a lover’s tender caress. A few small branches bent toward him, stroking his face gently in return. There was a special bond between forest and elf, a connection I envied. The limbs around my son grew pliant, setting him down with care at my feet. I let my hand play across my Phillippe’s face. Our connection had been broken, but I would repair it. What else did I have to live for?

  Amberyn assisted me onto the unicorn, and I concentrated on staying in the saddle. Ty’hrall suffered no flagging of strength while carrying double, and of course, my son made no complaint as he stumbled beside us. I would have given anything to hear a single word fall from his lips.

  We followed the winding stream down a sloping hill as the sky above deepened, dimming. The stream narrowed and slipped past the lips of a cleaved rock that in times past might have been smitten by a titan’s thunderous blow. Beyond the gash, lay a pool thick with submerged fronds. I guessed that some crevice drained the basin as fast as it filled.

  “The hidden wall must be near here,” I said. “We should look for it.”

  “We will,” Amberyn said. “But I still say this is a fool’s quest.”

  I put determination in my voice, authority I had no way to enforce, “We will search now. You can call me all shades of a fool later.”

  The elf’s warmth left my back as he slipped from the saddle. Phillippe ambled off to the side to wait. I shifted my weight, eased myself to the ground, and kept hold of the saddle for a moment, adjusting to the change. I moved sideways, sweeping a hand across the pale fire of Ty’hrall. His head swung to me and I brushed his cheeks and forehead, whispering, “Guard my son well until I return. He is the best part of my heart. I cannot afford to lose him.”

  The unicorn nudged me and dipped his head in agreement.

  I turned toward the elf and found his pale gray eyes on me. A ferocious hunger burned there that was raw and painful to see, but there was a distance as well that made me wonder if he was seeing me at all, or just some ghost within his mind.

  I called his name softly to gently stir him from his thoughts. “Amberyn?”

  He blinked. His eyes sharpened focus, gathering in my face. “I am sorry,” he said. “Forgive my staring. There was something about the way you stood, with light and shadow across your face… For a moment, I saw who I wished to see, as if one of my own glamours had beguiled me.”

  It was easy to make a guess. “Your wife? How long has she been captive in the Courts of Death?”

  “A year now, a long cold miserable year.”

  “We will get her back for you.” I remembered Silver Wolf warning me about making vows beyond my strength. I crossed the distance to Amberyn, set my hand on his arm, and gave him my word anyway. “I promise.” He had touched me deep in my heart. I was no longer fighting just for Phillippe’s happiness, or Silver Wolf’s freedom, but for the elf’s happiness as well.

  He nodded curtly and pulled away as if any sympathy might break him. “Let us find this wall quickly so we can move on to shelter against the coming night. The shadows are growing longer than I like, and danger will not be far behind.”

  I looked at the sky. Clouds gathered, bellies red with the light of the declining sun. There would be rain by morning with an overcast sky for the next day. I wondered if, under such conditions, the Dar’kyn might plague the day time too. I would have asked Amberyn, but he had wandered off along the foot of the rocky bluff. I followed, picking out my footing with care. I did not need to turn an ankle at this point in my quest.

  We searched to the left for a while, then headed back to study the right embankment. This appeared to be a fool’s quest after all ... until we came to bushes wound with honeysuckle. They covered a dark patch of rock, perfuming the wind. A cold chill went down my spine. I sensed ancient death and stopped.

  “Amberyn...”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  My eyes went through the bushes to the shadow beyond. “A presence, nearly as old as time itself, waiting…” I knew I was right, but did not understand the waking faculty in me that brought this knowledge. I hugged myself, more afraid than I had ever been with rapier in hand against a foe.

  The elf followed my gaze. “In there? You are certain?”

  “Perhaps it is only a passing fancy, or maybe being Death’s granddaughter brings more than pain. All I know is, I feel a presence that fills my heart with fearful expectation.”

  Amberyn forced a grin, and drew his blade. “Well, then, let us see if you have turned up anything more than a shallow cave. Wait here for my call.”

  I nodded, but as he waded into brush and vines, I followed. I could not let him face danger alone—I was no elf.

  I pushed through, into a pocket of gloom. Directly in front of me
lay the rough maw of a cave, its entrance choked by a harder shadow. I paused as a shiver went through my spirit.

  A blue light flared within the cave, which brought a tunnel into view, highlighting the sharp planes of the elf’s thin face. He managed fifteen feet before being brought up short by a wall of masonry mortared with moss. A chiseled seal occupied the center of a keystone. His hand went to the seal, not quite touching it. Was he hesitant, afraid?

  He looked back at me with an awed stare. “You were right. This is old … very old.”

  I nodded distractedly, my eyes probing the chamber for the presence I still sensed. It had pulled back, but not completely. Uneasy, I looked at the seal; a circle with stylized rays fringing it. Inside the circle, atop a long box, two angels knelt to face each other, wings swept forward, touching. Lower on the wall, gilded elf runes conveyed a message I could not read.

  “You do not know the significance of what lies here,” Amberyn said.

  “I will when you tell me.” I did not like the quiver of apprehension in my voice.

  Purpose enflamed his stare. “We will stay here tonight and work on taking down this wall. It should be safe; the spirit of this place is known to my people. That she calls to you…” His voice faded in wonder.

  I hugged myself. “Who is she?”

  “I will make all clear, but first, we need to bring Phillippe and Ty’hrall in here. The Dar’kyn will be out soon. I need to hide our tracks with utmost care.”

  He stepped over to another wall where a small crystal was imbedded in the stone. The ghost light followed his hand, alighting on the protrusion as he reached for it, kindling it to life. As if interconnected, other crystal stems in the wall bloomed with cold blue light. I was grateful for the cheering comfort, no matter how strangely delivered.

  “Stay here,” Amberyn said.

  “Alone?” My voice piped shrilly. Somehow, I did not think all the fear I felt was my own.