Rhaul nodded, turning toward a massive structure that lay beyond a small village square. The center of the square contained a well and a statue of a woman seated on a massive wolf whose size dwarfed those that escorted me. We followed a track through the snow. I looked left and right, taking note of stables, a smithy, and numerous other structures. Some were personal dwellings, others businesses with wooden signs swinging over the entrances. Caked with wind-blown snow, I could not read them. Of course, I probably could not have read them in the best of conditions either—I doubted they were in French.
As I approached the statue, I tried to read the emotion in the woman’s solemn, graven face. Her eyes were wide-set. Her head tilted to face the sky. Her lips were open, as if calling to a hovering presence. She wore a cloak of feathers and her hair cascaded to her waist. There was majesty here, and grace, and strength ... many things I wished I had.
Curiosity prompted me to stop. “Who is this?”
Rhaul turned to look at me, then the statue. He studied it as if he had never seen it before. Perhaps it had been here so long, everyone took it for granted. “Reena and Grawl, the first bonded,” he said. “They led our people to this place when the goblin hordes invaded our former world.”
“I know this tale.” Amberyn caught my gaze. “The Spirit of the Land only agreed to let these people stay if they could find a voice to speak for them.”
“What kind of voice?” I asked.
“According to legend,” Rhaul said, “Grawl went to the Lords of the Great Council, seeking any that would share blood-bond.
“And Reena prayed before the home of Owl.
“The lesser creatures did not want more hunters in the world, so they refused. Bear feared our numbers and weapons, so refused as well. Hawk and Eagle could not be bothered by such things. Raven wanted gold and our servitude, but we had already abandoned a world to keep our freedom.”
I saw pleasure in Rhaul’s face as he told the history of his people. I think he enjoyed the respect of our rapt attention. Even the two great wolves sat to listen without impatience while flurries danced around us.
Rhaul continued. “It began to look like our people would have to move on to the next world, but Grawl found a wolf pack at war with a wendigo, a cursed one. It had killed two wolves already and was threatening a she-wolf who fought desperately to save her cubs.
“And Reena prayed before the home of Owl.
“Grawl entered the battle with a sword of great mystic power and pinned the wendigo into a rock face, trapping him forever in a cavern since he could not die.
“Afterwards, Grawl was badly wounded, but the wolves took him in. His great courage had impressed them.
“When the time of the Great Council came, the wolves took on responsibility for my people, naming us brother. And unexpectedly, Owl spoke for us as well. She had been impressed with the wisdom of Reena who did far more than Grawl by offering prayers.
“Thunderbird made his decision, using great magic to bind our people to the wolf clan, letting spirits of wolves that have passed on bond to living men so we can wear their shape and know the world through wolves’ eyes. Also, Thunderbird bound our women, letting the spirits of owls that have passed on bond to them, so our women can wear wings and know the night through owls’ eyes.
“It was thought by Thunderbird that humans, being contrary animals, needed to be kept close to the land so that they might not sin against it,” Rhaul said.
I was not sure who or what “Thunderbird” was, but the fascinating story cast a spell I did not want to break with further questions.
Rhaul turned once more toward the Great Hall and padded on. A few steps behind him, I looked ahead and saw a villager waiting for us on the building’s wooden steps. He had the look of someone important, wearing a fur cloak, gold medallions on his broad chest, standing in perfect stillness with a staff in hand adorned with eagle feathers. His hair was black, not the silver of the other men. I wondered if he were of mixed blood, or a stranger as I was. He ignored me, but absorbed Amberyn’s presence with enormous interest. Perhaps, with my pale white hair, he mistook me for one of the shifters.
We stopped directly in front of him, and Rhaul inclined his head in greeting. “I bring strangers in the land. They bear word of Silver Wolf.”
Rhaul turned to look at me, a smile on his face such as one would see on someone about to share a joke. “She,” he turned back to the stranger, “is the White Rose. Death comes at her call.”
That statement brought the stranger’s eyes to me. He smiled. “Really?” his voice boomed without much effort. “D’elia will be delighted to meet a living legend. Come inside and be welcome.” He turned and led the way in.
I caught Rhaul by the arm. “Who is he, and this D’elia?”
“He is Faang, our chief. D’elia is a spirit-caller. You will meet her soon. I hope your heart is pure, for she has eyes-that-see.”
Pure? I thought of the dark bud that had opened in my spirit when I was trapped in the obsidian tree. I remembered the hunger that had come … and taken so much. I dreaded what this spirit-caller might see. Still, I could not turn back. Phillippe needed me to succeed. I would not fail him. I would do whatever was needed.
I swept up the steps, across a broad porch, past a door with black iron rings set into its face. The door closed firmly after I passed. As I advanced toward a fire pit in the center of the hall, welcome warmth thawed my face. The rest of me would take longer.
I looked around the cavernous space. Beyond the fire-pit lay a raised dais occupied by a long table. There was a central chair behind it, standing a foot higher than the others lined up right and left. The oversized chair was probably Faang’s, a small concession to power by a people that did not appear to stand much on ceremony.
From the dais, the building winged left and right. The right extension contained additional tables. Beyond them, a door led to the kitchen; the smell of roasting meat reached me from that direction, causing my mouth to water. The left wing ended with a fireplace bracketed by benches draped with furs. Furs also blanketed the floor before the hearth. Weapons lined a sidewall and the opposing one framed a block of granite, chiseled into a rough altar. Only a few long white feathers lay on it.
I saw no sign of this D’elia.
Faang led us around the pit, past the empty main table, toward the distant fireplace. Something stirred in the shadowed rafters, on a massive crossbeam. A snow-white owl glided down to intercept us, its eyes—large and lightless—became silver stars. Wings fluttered. The owl hovered before, dripping streaks of light, losing substance. The shimmering veil thickened into a woman who might have modeled for the statue outside, feather cape and all.
Once more I stared, enthralled by the wondrous transformation.
“D’elia,” Faang rumbled. “Allow me to present the White Rose. The elf, you will remember from his last visit.”
D’elia smiled at the elf lord. “Amberyn, always a pleasure! It has been a few years, but you are welcome still.” Her gaze returned to me, gathering in the details of my face and hair, lingering on my eyes as if they were windows into some mysterious realm. “Are you truly she, or someone playing the part for your own reasons?”
Rhaul stepped forward, joining the discussion, “She carries the mask of Silver Wolf and a dark angel haunts her shadow. I believe she is who she says.”
“Do you know the game that Silver Wolf and I played?” I asked.
“Come.” D’elia reached her hand to me. I gave her mine. She tugged me closer to the fire, and pointed to one of the benches. I saw a disc-shaped game board sitting there, but unlike the one in the Necropolis, this one had two smaller discs attached. In the Necropolis section, all the pieces were fallen, even the Gamesman. One of the new discs was covered in forest, with an area scooped away to show a buried city—the forest of Avalon and the Dar’kyn city. The second addition was rough hills and trees with a miniature replica of the village. My piece now stood at that location along
with Amberyn’s.
There was no sign of the unicorn or of Silver Wolf anywhere. They seemed to be somewhere the board had not yet found.
I realized then that the game had not been stopped. It had followed me to new worlds. I was still a player—still in the game. It didn’t matter. I would save my son even if it meant kicking over the board an infinite number of times.
D’elia picked up the White Rose piece and held it between us. “If I read the omens right, you have won the struggle against Death’s son.”
“No,” I said. “All that has happened is that the Gamesman’s necropolis has been wrenched from his control. He will never again use that wretched city against anyone.”
D’elia put the piece back on the board. “And you had a hand in that?”
I said nothing. My thoughts turned to Angelique—an unhealed wound in my heart opened, bleeding afresh. Grief strained for release, for expression. I gritted my teeth and felt the muscles of my jaw clench painfully. No, later—when all this is over. I could not afford to be distracted.
The spirit-caller drew a deep breath, and I knew she had seen something in my eyes to chill her soul. She turned to the men and waved them away. “Leave us for a time. I will speak with her alone.”
Faang inclined his head in agreement, turned, and left. The others had no choice but to do the same.
D’elia gestured toward a bench padded with furs. “Sit. Warm yourself. Speak to me when your heart is ready. Take all the time you need.”
I dropped my cloak and pouch to the floor and settled on one of the benches.
She silently eyed the hands I clenched in my lap.
I turned my face to the dancing flames of the fireplace.
From the corner of my eye, I saw her settle at my feet, waiting with an air of patience that told me time meant nothing to her. Though she plainly had dignity, she thought nothing of casting it aside. Such humility in a person of power impressed me.
In the barest of details, I told her of Phillippe being stricken, his soul stolen. The memory was too painful for long exposure, so I moved on quickly to other things. The rest of the story fell from my lips in slow, halting passages that at times made little sense, even to me, but she never interrupted with questions. I turned my face to her, as I told her of meeting Silver Wolf, and his words to me. I had to look away again when I recounted chopping off the hands of the Red Dragon. I told her of the woman with grudges, and the Leech. I spoke of the Gamesman and his champion, and then I fell into a long silence.
She beckoned to someone waiting in the archway. Cups of some warm, honeyed beverage were brought by a soft-footed servant. D’elia took a cup and held the other out to me. I took it gratefully, but knew that the cold went too deep in me to ever be exorcised this way. Still, the cup helped me through a graphic description of the field of crosses and the feral children below them.
As I told her of Angelique’s transformation, tears tracked my face. My free hand curled into a tight fist on my thigh. Grief burst free and I shuddered, sobbing. I could mourn for Angelique, if not my son—she was beyond hope, he was not.
She joined me on the bench and held me against her soft warmth, offering comfort until I ran out of tears, emotionally spent.
She whispered, “Is there more?”
I nodded and wiped the tears from my face.
She released me, but wound an arm around my own. Silence settled once more. She let me break it when ready.
I told her of the storm of roses, my retreat into madness, and all that came thereafter. Exposed and defenseless, I awaited her judgment—fearing it—yet needing it in some way.
But all she did was rise to her feet and walk away, saying, “I will help you.”
I learned I had a few tears left to spill after all, as they came anew.
Slowly, I grew aware of many voices. I glanced back toward the fire pit and the high table. Faang sat at supper with the older warriors bracing him. They were enjoying themselves, politely ignoring me until I should choose to join them. I was being rude, and I was hungry. I walked from the fireplace, into the dining area, feeling better than I had any right to.
Faang looked up as I passed, nodding approval, as I offered him an unburdened smile.
“The elf is yonder,” he waved vaguely, “gorging himself. You, too, are welcome to sample our hospitality.”
Recalling my manners at last, I curtsied to him though I had no gown to spread. “You are too gracious.”
He grinned, reaching for his cup. “Maybe so, but we all have our faults.”
I laughed and continued, receiving openly curious stares from the elders at the main table and the warriors at other tables I passed. I noticed that the men outnumbered the women by a large margin. The men without female company showed more interest than most. Several of these beckoned encouragingly for me to join them.
I kept a smile in place, and hastened to where Amberyn sat. He rose as I reached his table and urged Rhaul to move farther down so that I might sit between them. Rhaul was quick to respond though he knew my heart rested with Azrael. I supposed my presence alone was some balm for these hard, lonely men, so like the wilderness they lived in.
A quiet young girl with large, bright eyes stared in wonder as she brought me a plate made of baked clay. It contained vegetables such as I had never seen, mixed in with garnet-spotted mushrooms. There were slabs of venison as well. A cup was placed before me. I took a large drink only to gasp and splutter as the table erupted in laughter. My throat burned. My eyes watered. I had thought the drink more of the honeyed brew from before, but what I swallowed was much stronger even than wine.
“I will take care of that for you,” Amberyn said, “if you have no taste for it.”
I growled hoarsely. “Trying to kill me? You could have given warning!”
“Is it my fault,” the elf said, “if you do not look before you drink?”
A hand fell on my shoulder, turning me gently. D’elia stood there with a man dressed in singed leather clothing, bearing scars, as though he worked often with hot metals. She looked at me, but spoke to her unnamed companion. “Can you do this in two days?”
He studied my face with the utmost care, reaching out to turn it left and right. “If I have the silver and my apprentice and I work through tonight, I can have it done sooner.”
D’elia nodded. “Where did you leave Silver Wolf’s mask,” she asked me.
“By the fireplace, in my pouch, but I’m sure he will want it back.”
“No,” D’elia said. “He has no more use for it. He meant for you to keep it.”
“What are you going to do with it,” I asked.
“Return it to the fire, dissolving the spells hammered into the metal. Once that is done, a new mask will be forged—one that will serve you even better.”
His face eager, Amberyn faced the smith. “Can I watch?”
The man grinned. “I can use another pair of hands on the bellows if you think you can last the night.”
“It will not be the first time I have done without sleep,” Amberyn said, “and likely will not be the last.”
The smith gave the elf a friendly slap across the back that nearly had him sprawling across the table, wearing his food. “That is the spirit! Come, we have much work to do.”
D’elia took Amberyn’s place at the table. Her inscrutable eyes were dark and mysterious as she turned my way once more. “I recommend you turn in soon. I will awaken you at dawn. We have a journey to make.”
I lifted eyebrows. “We do? Where are we going?”
She looked solemn. “To see the wolves and owls. We shall ask for any help they are willing to offer. Faang and I can only speak for the shifters.”
I agreed at once. I had come seeking allies. If the wild creatures were willing to help me assail the Courts of Death by way of the Necropolis, I would accept their assistance with profound gratitude.
“There may be some difficulty,” D’elia warned. “The wolves and owls are our kindred, n
ot yours. You may be required to join one of their clans. Or they might ask some trial of you to test your heart.”
I cut a piece of gravy-drowned venison and slid it in my mouth. The meat’s texture was a bit powdery, but good none-the-less, especially after so many days of bread or broth. I swallowed and said, “I can only do my best.”
D’elia nodded agreement. Her voice remained grave with concern. “It may not be enough—I know of the darkness you carry, that you fear.”
My face reddened with embarrassment. I sawed a second piece of meat with more energy than required. “Are you telling me not to try?”
She gave me a smile warmed by concern. “Would it do any good if I did?”
In my mind, I saw Phillippe’s smiling face framed by golden curls, so handsome, so full of the joy of life … so vulnerable.
At last, I felt the first flush of my old strength returning. Determination became iron in my spine. My hand curled tightly around the fork, gripping it like a sword as my spirit ignited with purpose ... setting my course ... sealing my fate.
I answered her. “No. Phillippe’s need is too great for me to spare anyone one, least of all myself”
“Then I shall save my words for another time.”
13. TEST OF HEART
The great hall behind me was empty and dark, abandoned to night. In front of the fireplace, I lay on furs with another pulled over me. The crackle of orange flames, the heat, and the smell of burning wood lulled my mind. A sudden pressure cupped me from behind. Icy breath caressed the side of my face as an arm draped itself over my covered waist. I knew Phillippe would not begrudge me rest and intimacy to restore my spirit, but I felt more than a twinge of guilt, comforted while my son endured dwindling hope. Love had made things complicated—deliciously so.
“Azrael…” My lover’s name fell softly from my lips.
The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) Page 18
