The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1)

by Blayde, Morgan

  In contrast to the furor, Death’s voice stayed dead-calm. He pointed at me without looking my way. “You want her—there she is. Now tell me why I should be merciful to my son’s slayer?” he asked Grandmama.

  They both ignored the intrusion of my friends.

  I took the question, answering Death with equal vehemence, “Because he deserved much worse, having stolen my son’s soul before his time. If you want to dispense justice, give some to me. I carry your blood as well.”

  Death’s gaze swung to me. He studied my unmasked face. As he grasped my meaning, the hard glare of his green-fire eyes dimmed. Seeing my true form, my resemblance to Grandmama, rendered him speechless. I did not think he was often as surprised as in that moment.

  At last Death spoke, “Then you are—”

  “Your granddaughter, and Phillippe’s mother. You have no right to keep him from me. I have come for what is mine.”

  “By my withered soul...” Death sighed. “I have always known that Abaddon wants what I have, but to do this...”

  Grandmama turned imploring eyes upon me. “You would take Phillippe away so soon? I just learned of his existence and have not even seen him!”

  Death’s eyes blazed up once more. “I do not easily surrender what comes to my hand. You have taken my heir from me. I say you owe me another, Granddaughter.”

  “And I say you have no secrets from me. Shall I tell my Grandmother exactly how grieved you have been during her retreat from these courts, or would you like to tell her yourself?” The judgment in my eyes left him no doubt that I spoke of his unwelcome attentions to Amberyn’s abducted wife.

  “We can … ah … speak of such things later.” He turned his head at last to evaluate the battle he had disdained up until now.

  I looked as well, delighted my forces were routing Death’s defenders. Each liveried servant defeated was pitched into Azrael’s cloak and spirited away so that resurrected shades would not be a nuisance. I wondered why none of us had thought of this before.

  “For now,” Death said, “order your followers to desist. This is most unseemly behavior.”

  “Then you desire my terms for surrender.”

  “No terms,” Death snapped at me. “Your surrender must be immediate and absolute.”

  I put on a face filled with vast amazement, and laughed. “Why, I was speaking of your surrender.”

  He laughed at that, a cold lash of sound, utterly confidant. “Yes, you are certainly related to me. Your spirit does you credit, but do not try my patience further.” He gave me a grim look. “You know I can call forth legions of reavers in but a moment.”

  My allies now enclosed us, except for Faang, the elf prince, and the unicorn. I deduced that they were using us as a distraction to rescue Amberyn’s beloved Myla, and possibly Phillippe as well. I needed to give them as much time as I could.

  Azrael answered Death. “Will you truly call my brothers to war with the living? You know they may not take anyone whose time has not yet come. You risk Heaven’s displeasure with such a course, but you know that. Why else have you hesitated up until now?”

  An owl swooped down beside Azrael. She faded, bleeding light that became D’elia in her feathered cape. She broke into the conversation, staring daggers at Death. “I want my son out of the abyss, or it will take Heaven’s intervention to save you from me.” Her tone of voice suggested that the appropriate response had better be forthcoming most quickly.

  Death gave her his attention. “Your son? Who is he, and why is he in the abyss?”

  “Abaddon’s handiwork,” I said. “But we don’t need you to reclaim Silver Wolf. His soul is in my keeping.” I lifted my fist. The ring I wore misted with a golden light. I could not be careless with his true name entrusted to me; I spoke so softly, even I could not hear. Then, my voice pealed out in command, “I call you from the abyss! Come to me!”

  The hall fell into a startled silence. After a few heartbeats, white mists formed a column in our midst. Ether-winds twisted the vapors, moaning complaint. The winds failed and the pillar of mist sank and spread out across the floor, leaving Silver Wolf on his knees, his head bowed as though something inside him were broken. He shuddered with relief, having now escaped the endless falling to which he had been consigned.

  His eyes lifted to mine.

  I saw a beginning madness there that he fought down with an adamant will. Had I waited much longer, there would have been nothing left to save. It had been wrong of me not to act sooner. I just hadn’t realized…

  He struggled to stand, but gathered strength from every moment out of the abyss.

  D’elia flung herself at him, holding him for the first time since his death.

  I returned my attention to Death. “Perhaps you have realized by now that the easiest way to get rid of us is to just give us what we want.”

  His clenched fists shook in anger. “I am Death. I will not have my conduct dictated to me on my own world, in my Courts, and especially not in my own home. It is this simple: you will submit to my authority, or I will crush you.”

  “Then you must crush me as well!” Grandmama spoke softly, but with a cutting edge.

  “Be careful what you say,” Death hissed. “Some words cannot be recalled.”

  A new voice announced itself, “As long as people are being crushed for following their hearts … count me in.”

  My heart leaped, for it was Phillippe—accompanied by Faang. They pushed in past the surrounding warriors. My son ran to me and I crushed his solidified soul against myself. I felt a flush of pride at his defiant courage! My gaze blurred with happy tears as his arms enclosed me. I wanted that moment to endure forever, but things were still out of hand.

  “Hah! As if I fear petty tyrants…!” Amberyn broke through the encircling ranks with his lady at his side. “You have committed an act of war against Avalon by making my wife your prisoner, and soiling her with your unwanted advances. You should find a sword most hastily, for I am well prepared to dispatch you instantly into the ranks of the dead.”

  “It is what you deserve, you pig!” Myla’s voice matched her glacial stare as she stamped a dainty foot in contempt.

  Grandmama went rigid with fury, hearing of Death’s trifling during their separation. She said, “Arming yourself is a good idea, for if the elf doesn’t kill you, I certainly will, you lecherous cur!”

  Death’s eyes lost themselves in green flames that spread out across his face. Growing tremulous, his frame expanded; his flesh became deep shadow, spreading massive obsidian wings to fashion a great canopy. His new proportions forced me to lift my head sharply. I watched his monstrous face melt at last, baring the skull beneath. Though devastatingly impressive, this form did not compare to the great black dragon that Abaddon had worn in the sky above the arena.

  Death was still acting with restraint—for now. We had yet to see the true power he could bring to bear should we continue to annoy him.

  Yet justice demanded that we not run away, and common sense too; for there was no place Death and his reavers could not follow, save Avalon, and none of us wanted even such an enchanting world as a prison. This needed to be settled here and now.

  Wary of what might come, and needing room to fight, my forces withdrew a ways. I stood my ground with my family close beside me. Silver Wolf joined me without hesitation. Being dead, he had moved beyond fear of all—except the abyss which he risked once more by siding with me. He shed humanity, shifting into a beast of silver moonlight.

  The phantom wolf was first to leap to the attack.

  Faang and D’elia joined the assault as bear and owl.

  The rest of the animals attacked in a silver wave, unwilling to sit out the struggle.

  I would have plunged in myself, but grew distracted. The scent of the rose pinned to my cloak waxed stronger, enveloping my senses, a hint from Heaven I needed to unravel.

  Death thundered his displeasure with dark winds howling out of his black-fire core. The blast caught up my forc
es as if they were tin soldiers. They hurled across the sprawling chamber, into the dark mirrors where they became charcoal wraiths.

  Knocked from our feet by the explosive force, Amelia, Phillippe, and I remained free, as did Azrael who kept his feet easily. He rushed to shield me should Death send a more direct attack my way.

  I climbed to my feet and despaired of victory, yet I could not relent, not without knowing my son was not only free to leave, but would be allowed to live his life unhindered hereafter. I would surrender on those terms alone. Running from Death would serve no purpose other than gaining us a temporary respite.

  I prayed that I, too, could raise the stakes in this game. I clawed my rose loose, and flung it upward at the grinning skull. Death stared doubtfully at the soft missile that spun at him from my hand. I think he very much doubted his eyes. Apparently, he had not heard of the stilled gears beneath my Necropolis, rendered useless by a single rose and Heaven’s blessing.

  My aim at his face was off. Death’s shadow-fire body consumed my flower, leaving no trace behind.

  “Was that supposed to accomplish something?” he asked.

  I hope so.

  Death arched backwards, his skull-face turned toward the distant vault of ceiling. A horrible shriek escaped him that I felt throughout my bones. I thought at first he was laughing at me, but the sound quickly became one of distress. A fountain of white light erupted from his mouth and eyes. The torrential energy shot to the ceiling and curled back as Death shrank before my eyes, much of his substance consumed.

  Moments later, he lay curled at my feet, human once more, the white light extinguished. Fumes wisped off his pained features. The rose had acted as a force for balance, bringing Death to my level so I could deal with him. I had to act before he regained his unnatural advantage!

  I turned to Grandmama, holding out my hand. “Lend me your sword.”

  She saw that I already held my own, but trusted me enough to hand hers over without question.

  I went to Death as he forced himself to his knees, and lifted my sword’s point under his chin, forcing him to raise his now human face that I might stare into his eyes.

  “I could take my son and go, but you would recover and come after him again. Must I kill you to settle this?”

  “Your friends would stay in the mirrors if you did that,” Death answered quickly.

  I nodded. He indeed held hostages against me. I offered him the hilt of Amelia’s weapon. “I thought that would be your response. Then let us resolve this in a civilized fashion. Duel me. If I win, my son’s fate is left in my hands.”

  His hard face relaxed to a sinister smile. “And if I should win, will I be rewarded with more than victory?”

  “You will have me as your heir.” Phillippe’s manner was just short of contempt. “Is that not what you want?”

  Death stood, taking the rapier I offered. His gaze on Amelia revealed the hunger that burdened him. He said nothing, but his desire was clear.

  Amelia nodded her head in agreement. “Very well, if you win this match, I will return to your side once more.”

  “To my side and to my bed? Will you truly be mine once more?”

  A dangerous glitter danced in Grandmama’s eyes. “I will be at your disposal.”

  “As long as we are bargaining,” I said, “Should I win or not, I expect the release of my friends and that no punitive action will be taken against them for supporting my cause.”

  Keeping his stare on Grandmother, Death waved away my words as though they were inconsequential. “Of course, I am never petty in victory.”

  “You have not won yet,” Azrael reminded his former master.

  Death looked at Azrael and spoke. “I have had tens of thousands of years to master the sword. Do you really think I will lose?”

  I was getting heartily sick of everyone telling me how invincible they were, as if battles were won with words. Yet I could play that game as well. “Abaddon did not expect to lose,” I lifted my point, assuming a ready stance, “yet he did.”

  Death turned a cheerful smile my way. “Then let us see just how good you are.”

  I had been watching for sudden movement, but his attack flashed in and I only barely managed to parry the thrust, more by luck than anything else. Nor did he relent, but forced me to give ground before a flurry of blows that severely tested my skill. Hard as it was, I veered in my retreat instead of backing straight away. This let me slide away from much of his power and slow him down as he realigned his body constantly.

  I caught the timing of his strikes and rallied to match his blinding speed.

  He hastily parried my point from his face and lost momentum. I pressed the opportunity, circling him, drawing the dagger that I carried sheathed at the small of my back. I hated to break a sword belonging to my grandmother, but would hate losing the match even more.

  My movements brought Grandmama into view over Death’s shoulder. Though I now held my own, her eyes were wide, locked upon my face, as she bit her lip. I thought she wanted to tell me something, but feared to be a distraction.

  Guessing my intent and knowing the significance of the etched runes on Amelia’s sword, Death did not leave me uninformed. “You cannot break this blade.” He sounded disgustedly far from winded. “It is made of soft silver, as are all Elven blades, and has therefore been strengthened with spells that your dagger cannot defeat.” Death’s smile chided me for overlooking such an obvious detail.

  Very well! If I could not break his blade, I could still deflect it with the dagger and plunge my rapier through his miserable black heart.

  Having taken my measure, Death relaxed his pace to enjoy the bout. “Nothing to say?” he asked. Our blades clashed and clattered a musical accompaniment to his words. “But we really must get to know each other better, Granddaughter.”

  I snarled as his point flicked a small cut on the outside of my sword arm, a painless kiss I knew I would feel once the heat of battle passed.

  Trying to break my focus, Death rambled on, “I would not have neglected you with my attentions had I known you were part of our family, dear Celeste.”

  He did not fool me with such obvious sentiment. He fought with his mind as well as his sword, hoping to play my emotions against me. I would not let that happen.

  He sighed heavily, dramatically, when I failed to respond to his goading. “Is wagging steel so difficult, you must ignore good manners? I am talking to you.”

  I was quite aware of that. However, I also knew that Phillippe’s future and Grandmama’s dignity depended on my sword. I was even prepared to let Death sheath his blade in my flesh, so long as I could inflict a more telling wound in return. I did not have to remain unscathed. I did not even have to survive this duel.

  I only had to win!

  Something of my feeling must have shown in my face, or flashed from my eyes, for Death turned grimly silent.

  In fairness, I had to admit he was better than I with a blade. His single weapon effortlessly matched the two I used. That did not mean I could not win, only that I would have to find an unconventional way to do so.

  His rapier blurred as he returned to an unrelenting tempo. I missed a parry and consequently, my left shoulder caught his point. It sliced in deeply. Blood seeped down my arm, soaking into the white leather I wore. I don’t know if some trick of my own mind occurred, or the crimson now adorning Death’s blade made a difference, but it became easier to track his rapier’s movements. This was fortunate because he launched an onslaught that drove me back despite my best efforts.

  Time stretched out as our blades flashed faster than our minds could direct. Death recoiled slightly, about to surge in and utterly overwhelm me.

  I used the tiny respite to shift sideways, once more beginning a circle, but he advanced diagonally to cut me off. We ended up moving laterally with each other until our rapiers locked hand guards. Our contest of skill became a test of strength. I did my best to hold fast.

  With a mercurial switch of
tactics, Death yielded a step, carrying me back with him.

  “Oh, come now!” he cried. “Are you really trying? Here, let me help you—I will retreat a while so you can pretend to have a chance.”

  I accepted his invitation, and let my left arm dangle, releasing the dagger. I needed him to believe my shoulder injury was worse than it was. I took the edge off my speed to convince him I was nearly done in—which was not that far from the truth.

  Retreating, he laughed at me.

  A blinding fury splashed crimson fire across my mind, and there in my soul, the dark bud that I feared trembled, straining for release. The black rose wanted to open and drench the world in darkness. Already, the loosening petals leaked a hideous strength into my spirit. The infusion of power cut through my fatigue like a barrage of grapeshot. My sword arm became refreshed. My form acquired precision and speed that I knew would not last, unless I sacrificed myself completely to my inner darkness.

  No! I would not do it. Not until I knew there was no other way!

  Death stopped laughing, and drew me into a tight circle. He no longer wanted to surrender an advantage to me.

  Returning to an area we had previously fought over, I lost my footing, slipping on blood I myself had shed. I hissed as I painfully smashed a knee into the floor. Exposed beyond recovery, this was as he intended. He had used our environment to his advantage and I was angry with myself for not thinking of it first. He was many lifetimes ahead of me in experience, and it was telling! Had he not made the classic mistake of playing cat and mouse with me, the match would never have gone this long.

  In a show of bravado, Death let his point drop. He retreated, addressing me in a soft voice. “You have won my admiration. Your valor has cooled even my anger. Whatever lies between us, you have my respect, granddaughter. It would be a shame to break you now, and earn Phillippe’s undying enmity.”

  I paid little attention to his words, trusting none of them. My lungs heaved, filling with deep breaths, as my borrowed strength waned. The pain in my shoulder grew from moment to moment as the muscles stiffened. Blood still trickled down to my empty hand—my life draining away as I knelt there.