The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1)

by Blayde, Morgan

  My face, twisted by violent passions I did not want to understand, hissed in rage and surprise seeing my spirit.

  “Leave him alone!” I demanded. “I will not let you hurt him.”

  In answer, a claw-like hand slashed through me as if I were only a straying wind. I felt no pain, only a kind of unpleasant wavering. I looked down at myself and noticed that the light of Azrael’s eyes, filtering through, rendered me translucent in places. Where my heart should have been, was a light given off by a rose carved from moonlight. Apparently, my calling as The White Rose was stamped upon my very soul. Possibly, I had been born with this token that had proved both blessing and curse.

  On one point, I had no confusion; I knew what I was, a shade formed before my time—not yet properly dead.

  The Darkness that wore my flesh abruptly grinned, then laughed and slashed me repeatedly—not to wound, but to impress on me the futility of interference.

  “How are you going to stop me, She-Who-Was-Celeste?”

  I did not know, so I fell back on bravado while grasping for inspiration. “You do not want to find out! And I am still Celeste. You have no right to my name, or my lover!”

  Her voice spiked in a laugh. My defiance amused her.

  “But if you are Celeste, then who shall I be?” she asked.

  Azrael spoke, distracting me from answering far too boldly. “Celeste! I knew … my love … would call you to me!”

  He spoke haltingly, as though words were agony: I wanted to drag him from danger, but I had no true substance, and dared not break my attention from so potent a threat as this Dark Rose. Determination strengthened my spirit, making my raised arms appear increasingly solid. Still, I doubted I could strike her the lightest blow.

  My lover’s changing voice told me he was rising behind me, either recovering his strength, or expending it dangerously.

  “You can’t fight her,” he said. “We should go and leave her here.”

  “She is not going to allow that.” I knew the awful depths of her hunger.

  “Oh, I might,” the Dark Rose said. “Anticipation has been known to sweeten many a dish.”

  She wanted us to go? I did not believe her. Her eyes betrayed her—black stars, radiating a palpable force that sent ripples through my spectral form. I drifted back to keep her attention from roiling my essence, thinning me like mist in morning sun.

  She followed slowly, pressuring me with the threat of her nearness.

  She did not want us to escape, but she did want us to try. Why? For the thrill of the chase?

  No! I saw it suddenly. She needed Azrael to open his cloak of shadows, to provide her new body with a gate to the rest of the universe. The force that kept the Veil from spreading out to swallow countless worlds was holding the Dark Rose here as well. She needed a reaver as a key to unlock this prison, having been careless in the joy of incarnation, letting Azrael bring her back. As soon as he snapped open his cloak to take us away, she intended to lunge in and break through to elsewhere.

  The universe would die.

  And Azrael was about to give her what she wanted.

  “No!” I cried. “We are not going to give you a door out of this place.”

  She took a large, quick step and thrust her face nearly into mine. “If I cannot leave, I will not allow the reavers to use this space. All shadows will be closed to them. Nor will I let you go. Both of you will suffer as none other. I have forever to bend you to my will. And when I do escape, I will have your precious Phillippe as well!”

  Most immodestly, she ran hands over my possessed body, the pleasure of touch proving addictive. She laughed low in her throat, a seductive sound.

  “The body that gave him life will end it. His mother’s hands will shred his soul.” She laughed.

  “No!” I shivered, a statue of pale mist lit from within. “Never!”

  “How will you stop me?” she asked. “Your fear feeds the shadows of this place and they feed me. It is quite delicious.” The Dark Rose assumed a more reconciliatory tone, “Give me what I want, and I promise to spare you and yours until all else is gone.”

  Fear is her strength? Then I needed something stronger, but what?

  “Remember what Ellyssia told you,” Azrael whispered.

  The angel’s words flashed through my mind with unnatural crispness, as if they had been carved upon my heart for this very moment in time: You are not abandoned, White Rose. Love will find a way. It always does.

  Love … a weapon? The thought seemed wrong, but what else did I have?

  I turned my right palm inward, and drove my fingers into my ghostly substance. I felt nothing as I violated my body, but when my hand reached the white rose glowing at my core, seizing the stem—warmth stabbed my fingers like thorns. I dragged the rose out and flailed, slashing the Dark Rose’s face. Several petals were jarred loose by the soft impact, but the flower replaced them, staying full and perfect in my hand.

  The drifting petals were edged with blood, and slight as the blow was, my opponent’s head slammed hard to the side, as if I had connected with a boat oar. Shocked, she staggered back, as astonished as I was.

  Azrael enveloped me with his arms and cloak. I knew he meant to take me from danger, saving us both, but I slid against him—then into him! Were he merely human, my ghost would have possessed him utterly, taking control, locking his awareness away.

  But he was not human.

  His immortal flesh restored the depth of my senses. I screamed as his celestial energies carrying me past ecstasy, into savage pain that nearly distracted me from Azrael’s injured back. His deep, ragged wounds complained as we lurched uncertainly, our body caught between two wills, unable to respond to both.

  And then the Dark Rose was on us!

  Her clawed hand slashed at our face and only Azrael’s reflexes spared us further injury. Our head snapped back. Our spine arched. We twisted to let her slide across us in passing. My attention was not truly on the Dark Rose in that moment. I stared at what I held. The white rose—pulled out of my heart—had suffered a remarkable transformation. Azrael’s energies had fed and reshaped it. We now held a sword of sun-fire, reflecting the fusion of our souls.

  Be still, Azrael ordered. Don’t fight me for control.

  Just give me the sword arm, I answered. You can have the rest.

  He nodded our head. “So be it!” And then we were vaulting after the Dark Rose. I had our sword thrusting ahead with deadly intent. If my stolen body had to die to spare the universe from the horror I had unleashed, I would pay that price.

  My arm muscles seized up. Azrael resisted my decision: There will be no way back for you if you kill yourself. You will be lost to me forever!

  The Dark Rose slapped away the flat of my blade, evading its edge as we circled in a murderous dance.

  Sacrifice is all that’s left me, I argued. My body is lost to me in any case.

  He grew silent within my thoughts and I took that as begrudged agreement. My sight blurred as angel tears gathered and drifted away, beads of blue hanging in the void like lost worlds.

  And he had told me once that he did not approve of grief…

  Azrael grabbed the Dark Rose by the wrist and wrenched her arm to draw her off-balance. I used Azrael’s voice to whisper a final message to our enemy: “Time to die!”

  With her free hand, she hurled green fire.

  Anything mortal would have instantly died. Shielded by Azrael’s celestial body, my soul survived. We pushed through the spectral fire, and I thrust my light sword through her heart—through my heart.

  She stared with disbelief, then rolled her head back, mouth gaping wide in a silent scream that chilled my soul. Her black-star eyes were obscured by black beams that fountained, only to thin, as a great coil of shadow unwound from her chest—a shadow dragon that swelled, returning to the void that caged her. My body was a broken vessel that could no longer contain any fraction of that terrible Darkness. The writhing shadow-shape kept expanding until all de
finition was lost to our perspective.

  The sun-fire sword still pierced my vacated flesh. My spirit left Azrael and slid down the blade, briefly impaled as well. My body took me back. There was a rush and I looked out of my own eyes once more.

  Azrael gathered me in the shadows of his cloak, crushing me to him with icy arms. I barely noticed the return of gravity, consumed by a fire that had left only ashes inside. I was lowered to a gutted foundation, all that was left of Death’s once-proud palace. Azrael knelt over me, dripping tears on my face.

  I smiled, having found a place of peace where pain could not touch me any longer. I touched his face with what small strength remained. “I thought … you did not believe … in mourning,” I whispered.

  “I do not,” he said, “but some things seem … unavoidable.”

  He took my hand between his, holding it far too tightly.

  I did not mind. “I will love you … forever…”

  “Save your strength,” Azrael begged.

  For what? I felt my life slipping away and knew that this time, I was finally out of miracles. There would be no reprieve.

  The sword hilt had paled and dimmed since I returned to my body. Now, it went shapeless and sank into my chest. This let Azrael clutch me even closer. He rocked me, shuddering with loss, knowing I was but a few breaths from passing away. I might again become a shade, solid on the World of the Dead, but love is different in that state, where the possibility of death no longer gives poignancy to love, where children are no longer possible.

  Numbness set in, denying me touch. Shadows gathered at the corner of my eyes. No, not shadows; reavers. They surrounded us, prepared, I thought, to escort me en mass into my grandfather’s keeping.

  “No!” Azrael snarled and bared teeth like a crazed beast. “I will not let you take her.”

  But how could he stop them? There were so many.

  Cloaks rustled and parted. Death appeared, pushing past the reavers. He stood over us in his human aspect, with no hint of shadow, skull-face, or flaming eyes. His black robes were much the worse for wear and his right sleeve was missing, exposing bare arm. Though his face had an undaunted youthfulness, he looked haggard. His dark eyes flashed with passions I could not decipher.

  I was dying—couldn’t he leave me to it in peace?

  He spoke, but most of the words escaped me, as I wavered at the edge of consciousness.

  Azrael eased me to the ground, and rose to a crouch, prepared to hurl himself into battle once more.

  My head rolled to the side and my stare caught on hateful, moldy green sky where once a roof had been. I did not want to die under that awful sky. I did not want to die at all. I simply saw no other choice.

  Let me go, my love. So tired … so tired…

  Heaven’s gate opened above me. My eyes were blinded by light. Against all reason, I heard Death railing against God on my behalf.

  “…You hear me? I refuse this soul. I will not take her. If you want her reaved, do it yourself!”

  Death was suddenly my ally? Why?

  I thought he had come to fear me at last. Was our tie of blood responsible,

  or was he trying to earn his way back into my Grandmother’s good graces? Possibly, he could not bear to have me bound to his Courts, an ever present threat and a reminder that he had been humbled. Whatever the reason, it struck me as humorous beyond belief. Had I possessed any strength, I would have laughed.

  My heart was graced with joy as profound love exploded into me. Wings of tenderness took me in. I became the center of the universe, hearing the Voice, “If you will not take her now, then you never will. She will remain your balance until I burn away all that is, with the light of a new creation.”

  There was a long pause—a perfect silence—then Death answered in a flat tone. “So be it.”

  And thus was I cursed with immortality in the flesh.

  Tears crept down my face. I ached for the light. I wanted the Presence to linger ... always, but He drew away, abandoning me to life with only Azrael’s bright love for compensation. The Light vanished, and sorrow swept in like a smothering blanket. Exhausted in body and soul, I sank into oblivion…

  * * *

  I awoke in a dark bedroom, in the comfort of warm sheets. My lips were cracked, my throat raw and dry as if I had been screaming in my sleep. The door was ajar, letting in a spill of light. A dark shape drew near as I stirred. “Azrael?”

  “I am here.” Without waiting to be asked, he picked up a flask of Elvin water from the nightstand and raised me so I could drink. I swallowed greedily, and some of the liquid trickled past my ear, dampening the nightshirt someone had dressed me in. With a smoother voice, I asked, “Where am I?”

  “Queen’s Park, the island house. Death no longer has means to offer hospitality since you leveled his home.”

  “And Death himself?”

  “Is hardly leveled, but outside in the hall.”

  My beloved packed pillows at my back so I could sit up. He then sat on the edge of the bed.

  “So we still have him to deal with.” I said.

  “That will not be difficult any longer. Death may be a tyrant, but he is not stupid. He finally realizes that the cosmic balance was the very thing working against him, through you. Every time you were struck down, you returned like a phoenix to inflict ever-growing chaos. Had your conflict continued, nothing would have been spared. You were always destined to win—one way or another. The universe has not been left to chance. He that designed and called it forth from the primal Darkness guides it still.”

  I thought of that Darkness; a living shadow hidden by the petals of the universe since the dawn of time. She had no other purpose but to shred and devour the flower that caged her. I felt a small sympathy despite what she’d done to Azrael, and all she had put me through, but I prayed she’d never again escape the Veil. As it was, I would have walk carefully in my own dreams so long as I lived—and that was going to be long indeed.

  The light in the room increased as the door creaked open. A disheveled Death entered while pouring blood-red wine into a glass from a crystal decanter. He approached the bed, accompanied by a floating ball of green light that gave everything a sickly cast. He extended the drink to me. “Here. I think you need this worse than I do.”

  I refused what was essentially poison to the living, letting my eyes flash rebuke.

  “Do not be this way,” Death muttered petulantly. “You are immortal. Nothing can poison you any longer. My hand can never grasp your soul, and I am unwilling to contend with you forever. Let there be peace between us. I will leave Phillippe in your care. I simply ask that you encourage him to provide me another heir—quickly—so the future of my line need not hinge upon a single life.”

  I smiled. “He is a young man with a healthy interest in women. He will doubtless be pleased to acquiesce, once body and soul are rejoined.”

  Death bowed and took a drink. “Then let us put past unpleasantries behind us.”

  I agreed. I was not the Darkness any longer; forever was too long to hold a grudge. Still, I had a question. “What of Abaddon? Will I have problems with him in the future?”

  Death’s face brightened. “Ah, yes, the vast intellect that instigated this entire mess … I will let him speak for himself.” Death turned and bellowed toward the door, “Abaddon, get in here!”

  He came from the outer hall with the look of a child caught in an unending nightmare, or a criminal advancing slowly toward the executioner’s axe. Abaddon stopped beside Death, eyes on my bedspread, refusing to meet my gaze.

  Azrael offered encouragement, “Go ahead, wyrm. Say what you will.”

  Abaddon lifted a bloodless face toward me. Deep fear darkened his eyes. Since defeating the Spirit of the Veil, I had become a terror to him. His voice quivered, “I most ... humbly ... beg your forgiveness … for my many cruelties against you.”

  After a moment of silence, Death’s voice lashed out, “The rest of it!”

  Abaddon
jumped a little. “I deserve only contempt, and beg that you allow me to kiss your feet as you beat me soundly.”

  He looked so forlorn and wretched, it dimmed my fierce contempt. I closed my eyes so as not to be pained by his humiliation, and reached for Azrael’s hand.

  “Maybe later when my strength returns…” My voice turned hard with a razor edge. “Just know this, if I ever find you anywhere near my son, I will tear out your tongue and hang you with it before getting truly creative.” I opened my eyes and stared at Abaddon, letting him see my utter sincerity. “Now, get out.”

  He scurried away as if all the hounds of hell snapped at his heels. I caught Azrael’s gaze. “I want to see Phillippe.”

  “I will take you to his shade,” Azrael said. “You must recover his body yourself with Amberyn’s assistance. Only the dark power of the Obsidian Tree let me breach Avalon’s defenses before. With that malignancy gone, the planet is closed to such as me.”

  Death slunk to the door. He stopped on the threshold and turned back my way. “Come visit me when I rebuild my home, granddaughter. Oh, and bring your grandmother along as well.”

  I ignored that last remark. Grandmother would probably never return. In any case, I certainly could not speak for her.

  Death left, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Alone with Azrael, I pulled him closer, hungrily seeking his lips with my own. He kissed me back, but carefully, without the crushing urgency I would have preferred. “I am not as fragile as you think,” I told him. “Moment by moment, my strength is returning.”

  He smiled. “Let us dispose of business first, and then devote ourselves to pleasure.”

  I sighed, knowing he was right. “All right, get me some clothes and help me put them on.”

  His eyes glowed with a breath-taking dazzle. “Gladly.”A short time later, I was ready. Azrael’s cloak snapped out and covered me. Cold shadows filled my senses. I half expected the Spirit of the Vail to target me as I traversed her space, but apparently, I was far beneath her notice now that she was back to vast proportions. The darkness vanished, and the familiar shedding trees of Queen’s park stood around me. The wolves lolled under them. The owls adorned the branches, watching everything with expressions of absolute fascination.