A Red-Rose Chain

“We’re almost there,” said Walther. He was walking at the front of our uneven little line, while Tybalt walked at the back, leaving me and Quentin in the middle. I would normally have been offended by the implication that I couldn’t take care of myself, but in that moment, I was just glad that someone who knew the way was taking point. I didn’t need to bring up the rear; there was no one I trusted more than Tybalt to hold that position.

“Why did we agree to this again?” I asked.

“Because I may need your blood to quicken the spell, depending on how complicated the counteragent turns out to be,” said Walther. “And I’m doing the final mixing in the dungeon because I need to be able to use this tincture immediately. Anything that has to be chilled to work isn’t going to sit well.”

“I know nothing about alchemy,” I said.

“I know,” said Walther. “That’s why you have to trust me.”

We walked on in silence after that, until Walther held up a hand, signaling for the rest of us to stop. He was looking at a stretch of thorny wall that looked exactly like the thorny wall all around it. “We’re here,” he said, and reached out to touch a single thorn with the tip of his index finger. The smell of his blood, faint but unmistakable, wafted back to tickle my nostrils as the brambles began to unwind.

“Please tell me that wasn’t all that was required to unlock the other door,” I grumbled.

Walther shot me a quick, tightly amused look. “No, that one takes sacrifice, and intent. This is a one-way door. It doesn’t demand as much.” The brambles were still unknotting themselves, opening a narrow slit in the side of the Rose Road. I couldn’t see anything through the opening; it was like it looked out on absolute blankness.

“That’s encouraging,” said Quentin. It was the first time he had spoken since we’d left the garden.

“Look at it this way, young squire: if we plummet into unending blackness, we will be falling into shadow,” said Tybalt. “Stay close to me, and I will be able to yank the three of us onto a more suitable Road before anyone is hurt.”

“Three?” asked Walther.

Tybalt looked at him flatly. “If you lead us into unending blackness, I feel less than obligated to rescue you.”

“Fair enough,” said Walther. “I guess that means I’m going first.” He slipped through the opening, and was gone, taking the faint but lingering scent of blood with him.

I sighed. “There’s only one way out. Come on.” I stepped through the opening after Walther. There was a moment of disorientation, like I was riding an extremely fast, totally dark elevator—

—and I was standing on a rough cobblestone floor, surrounded by gray granite walls. Stone biers studded the room, spaced out like display cases in a strange museum. There were at least a dozen of them, each with their own motionless figure lying atop them—the jewels in these inhumane displays. Walther was standing next to the nearest bier, his head bowed and his hands clenched into fists. I spared a glance behind me and, seeing that there was no opening, stepped out of the way. My instincts were correct: Tybalt and Quentin appeared out of thin air a second later.

Tybalt stopped as soon as he had his bearings, looking warily around the room. “This is dangerous,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Do what needs to be done, and let us be away from here.”

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t start with May,” I said, walking over to Walther. I stopped when a few feet away, feeling my stomach drop toward my feet. I put a hand over my mouth, unsure of what I could possibly say in response to the scene in front of me.