The Golden Door (11 page)

Rye’s heart seemed to leap into his throat.

“Where is the place of the Enemy?” he heard himself ask. “How do I get there?”

The darkening water swirled. New words formed.

R
ye and Sonia followed the stream through the howls and screeches of the Fell Zone night. Leaves rustled, sticks cracked, and hungry eyes glittered in the blackness that fringed their path. But nothing sprang at them out of the blackness, and no nets barred their way.

At first, they had to walk blindly, guided only by the sound of water running beneath the mossy rock on which they trod. Then, just as the moon rose above the trees, the stream reappeared, bubbling from beneath a shelf of rock. After that, it was their constant companion, babbling beside them, winding ahead of them like a rippling ribbon of light.

It was a comfort, but the sense of danger was still very great, and Rye and Sonia walked tensely and in silence, not daring to stop for rest.

The bell tree stick held at the ready, Rye kept
glancing up at the narrow band of sky above his head, checking for signs of skimmers.

There were no skimmers, or none that he could see. But there were stars — countless stars, studding the inky sky. Soon Rye found he was looking up as much in fascination as in fear. Never had he seen stars like these. The pale pinpoints of light that glimmered in the hazy night sky of Weld were nothing compared to this dazzling array of jewels glittering in a deep black sea.

“How beautiful they are!” Sonia whispered beside him. “I had no idea stars could be so beautiful!”

“Nor I,” said Rye. “It must be because the sky at home is never as clear as this.”

And all at once, the fierce, uncaring brilliance of the stars blurred before his eyes, and he felt a terrible longing to be back beneath a softer sky, among the things he knew, behind the high Wall of Weld.

It is no use thinking of that
, he told himself furiously.
There is no going back. And home is no longer home as it was. Is that not why you are here?

“You deceived the Warden in more ways than one, Rye,” Sonia said quietly. “You did not leave Weld to find the source of the skimmers and win the reward, did you? You want only to find your brother! That is why you chose the golden Door. It was the one you thought Dirk must have taken.”

Rye did not bother to deny it. Sonia had heard his first question at the pool.

“Dirk is in the place of the Enemy, so as it happens, you have not wasted your time by coming with me,” he muttered. “When we reach Oltan, we can go our separate ways. I will find Dirk, to take him home, and you can destroy the Enemy — if you are able.”

“There is nothing to say that the Enemy of Oltan is the one who is sending skimmers to Weld!” Sonia snapped, stung by his tone.

“Dirk plainly thinks he is,” Rye said stoutly. “I may not have come here hoping to stop the skimmers, but Dirk did! If he is in Oltan, he is not there for nothing, you can depend upon it.”

He heard a stealthy stirring in the bushes on the other side of the stream. Realizing that he had slowed, he moved quickly on, deliberately lengthening his stride so that Sonia was forced to fall behind. After that, he glanced at the sky less often, and when he did, he tried not to think of the stars.

He meant to keep up a brisk pace and to stay alert to danger, but as time slipped by, he found it harder and harder. Sonia was so silent that he had to keep looking over his shoulder to make sure she was still following.

We will soon reach the end of the Fell Zone, he told himself, remembering the schoolroom map. And that means we will soon be on the coast — in Oltan. No one will be stirring at this time of night. We will find shelter, and then we can rest.

But the stream wound on and on, the seething blackness beyond its banks never grew still, and the snarls and howls of invisible creatures killing and being killed never became less. And all Rye and Sonia could do was to move forward, driven by fear, keeping on their feet by pure will.

At last, however, there came a time when the ferns ended, the stream banks flattened and widened, and the trees became fewer.

“We are almost there, I think,” Rye called over his shoulder.

His voice sounded hoarse. It was hours since he had spoken aloud.

Sonia did not answer. Rye looked back and saw that between the streaks of dirt on the girl’s face, her skin was sickly pale. Her eyelids were drooping. She was stumbling as she walked.

He saw that she was exhausted. And only then did he realize how exhausted he was himself.

How long had they been following the stream? He could barely remember the last part of the journey. It was as if he had been walking in a dream.

“Just a little farther,” he called to Sonia and waited for her to catch up to him. She blinked, swaying like someone just woken from sleep.

Fearing she would fall, Rye took her arm. She made no protest. Cautiously they crept together out of the trees and stopped, staring.

A humpbacked stone bridge spanned the stream ahead. A bare dirt track trailed away on either side of the bridge, disappearing into the shadowy distance.

Beyond the track, there was open land divided here and there by straggling fences and dotted with small groups of trees. The land reared up into hills and sank into shallow valleys in a way Rye found disturbing and unnatural. Above the whole arched a vast, star-studded sky.

There were no houses to be seen. No shops or halls. No buildings at all. The only signs of human life were the fences, the bridge, and the road.

“This cannot be,” Rye said slowly.

Sonia’s eyes were huge in her pale, drawn face. Abruptly she pulled away from Rye, crouched beside the stream, and began splashing herself with water. When she stood up, her face, arms, and clothes were wet, and she no longer looked half-asleep.

“Where is the city?” she demanded. “And where is the sea? Surely we should be able to see it from here. The maps in all my books —”

“Mine, too,” said Rye.

A clammy coldness was creeping over him. He did not know what to believe. Either the Fellan had lied, and this land was not Dorne at all, or the map he had seen every day of his school life, the map upon which he had depended, was terribly, bizarrely, wrong.

It took only a moment for him to decide that he would rather trust the Fellan than the map. Why,
he had not even known the Fellan existed until he had seen them with his own eyes! He had always been taught that the Fell Zone was nothing but a safety barrier for Weld — a forbidden belt of land dreaded by the barbarians and filled with monsters.

If he had not known about the people of the Fell Zone, what else did he not know about the land beyond the Wall of Weld?

He felt suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. It was all he could do to stop himself sinking to the ground. If he had been alone, perhaps he would have done it. But Sonia was with him, and pride kept him upright. He was determined not to show weakness before her again.

Deciding to follow her example, he bent to the stream and splashed his face vigorously. The shock of the cold water made him gasp, but when he stood up, his head felt clearer.

“Still no skimmers,” Sonia said, scanning the sky. “Well, that seems to settle one question, at least. The skimmers do not menace Dorne as a whole. Only Weld.”

“Dirk was always sure of it,” said Rye. It was a relief to speak his brother’s name. It made him feel stronger, steadier on his feet.

“If Dirk could find Oltan, we can find it, too,” he went on. “It cannot be far away. And surely there will be signposts, now we are out of the Fell Zone.”

They moved farther along the stream, then left it and climbed up to the little stone bridge.

Tired as he was, Rye had been quite looking forward to standing on the bridge. The only bridges in Weld were those that spanned the brick trench, and these were forbidden to all but Wall workers. His pleasure was spoiled when he saw that one of the bridge’s inner walls was defaced by a string of roughly painted words.

“How could anyone — even barbarians — splash paint on fine stone like that?” Rye muttered.

“This reminds me of the scribbles on the skimmer notices at home,” said Sonia, gazing at the painted words with interest. “Oh, how those scribbles enraged the Warden!”

She smirked, clearly enjoying the memory. “Whenever the soldiers brought a damaged sign back to the Keep, he — the Warden — would lose his temper. Then he would order the notice to be burned. Burned in the courtyard, too, so everyone could see.”

Rye’s frown deepened. “This is not at all the same!
The gifting must cease
— it is nonsensical! To give a gift is a good thing, not a bad one.”

Sonia shrugged. “We do not know how things are done out here. For all we know, there may be a very good reason for — Oh!”

The sudden exclamation made Rye spin around in fright, but Sonia was looking excited rather than alarmed. She was pointing along the road.

“There!” she whispered. “Look there, Rye! There, in the field, just beyond that grove of trees! A house!”

Rye narrowed his eyes, peering down through the shadows. Slowly he made out a small, humped shape not too far from the road’s edge.

“If we knock, the owners will surely give us beds for the night,” Sonia said happily. “And in the morning, we can ask them the way to Oltan!”

Rye shook his head, marveling that she could allow her hopes to deceive her eyes and her mind so thoroughly.

“That is not a house, Sonia,” he said. “It is far too small and low, even for barbarians. At best, it is a shed for animals.”

“Oh,” the girl said in a small voice and gave a forced little laugh.

“But it is very lucky you spied it,” Rye hurried on, seeing that she felt foolish as well as disappointed, and wanting to make her feel better. “It is shelter — and better shelter for us than a house. In the land of the barbarians, it would be unwise to trust in the kindness of strangers.”

“Perhaps,” Sonia murmured, but looked a little happier.

They left the bridge and walked together down the road toward the rounded building. The field in
which it stood had once been separated from the road by a wooden fence, but now a whole section of the fence lay flat and trampled on the ground.

In Weld, it would have been unforgivable to enter another citizen’s property with no intention of asking permission. But Rye felt only a tiny twinge of unease as he stepped across the ruined fence and made for the shelter.

Tired to his bones, all he could think of was his need for rest, and it seemed that Sonia felt the same, for she followed him into the field without hesitation.

As they approached the shelter, Rye smelled the faint, familiar scent of goat droppings. There was another odor, too, stronger and sharper, which he did not recognize.

“This
is
a place for animals.” Sonia wrinkled her nose. “I hope there are none in there now.”

“If there were, they would be calling to us by this time,” said Rye. “Come on!”

With the girl trailing after him, he prowled around the shelter, looking for the entrance.

He found himself surprised and impressed. The shed was very sturdy — not at all like the ramshackle building he would have expected barbarians to throw together. It was neatly built of stone, like the bridge. The low roof was flat, made of hard gray sheets that shone like some sort of metal. At a distance, the roof had looked rounded because of the rocks that had been piled on top of the metal sheets to hold them in place.

“Perhaps they have skimmers here, after all,” he muttered. He glanced quickly at the sky but could see no movement there.

On the side of the shed farthest from the road, he found a strong wooden door bound with metal bands and fastened with an iron rod. Rye pulled the rod back, opened the door a little, and peered cautiously into the shelter. It was very dark and smelled strongly of goat, but as far as he could see, it was completely empty except for the layer of straw that covered the floor.

He pulled the door wider and noted a second metal bar fixed to the inside frame. “You can bar this door from the inside as well as from the outside,” he said in surprise. “It looks as if people do use this shelter sometimes. I wonder why —?”

“Rye …” Sonia said in a tense, level voice more chilling than any scream. “Behind you!”

Rye spun around. And there, lumbering toward them from the shadows of the nearby knot of trees, was a shaggy beast with tiny, hungry red eyes and a single white horn that jutted up from its muzzle like a curved sword.

It was big — bigger than a goat by far — bigger than six goats put together! As Rye stared, aghast, the creature grunted and pawed the ground. Its slavering jaws parted, showing blunt, yellow teeth in what looked horribly like a mocking grin. Then it lowered its head and charged.