The Golden Door (2 page)

T
he following day was the day of rest in Weld, but Dirk was up and dressed before the waking bell. He told Lisbeth that he was going to the square to hear the latest news, but Rye was sure that his brother planned to meet his friends to discuss the Northwall riot. Perhaps they were hoping that the people of Southwall could also be roused to protest.

Sholto must have thought as Rye did, because as Dirk was leaving, he casually said that he would walk with him.

“I will come, too,” Rye said instantly.

He could see that Dirk and Sholto did not want his company, but he knew that they could not refuse to take him with them without raising Lisbeth’s suspicions.

The brothers left through the back garden, where the bees were already humming around the honey
hedge, and the bell tree, heavy with ripening fruit, basked in the early morning sun.

Keeping well to the right, as Weld citizens always did, they began walking briskly through the maze of short, straight streets that led to the square.

Every street was just wide enough to allow two goat carts to pass one another. Every street was closely lined with identical houses — small, mud-brick houses like Lisbeth’s house, and every other house in Weld.

At this early hour, most people were still busily unsealing their doors and windows, and checking the crops in their tiny back gardens for skimmer damage. Most looked tired and strained after a night of little sleep, but as was the Weld way, they looked up from their work and exchanged friendly greetings with the young men as they passed by.

They all knew and admired Dirk. They all knew that Sholto would one day be the Southwall healer. And they all bought honey and bell fruit preserves from Lisbeth in the market.

Two of Dirk’s friends, Joliffe and Crell, were just leaving Joliffe’s home when the brothers reached it. It seemed they, too, were going to the square. By the way Joliffe and Crell glanced disapprovingly at him, Rye could tell he had been right about a planned meeting.

He hung back a little, and after a while, as he had hoped, the other four half-forgot he was there, and began to talk freely. Sure enough, the talk was all about the Northwall riot.

“The Northwall people were quite right,” Joliffe muttered as they passed a skimmer poison trap and skirted the few dead skimmers lying in their path. “The Warden is a pompous fool. Why should we put up with him?”

“His family has governed Weld since ancient times,” Crell said anxiously. “Ever since —”

“Ever since the Sorcerer Dann died, leaving Weld’s care to his friend, the first Warden of Weld …” Dirk chanted in a mocking, singsong voice.

“… who was great in magic, and so on and so on,” Joliffe finished for him impatiently. “We all know the story, Crell, you ninny! We have heard it a thousand times. But what of it?”

“What of it indeed?” Dirk snorted. “The first Warden was only appointed caretaker of Weld, Crell —
caretaker
, not king. There was no reason at all for the title to be passed on from father to son as it has been. If a drop of magic blood runs in the present Warden’s veins, I am a — a —”

“A Weld goat?” Joliffe suggested, raising his eyebrows, and Crell and Dirk laughed.

“The present Warden has no sons,” Sholto put in quietly. “He only has a daughter.”

He shrugged as his companions stared at him.

“People are strange and set in their ways,” he said. “Of course there is no reason why the Warden should not be female. But once the father-to-son tradition has been broken, people may listen to us
when we call for change. If we bide our time, we may get what we want peacefully.”

“I never thought of that!” Crell exclaimed. He, at least, plainly found the idea of a peaceful solution very appealing.

Rye felt a rush of admiration for Sholto. Sholto was not easy and affectionate, like Dirk. He was sometimes impatient — even cold. Rye often suspected he preferred books to people. But he could be trusted to think things through, coolly and carefully.

Dirk shook his head. “You may be right, Sholto, but it would take too long. Weld needs change
now
if it is to survive, and the Warden has plenty of life in him yet.”

“Quite so,” said Joliffe with the trace of a sneer. “Fine plans for the future might suit those with their heads in the clouds, but we who are practical must deal with the present.”

Rye had noticed that Joliffe often made sly digs at Sholto. Perhaps, Rye thought, Joliffe was a little jealous of Dirk’s loyalty to his clever brother.

“Shh!” Crell hissed. “Soldiers!”

Sure enough, three figures in the crisp white tunics and red leggings worn by the soldiers of the Keep had rounded a corner just ahead and were marching toward them in single file. The heavy gold braid on the soldiers’ sleeves and shoulders glinted in the soft morning light. The white plumes on their helmets nodded and swayed.

Fancily dressed oafs …
Sholto’s contemptuous
words whispered in Rye’s mind, and for the first time in his life, he stared at Keep soldiers without respectful admiration.

“What business could soldiers have had in the square so early in the day?” Dirk muttered.

“They must have been expecting trouble,” said Joliffe, sounding gleeful.

Sholto shook his head. “If that were so, they would not have left so soon. And there would be more than three of them.”

Joliffe shot him an annoyed glance but said nothing.

The soldiers passed by, nodding politely, as Keep soldiers were trained to do to show they were no threat to law-abiding citizens.

Dirk, Sholto, Joliffe, and Crell returned the greetings casually. Rye muttered and ducked his head. Something unusual had happened; he was sure of it. He could feel the soldiers’ excitement — kept well under control but radiating from them like heat.

“Perhaps there was skimmer damage in the square overnight,” Crell said. “Maybe there have been more deaths!”

Everyone but Sholto crossed fingers and wrists.

But when they reached the square, they found that the soldiers’ errand had been something completely unexpected.

A large new notice had been fixed to the wall of the long, low meetinghouse that took up one side
of the square. A small knot of people stood before the notice, chattering excitedly. Dirk, Joliffe, Crell, and Sholto ran to look, with Rye hurrying behind them.

Rye gaped at the notice, his head reeling.

All his life he had believed that the Wall of
Weld was an unbroken circle, with no way in or out. He had never doubted it for a moment. It had been more than belief. It had been something he had
known
, as surely as he knew his own name. And now, suddenly …

“Ha!” Dirk breathed. “Sholto, do you see that? Do you see it?”

“I can read,” Sholto murmured. “So … old Tallus’s tale of the Sorcerer’s secret way through the Wall is true after all. Who would have believed it?”

Rye looked up at him and felt a chill.

Sholto looked quite calm — even slightly bored — but no one who knew him as well as Rye did could miss the fact that his dark, clever eyes were glowing as if lit by a flame from within.

Rye knew that Sholto was thinking of what he could learn beyond the Wall. He was imagining himself tracking the skimmers to their source in the Fell Zone, where he was sure they bred, and finding a way to destroy them.

The glow in Sholto’s eyes was the thirst for knowledge. And it was strong — strong enough to smother his natural caution.

Sholto is not yet eighteen
, Rye told himself feverishly.
I do not have to worry about him. He is too young to accept the Warden’s challenge.

But then he looked past Sholto to Dirk, and fear gripped his heart. Dirk, a head taller than Sholto and broader in the shoulders by far, was almost twenty.
And Dirk was punching the air, his face alive with excitement.

“At last, Joliffe!” Dirk cried, clapping his friend on the back. “At last, a chance to do something to help ourselves! By the Wall, I cannot believe it!”

“Dirk, no!” Rye burst out. “You must not go!”

“Are you mad, Rye?” snapped Joliffe. “How can we turn our backs on an offer like this? Do you not see the prize for success? Did you not read the sign?”

“Did
you
?” Rye retorted angrily. “Did you not see that each volunteer must leave the city alone? How can one man defeat the Enemy who is sending the skimmers? It would take an army!”

Joliffe snorted. “Dirk, Crell, and I will join up outside the Wall, never fear.”

“And as for an army, Rye,” Dirk put in, “well, for once, the Warden is in the right. In a quest such as this, a small band, moving stealthily, is better than an army. It can find out the Enemy’s secrets and weaknesses without raising the Enemy’s fears.”

His eyes were shining. “Even one man could do it, if he was brave and determined enough. Look what the Sorcerer Dann did in ancient times! He saved his followers from the barbarians single-handed.”

“But that was then!” Rye burst out. “This is now! And the Sorcerer Dann had magic to aid him! Powerful magic! You have no magic, Dirk.”

“None of us do,” Crell said dismally. “Magic is dead in Weld, or so my grandmother says.”

“Magic is dead in Weld because it never existed in the first place,” Sholto drawled. “When will you people accept that the old tales are just that — old tales, that have no foundation in truth? Dann’s so-called ‘magic powers’ were simply a mixture of quick wits and good sense, with a few ingenious inventions thrown in.”

“Inventions like your famous skimmer repellent, no doubt.” Joliffe smirked, nudging Crell in the ribs.

“No doubt,” Sholto said, unruffled. “Ignorant people often call things magic when they do not understand them.”

Joliffe decided to ignore him. He puffed out his chest and stretched out his arms to embrace Dirk and Crell.

“So, comrades! Tomorrow we go to the Keep to volunteer! Agreed?”

“Agreed!” Dirk and Crell both shouted, though it seemed to Rye that Crell looked uneasy.

“Excellent!” Joliffe declared, rubbing his hands. “Now, I see that the tavern has opened. Let us go and drink to our success!”

Dirk hesitated, glanced at his brothers, then shook his head. “It is a little early for me,” he said.

Joliffe laughed. “Oh, of course,” he jeered. “Sholto and Rye are too young to enter the tavern. But surely they can find their own way home?”

“It is a little early for me,” Dirk repeated with a smile. And seeing that he would not be persuaded,
Joliffe shrugged and made for the tavern himself, with Crell trotting by his side.

“Dirk, you cannot go beyond the Wall,” Rye whispered, the moment they were alone. “It is too dangerous! Think what Mother will say!”

Sholto looked disdainful. But Dirk ruffled his youngest brother’s hair affectionately.

“Of course I must go, Rye,” he said. “There is danger, yes, but nothing is more important than saving Weld — nothing! Besides, think what it will mean to us if I succeed!”

And think what it will mean to us if you never come back, Dirk
, Rye could not help retorting in his mind, though he did not speak the words aloud, and felt disloyal even thinking them.

Surely, if anyone could find and destroy the Enemy of Weld, Dirk could. His strength and courage made him a natural leader. He had been made a Foreman after only two years on the Wall and, young as he was, he was respected by his men. How many times had Rye heard his mother say that their father would have been proud to see how closely his eldest son had followed in his footsteps?

“Our home and our people would be safe!” Dirk was rushing on. “And in time I would be Warden!”

“On condition that you marry the present Warden’s daughter,” Sholto reminded him drily. “Oh, our Warden may be a coward, terrified of new ideas, and slow to act. But he is cunning.”

“What do you mean?” asked Rye. He was so troubled that he was finding it hard to think clearly.

Sholto laughed shortly. “Why, do you not see it? By offering his daughter’s hand in marriage to the hero who becomes his heir, the Warden has ensured that
his
descendants will continue to rule Weld!”

“I admit that the Warden’s daughter is the fly in the honey,” Dirk said ruefully. “I have no wish to marry someone I have never seen. But perhaps it would not be so bad. Perhaps the Warden’s daughter is kind, clever, and beautiful!”

“Perhaps she is spiteful, stupid, and ugly!” Sholto smirked. “What then?”

Dirk laughed. “Then I will say that I will become the heir but will not take the daughter! If I come home triumphant, the Warden will not dare to refuse me.”

Again he ruffled Rye’s hair, his broad, handsome face alive with hope.

“Imagine it, Rye! Imagine if I was Warden of Weld! Think of the good we could do! Think of the changes we could make! How often have we talked of it?”

Rye felt hot, treacherous tears burning behind his eyes. “But that was only …
talk
!” he cried. “I never thought it was
real
!”

Dirk’s hand dropped from Rye’s head onto his shoulder.

“Then you did not understand, Rye,” he said soberly. “It was very real. Mother knows this. She will understand that I must go.”