The Golden Door (22 page)

T
here was a howl from the viewing platform. Rye barely heard it. He barely heard the sound of feet stumbling down the walkway, or the tumult as a section of the metal net fence fell at last, its flags crushed into the sand.

He felt no fear, no curiosity. He stood like part of the rock, braced against the waves, facing the serpents and the setting sun.

And so he did not see what Sonia saw as she turned in terror toward the walkway. He did not see Olt staggering alone down to the rock, frantic with desperate rage.

Olt’s purple cloak, speckled with silver serpent scales, was flying in the wind. His furred hood had been blown back to reveal his bare, mottled skull. Red and black bodies lay twisted and burned on the
viewing platform behind him. The seven Gifters had paid dearly for their cowardice.

Bern alone had survived. Crouched behind the serpent throne, scorch in hand, he was peering down at the ghastly, stumbling skeleton on the walkway.

The sight was fearful. It made even the weather-beaten men and women who had stormed the fence and begun running to the rock stop short, sickened and terrified. Perhaps Hass had bullied them into agreeing with his plan, but none of them now regretted it. No one, at that moment, seeing Olt’s burning eyes, his outstretched, clutching hands, could have had a doubt of what was driving him to the rock.

It had nothing to do with Dorne’s safety. It had everything to do with his insatiable greed for life at any cost.

“Take them!” Olt screamed at the serpents, stabbing his finger at Sonia, Rye, and Dirk. “Take them now! I order you!”

The silver serpent shifted its chill gaze to the walkway. Olt reached the body of the stunned, curly-haired boy lying half on and half off the rock and kicked it savagely.

“Take them, you doltish beasts!” he raged. “I must live! Take the ones who are left! What are you waiting for? Do you, too, dare to defy —?”

And in one fluid movement, the silver serpent arched its body over the rock and snatched him up.

A single, chilling shriek rent the air. Blood
spattered down on the rock. Then the great serpent’s body flowed back over Rye’s head and into the sea like a stream of silver water. And where the tyrant had stood, there was nothing but a small scattering of silver scales.

“Now!” Hass’s deep voice roared from the shore. And suddenly dozens of foul-smelling barrels were being rolled into the sea beside the rock. Buckets of grease were being flung. Bulging hide bags were flying overhead to land, splashing, in the crashing waves.

And, panicked by the sudden, overwhelming stench of what must surely be not just one attacking kobb, but many, the serpents turned tail and streaked toward the slowly dimming horizon.

The fisher folk roared in triumph. Cheering people, laughing and crying with joy, began to pour through the ruined section of fence.

“Hold!”

The order rang out over the shore, harsh and dominating. The people stopped in their tracks.

Bern stepped from behind the rapidly decaying serpent throne. “Gifters, draw your weapons!” he commanded.

The Gifters higher on the walkway grinned and trained their scorches on the crowd.

The picture of arrogance, Bern seated himself on the throne and leaned forward, the better to survey the sea of shocked faces below him.

“Olt is dead!” he shouted, his narrow eyes raking the crowd. “I am your Chieftain now!”

No one spoke. Everyone except the grinning Gifters was looking up, at Bern.

Everyone could see the snarling head of the serpent throne slowly, silently, tilting downward. Everyone understood that the head was now too heavy to be supported by the rotting, snakelike body that Olt’s sorcery had preserved for so long. No one made the slightest sign or said a word.

“That is better!” jeered Bern. “And now —”

What he had been about to say, no one was ever to learn. For at that moment, the arching upper body of the preserved serpent gave way, the great silver head plunged down, and Bern fell beneath it, stone dead, two fangs buried deep in the back of his neck.

Rye, Sonia, Dirk, and Faene found refuge in Hass and Nell’s home that night. Outside, the streets seethed with celebrating people, and the sky glared scarlet as the tyrant’s fortress burned. Inside, all was peace.

“So we are rid not only of Olt but of his cursed Gifters as well,” Hass said with satisfaction, turning from the window and pulling the curtain back in place. “There are soldiers in plenty out there, rejoicing with all the rest. But I cannot see a single Gifter uniform anywhere.”

“Gifters with sense would have taken off their
uniforms,” Nell said shrewdly. “But I doubt there are many left in the city now, in any case. Most ran when they saw what happened to Bern.”

She winced at the memory.

“It was no more than he deserved,” said Hass as he followed her upstairs to help bring down bedding for the visitors.

“It could not have happened to a nicer fellow,” Sonia agreed with a fierce little grin.

Dirk glanced at her uneasily. He was not sure that he cared for Sonia very much. He preferred sweet, gentle girls, like Faene, his own dear Faene, who even now was by his side, her hand in his, her head resting on his shoulder.

Fleet had been abandoned, it seemed. Faene had told him the secret of the planned escape at last. By now, her people would be at sea, on their way to the Land of Dragons, and far beyond reach of the news that Olt was no more. It was a pity. If they had waited one more day …

Yet, Midsummer Eve had been their only chance to go in safety. They had taken that chance. And Faene had never intended to go with them. Faene wanted only to be with him.

Well, Dirk would take her home, to Weld, and see her settled there before going on with his search for the source of the skimmers. Faene would grieve when he left her again, but it was something he had to do, for the sake of their future. And she would be safe in the
Keep with his mother and Sonia, who for some reason she seemed to like, and Rye.

Looking over at his brother, he caught Sonia’s mocking eye. It gave him a little shock, as if she had read his mind.

An odd, uncomfortable girl. Yet by all accounts she had saved Rye’s life — and stayed with him on the rock, when she could have escaped. From what Dirk had seen, she and Rye seemed to trust each other completely. It was strange. And that was not all that was strange….

Dirk remembered little of what had happened on the rock. He had come to himself only after Olt’s death had released him from the enchantment that had bound him.

But he had seen Rye standing alone, hands upraised, holding back a sea of serpents. He knew that Rye — his little brother Rye — had saved Faene, saved him, saved them all.

The young people Dirk and his doomed band of rebels had tried to rescue from the pit were safe. Even the scorched curly-haired boy had recovered enough to smile as he was scooped up from the walkway and carried home by his rejoicing family. It was a miracle!

Hass, Faene, and Sonia had all supplied parts of the story. Rye himself, dazed with weariness, shaking with shock, weak with relief, had said very little. He had spoken to Dirk only of what had happened at home since Dirk left. The hero of the hour, he sat now
wrapped in a blanket and quietly sipping soup as he stared into the glowing coals of the fire.

Now and again, he looked at the palm of his hand and rubbed it thoughtfully, as if perhaps it was itchy or sore, though it looked perfectly normal and unmarked. Then he would touch the little brown bag that hung around his neck, as if to reassure himself that it was still where it ought to be.

Dirk wondered what his young brother was thinking about. At home, in the old days, he would certainly have asked. Here and now, it was different. A strange shyness gripped him at the thought of intruding on Rye’s silence.

At that moment, Rye looked up at him and smiled. And the smile was so familiar, so dearly familiar, that a lump rose in Dirk’s throat, and the feeling of awkwardness vanished.

“Does your hand pain you, Rye?” he asked quietly.

Rye shook his head. “Not now,” he said. “When first I was dry and the scale fell out, it did. But no longer.”

“Scale?” Dirk asked blankly.

“It had done its work,” said Rye, exchanging glances with Sonia. “It helped me get to you. Then it helped me hold the serpents back. I did not realize it at the time, but I have realized it since. They saw it, you see, when I held up my hand. It spoke to them, I think, like to like.”

Dirk stared at him, not knowing what to say to a brother who had saved his life but was now clearly wandering in his mind.

Rye smiled and yawned. “I am not making sense to you, I know,” he said. “I have so much to explain. I will tell you everything, Dirk — well, as much as I am able — on our way home tomorrow.”

Dirk sighed and gave it up.

“I did not find the source of the skimmers, Rye,” he said ruefully. “Olt was not the culprit. Evil as he was, he was concentrating only on keeping himself alive. No one in these parts has ever heard of skimmers. Perhaps Sholto has had better luck.”

“Perhaps.” Rye nodded sleepily. “We will go through the silver Door, and see.”

“We?” exclaimed Dirk. “But, Rye, I thought —”

“We,” Sonia put in firmly. “The three of us, or none of us.”

Rye shrugged at his brother’s horrified face.

“Believe me, Dirk,” he said, “it is better not to argue.”

And with that, for the moment, Dirk had to be content.

Turn the page for a sneak peek of
The Silver Door
, available April 2013!

T
he sorcerer Olt was dead. The island of Dorne was free of his tyranny at last. As the sun rose on Midsummer Day, Oltan city seethed with rejoicing people. Olt’s red banners lay trampled in the narrow streets. The dread stone fortress that for so long had glared over Oltan bay and out to the Sea of Serpents was a smoking ruin.

Olt had boasted that he would live forever, but Midsummer Eve had proved him wrong. Now, wild with relief and joy, most people were giving little thought to his other great boast — that his power threw a charmed circle around Dorne, protecting it from invasion by the Lord of Shadows in the west.

And Rye, the boy who had ended the tyrant’s reign of terror, was not thinking of Olt at all. Invisible beneath a magic hood that concealed him and everyone he touched, Rye was slipping quietly out of the smoke-filled
city. The three he had saved from a terrible death — his friend Sonia, his brother Dirk, and Dirk’s sweetheart, Faene of Fleet — were by his side. His mind was fixed on home.

As the sun climbed higher and the hours passed, some drinkers in the packed taverns of Oltan began to wonder why Olt’s conqueror had not yet appeared among them, to claim their thanks. Others thought they knew and, over brimming tankards, loudly shared their views with anyone who would listen.

The hero of Midsummer Eve, these wise ones said, was on his way back to the east coast of Dorne, to report the success of his mission. The east was wild and barren, but there, it was rumored, Olt’s exiled younger brother had established a stronghold seven years before. If a boy with blazing red hair and magic at his command had not come from the exiles’ camp, where had he come from?

So the wise ones said — with perfect confidence, too. They would have been astounded to learn that Rye and his companions were in fact moving swiftly toward Dorne’s center, sped by a charmed ring, their goal an ancient walled city deep within the forbidden Fell Zone. The people of Oltan had never heard of Weld. They did not dream that any such place existed. As far as they knew, the dark forest at Dorne’s heart sheltered only monstrous beasts and the strange, magic beings called Fellan, who were best left well alone.

Only the four who had fled the city at first light could have told them differently, and it was far too late for that. By late morning, Rye, Sonia, Dirk, and Faene were already halfway to the Fell Zone and entering the deserted town of Fleet.

Rye, Dirk, and Sonia were anxious to reach the Fell Zone well before nightfall, but they had broken their journey for Faene’s sake. Faene knew that her people had fled Dorne. She knew that her town had been abandoned. Still, she could not pass it without a glance. She wanted to visit her parents’ grave. She wanted to say good-bye.

Fleet was a sad place now. A message of farewell had been scrawled on the sign that had once welcomed visitors. The horse fields were deserted. The graceful houses with their tall chimneys were closed and shuttered. The Fleet clinks, the little creatures whose ancestors had long ago hollowed out mighty rocks to make those chimneys, chattered in empty fireplaces, wondering where the people, and the people’s tasty food scraps, had gone.

The courtyard garden in the Fleet guesthouse looked as peaceful as when Rye had first seen it. The bell tree in the center stretched its branches over Faene as she knelt by the long, flat stone that marked her parents’ resting place.

As Rye gazed at the tree, pictures of home crowded his mind. His mother tending her beehives.
His brother Dirk, home from work on the Wall, shouting a greeting as he swung through the garden gate. His other brother, Sholto, in the house, bent over his books after a long day helping Tallus the healer. Himself, the youngest, yawning over schoolwork in the shade of the bell tree that all his life had marked the passing of the seasons with its blossom, new leaves, golden fruit, bare brown branches …

That tree was gone — destroyed by the ravenous winged beasts called skimmers that flew over the Wall of Weld every night in summer, to hunt warm flesh.

Rye touched the sturdy stick he carried in his belt. It was all that remained of his family’s bell tree — all that remained of his old life.

His eyes stung. Looking hastily away from the tree, he caught a glimpse of the kneeling Faene and blinked back his tears. What was he thinking of, giving way to self-pity when Faene had lost so much?

There was no point in mourning his old, safe Weld life. Like the family bell tree, that life was gone — and gone for good, unless the skimmer attacks could be stopped.

For seven long summers, Weld had been a place of fear. Thousands of people and animals had died. Homes and crops had been destroyed. And the Warden of Weld had been exposed as the timid, stubborn leader he was. Only after there had been riots had he acted, challenging Weld’s heroes to go beyond the Wall and seek the Enemy who was sending the skimmers.

Hundreds of brave volunteers had answered the Warden’s call and left the city. None had returned. All had been declared dead — including Dirk and Sholto.

But I found Dirk
, Rye thought, glancing at his brother, whose eyes were fixed on Faene.
Now Dirk, Sonia, and I will find Sholto. And this time we will find the source of the skimmers as well.

He pushed away the doubts that had begun to shadow his mind whenever he thought of Sholto. Since leaving Weld, he had not dreamed of Sholto once. And it had been his vivid dreams of both his brothers that had convinced him they were alive, somewhere outside the Wall.

Sholto still lives
, Rye told himself fiercely.
Sholto is clever and as agile as Dirk is strong. It means nothing that I have not dreamed of him lately. My mind has been full of other things. So much has happened….

He raised his hand to the little brown bag hanging by its faded cord around his neck.

We were given this in trust for you
, the Fellan Edelle had said when she showed him the bag.
It contains nine powers to aid you in your quest.

Rye knew the Fellan had mistaken him for someone else, but by now, he felt no more than a tiny twinge of guilt for accepting the powers. Without them, he would never have been able to save Dirk, Sonia, and Faene. Fingering the bag, feeling the familiar tingling of the magic inside it, he thought about the powers he had discovered so far.

The crystal that gave light and also allowed him to see through solid objects. The horsehair ring for speed. The hood that made him invisible. The sea serpent scale that allowed him to swim in the roughest water …

Great powers, all of them — and only Rye could use them, though he could share them with anyone who touched him.

But what of the other charms in the bag — the red feather, the snail shell, the tiny golden key, the paper-wrapped sweet that smelled of honey? Rye still did not know what they could do. He had an idea about one of them, however, and if he was right …

“I wish you would tell me how you came by that sorcerer’s bag, Rye,” Dirk said quietly.

Rye jumped as his brother’s voice broke into his thoughts. Dirk had turned to look at him and was eyeing the brown bag uneasily.

“Why will you not tell me?” Dirk persisted. “Did you steal it?”

“Of course not!” Rye protested, feeling the heat rise into his face. “But I swore I would not tell how I came by it, and I cannot break my promise. It is like your being unable to tell Faene about Weld, Dirk, because of the volunteers’ oath of secrecy.”

Dirk frowned. It infuriated him that because of his oath to the Warden it had been left to Sonia to tell Faene about Weld, about the skimmers, about the three magic Doors — gold, silver, and wood — that were the only way through the Wall.

“I swore no oath,” Sonia had said. “And even if I had, it would not have stopped me telling you, Faene. After all, we are
taking
you to Weld! It is absurd not to
talk
about it. But Dirk and Rye are very law-abiding. People in Weld are, you will find. They like to follow rules. It is very tedious.”

Faene had smiled uncertainly. Her soft blue eyes were wide — and no wonder! Like the people of Oltan, Faene had thought that Dirk, Rye, and Sonia came from the exiles’ secret camp in the east. She had been prepared to follow Dirk there. Now she found that his home was an old, forgotten city that could only be reached by traveling through the forbidden forest she had feared all her life.

“But — why do you have to go back into Weld at all?” she had asked. “Why not just begin your search for Sholto and the skimmers from here?”

Dirk sighed. “I considered that. But I wished to see you settled safely in the Keep of Weld before I left you again, Faene. And Rye has persuaded me —”

“The Doors are
magic
, Faene,” Rye broke in as the young woman turned her reproachful blue gaze on him. “They could lead … anywhere. The golden Door led Dirk here. But I am certain that Sholto would have chosen the silver Door. So to be sure of picking up his trail, we must go through the silver Door ourselves. Do you see?”

Faene looked doubtful. She glanced at Sonia, who cheerfully proceeded to make things worse.

“Of course, we will have to keep our return
secret,” Sonia said. “I cannot imagine what the Warden would do if he heard we had brought a stranger through the Wall! He thinks you are all barbarians out here — and everyone else in Weld thinks so, too.”

She shrugged at Faene’s startled expression. “Of course, we know better now,” she went on. “But the Warden will not listen to us. And, more important, he would certainly forbid Rye and Dirk to leave Weld again. He is obsessed with safety and would not allow them to risk their lives a second time. So we will climb up the chimney from the Chamber of the Doors, and I will lead you to a safe hiding place.”

“Chimney?” Faene repeated blankly. Dirk scowled at Sonia, who grinned, but wisely said no more.

Faene had been very quiet ever since that conversation, and Dirk, Rye knew, feared that she was changing her mind about going to Weld. Rye suspected, too, that the nearer to the Fell Zone they came, the more Dirk wondered if he should be asking Faene to face its terrors. Dirk’s only weapon, the great skimmer hook he had brought from Weld, had been taken from him after his capture in Olt’s fortress. He had learned to trust Rye’s speed ring and concealing hood. But would they be enough to keep Faene safe?

Looking at his brother’s worried face now, Rye was tempted to tell him that the Fell Zone might not be the problem they feared. But as he hesitated, Faene stood up from the grave, Dirk went to meet her, and the moment passed.

It was just as well, Rye thought, following them from the courtyard with Sonia. He had not tested his idea. For all he knew, it was quite wrong. It might have been cruel to raise Dirk’s hopes.

As they left the guesthouse, Faene glanced around as if she was searching for something. But there was nothing out of place. Everything was clean and bare. Outside, the stream that ran by the road babbled and sang on its way to the coast. The sound seemed very loud in the silence.

Faene turned to Dirk, her eyes swimming with tears. “I thought they might have left a message for me,” she murmured. “Just in case I returned …”

Dirk put his arm around her. “They thought you were dead, Faene.”

She nodded and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

Rye turned quickly away and pretended to be interested in the scrawl on the welcome board.

Rye grimaced. The words barely made sense. The untidy writing, with its jumble of large and small letters, looked like the work of an overexcited child.

It was strange. Everything else in the deserted town had been left in perfect order. This sign was the only jarring note.

Something occurred to him. He looked at the words again, more closely. Then he laughed aloud.

Faene’s head jerked up. She stared at Rye in hurt confusion. “I am sorry,” she said rather stiffly, wiping her eyes. “I am being foolish, I know. But —”

“No, Faene!” Rye cried, stabbing his finger at the board. “Look! Nanion and the others did not forget you. They
did
leave you a message! But they disguised it! They must have felt they had to, for safety. They did not know Olt would die! Read the capital letters — just those!”

Faene blinked at the board.

“F-A-E-N-E …” Her jaw dropped.

Dirk whooped. Sonia exclaimed and clapped her hands.

Faene’s face was a picture of wondering joy.

“FAENE!” she read. “GO TO FITZFEE.”