The Silver Door (2 page)

A
fter that, Faene was as keen as everyone else to hurry on. But it was not because she wanted to reach the Fell Zone. It was because the FitzFee goat farm lay in the same direction.

‘Why did I not think of FitzFee before?' she called to Dirk as they sped through the range of low hills beyond Fleet. ‘He was Nanion's good friend. And he was the one who brought you to us, Dirk, barely alive after the bloodhog attack. If it had not been for him, we would never have met!'

She seemed to have no doubt that they would go to the farm—even stay there for a day or two. And plainly Dirk thought there would be no harm in the delay, if it pleased Faene.

Rye felt very differently. Sorry as he was for Faene, and happy as he would be to see Magnus FitzFee again, a feeling of urgency was growing within him.
With every step the feeling became stronger. He had the sense that time was running out, and that every moment's delay was dangerous.

Dangerous for Sholto. Dangerous for Weld itself.

Rye was sure that Sonia felt the same way. She kept shooting frowning looks in his direction as if she was willing him to speak. But how could he ask Faene to ignore the message that had meant so much to her?

So he just ran on, past green fields and tiny villages, trying not to think, refusing to meet Sonia's eyes.

By the time the giant trees of the Fell Zone were looming ahead, however, his feeling of urgency had become almost unbearable. And as the companions turned to the left, where the Oltan road met the rutted track that ran beside the forest fringe, Sonia took matters into her own hands.

‘The bridge that crosses the stream is ahead,' she shouted over the sound of the wind. ‘That is where we left the Fell Zone. So that is where we should enter it, to return to Weld. Do you agree, Dirk?'

‘Oh, yes,' Dirk answered stiffly, tightening his grip on Faene's hand. ‘When the time comes.'

Sonia drew breath to reply. Rye slowed, pushed back the hood, and braced himself for an argument. And at that moment, a green cart drawn by an old brown horse rattled across the bridge and began trundling towards them.

‘FitzFee!' Faene cried.

A stocky, child-sized figure stood up, waved wildly, and pulled on the horse's reins.

In moments the four companions were gathered around FitzFee, who had jumped from the cart and was laughing and hugging each of them in turn.

‘Bless my heart, how good it is to see you!' the small man bellowed. ‘I can't believe it! You saw the message, then, Faene? “Just in case,” Nanion said to me. “In case by some miracle she is safe.” And by all that's wonderful, here you are! Now! What's the meaning of all that smoke beyond the hills?'

So they told him. And it was pure joy to see light spread over his face as he realised Olt was gone for good.

‘Alda always said it would happen one day!' he chortled. ‘Well—you hurry on to the farm and tell her how right she was. Ah, if only I could come with you! But I've got these dratted deliveries to make.'

He waved his hand at his load, which was covered with wet sacking to keep it cool. ‘It's a pity, but butter, milk and cheese won't keep in this heat, and that's all there is to it. I'll join you as soon as I can, and then we'll have a real celebration.'

‘FitzFee, I am not sure—' Rye began.

‘Wait till you see what Nanion left in our care for you, Faene!' FitzFee chattered on, climbing nimbly back into the cart.
‘Four
fine Fleet horses!'

Faene gasped and clasped her hands.

‘Yes!' FitzFee beamed. ‘And you have a home
with us, dear girl, for as long as you like—though I daresay you'll be wanting a place of your own soon enough.' He chuckled and looked meaningfully at Dirk.

Faene hesitated, warm colour rising in her cheeks. ‘Dirk has to go away again, very soon,' she murmured. ‘He and Rye—and Sonia, too—have something they have to do.'

‘Oh, I daresay, I daresay,' said FitzFee, winking and tapping the side of his nose. ‘They want to carry the great news to El—ah, pardon—to the east, let's say, themselves. Well, you have horses to lend now, Faene, my dear! That will make their journey much faster. Safer, too.'

His face grew serious. ‘And no more short cuts through places no one in their senses would go, eh?' he muttered to Rye and Sonia, crossing his fingers and his wrists and jerking his head towards the Fell Zone.

Pretending not to notice the awkward silence that followed his warning, he picked up the horse's reins again.

‘We'll be off then,' he said. ‘See you back at the farm!'

He clicked his tongue to the old mare and the wagon rattled away, leaving the four travellers alone.

Rye and Sonia looked at one another. Dirk looked at Faene. Her head was bowed. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

‘Perhaps this makes a difference, Faene,' Dirk
murmured. ‘You would have a safe home with FitzFee. And there are the horses. Perhaps you would rather stay …'

‘And if I did, Dirk, would you come back for me?' Faene asked, without raising her head.

‘I would try,' Dirk said in a level voice. ‘But there is a chance I may be … prevented.'

Indeed, Rye thought grimly. If the Warden has anything to say about it, you will.

Faene dipped into a pocket of her skirt and drew out a pencil and a water-stained notebook. She wrote for a moment then tore out the page and handed it to Dirk.

Rye could see the note from where he stood. He read it, and a lump rose in his throat.

‘Are you sure, Faene?' Dirk said huskily.

‘I am sure.' Faene smiled at him, though tears
were standing in her eyes. ‘I cannot risk losing you a second time, Dirk. And it is best this way—best not to go to the farm, I mean. They would ask too many questions we cannot answer.'

She and Dirk went to place the note, weighed down by a stone, in the middle of the bridge where FitzFee would be sure to see it on his return journey.

While their backs were turned, Rye felt in the bag of powers and drew out the little red feather. There would never be a better time to test his idea.

Up!
he thought. And to his delighted relief, he felt his feet rise from the dusty road.

‘Rye!' gasped Sonia, gaping up at him.

‘I thought—if the horsehair ring helps me run, and the serpent scale helps me swim, why should the feather not help me fly?' Rye laughed uncertainly. He still could not quite believe it.

And later, when he, Sonia, Dirk and Faene were all linked together and floating over the forbidden forest like leaves blown in the wind, he still had his doubts.

The feather made them lighter than air, certainly, but being weightless was not the same as flying like a bird. It was very hard to move in any particular direction.

Rye quickly found that the only way was to trail awkwardly through the treetops, catching hold of each tree as he reached it and using it to propel him on to the next.

Twigs kept brushing the concealing hood from his head, and after a while he stopped trying to keep it on. He had to keep his mind focused on what he was doing. He had discovered that the moment his thoughts wandered, he would start to drift off course.

Clumsy as it was, their progress was swift. At first Rye used the stream, glinting below him, as a guide. Then Sonia called out, pointing down, and through a gap in the leaves he made out the narrow, winding path that he knew led up to the place where their journey had begun.

Yet still he could see no sign of the Wall of Weld looming ahead. He told himself the Wall must be concealed by ancient magic. He forced himself not to think about what would happen if they could not find the golden Door by sunset.

Instead, he concentrated on following the path. Now and again he caught sight of a thick, slimy web sagging between two tree trunks, and knew a fell dragon must be lurking nearby, waiting for prey. He saw the shadowy shapes of other creatures, too, scuttling or sliding in the undergrowth. He had no idea what they were, but was heartily glad to be floating above them, however awkwardly, instead of hurrying fearfully past their hiding places.

There were no Fellan to be seen, but he knew they were below, and aware of him. Their voices were whispering at the edges of his mind. He refused to let the whispers trouble him—refused to try to make out
the words. He gripped the feather more tightly and kept his eyes on the path.

‘Rye, take us down!' Sonia said suddenly. ‘The scarf I left as a marker is below!'

‘It is not time to land yet!' Dirk protested. ‘The Wall is not in sight.'

But Rye had learned that Sonia's instincts were to be trusted in matters such as this. He forced himself to think of settling to earth and at last managed to half clamber, half drift down to the forest floor, with his companions trailing behind him.

He dropped knee-deep into the thick carpet of dead leaves he so well remembered. Pushing the feather back into the bag, he looked around warily. There were the countless trunks of giant trees. There were the great rocks, the dense undergrowth.

And there was Sonia's red scarf, still knotted to a straggly bush.

The back of Rye's neck prickled with the feeling that he was being watched. He pulled the bell tree stick from his belt. It was not much of a weapon, and he wished fervently that Dirk still carried the skimmer hook. He could see no fell dragons, but his mind was full of whispering voices.

The nine powers …

Edelle said too much. The treaty …

Have faith
.

Sonia darted to the red scarf and began to free it.

‘This is foolish,' Dirk growled, holding Faene
close to him. ‘You should have waited till the Door was in view.'

Sonia swung round, tying the scarf loosely around her neck. ‘The Door
is
in view!' she snapped. ‘Where are your eyes?'

She marched past Rye, towards a towering sheet of rock half shrouded by overgrown bushes. And suddenly, like a shape emerging from a mist, a shimmering golden Door became visible in the rock's craggy brown surface.

Dirk and Faene gaped in amazement for a split second, then ran to the place. Rye stayed where he was, staring at the Door. There was something different about it, but he could not think what it was till Sonia spoke.

‘There is no knob on this side,' she said in a strangely flat voice. ‘I had not noticed that before.'

‘It is to keep unwanted visitors out, I daresay,' said Dirk. ‘Stand aside.' He put his right hand to the glinting carved surface, and pushed.

Nothing happened. Cursing under his breath Dirk pushed again, this time with both hands and as hard as he could, but still the Door did not move.

‘Why does it not open?' Faene cried in panic.

‘There must be a trick to it,' Dirk panted, running his fingers rapidly over the carving, trying to find a secret trigger. ‘Or perhaps … yes, of course! I have been declared dead! The Door no longer recognises me!'

He looked over his shoulder. ‘Rye! Come and—'

His eyes widened in horror. He was staring beyond Rye, at something behind Rye's back.

Rye's stomach lurched. He looked round. Only a few paces away, a giant, mottled shape was peeling from the trunk of a tree. The fell dragon dropped to the ground and raised itself on its hind legs. Its dripping jaws opened, and it seemed to grin.

Only then, with the cries of Dirk, Sonia and Faene ringing in his ears, did Rye remember that he was not wearing the concealing hood. Quick as a thought, he reached up and pulled the silk over his head.

The monstrous lizard hesitated. Then it seemed to decide that a being who could vanish before its eyes was not worth pursuing. It dropped to all fours again and prowled towards Sonia, Dirk and Faene.

Rye lunged forward. All he could think of was reaching his companions, to share the hood with them. Never had he moved so fast. In a blink the bell tree stick was clanging musically on golden carving as his hands slammed against the Door.

And the Door moved. The Door moved beneath his hands. He heard a soft creaking sound …

‘It is opening!' he yelled. ‘Hold on to me!'

He felt hands grip him. He saw a long, widening strip of blinding white light. He heard the fell dragon bellow in baffled rage. Then he was jerked off his feet, and he, Sonia, Dirk and Faene were swept together through the Door.

T
hey were in the Chamber of the Doors. Rye knew that, even with his eyes screwed shut. The smells of ash and ancient rock were very familiar. His skin was prickling with old magic.

Safe
. Rye opened his eyes and gazed at the stone walls, the gaping fireplace, the dusty rock floor. The room looked smaller than he remembered. He felt his companions slipping away from him, but he could not move. For a moment he could do nothing but stand motionless, gripped by the memory of the last time he had been in this place.

It had only been a few days ago, but it seemed like weeks—months! He felt like a different person from the boy who had recklessly lied his way into this secret chamber in the foundations of the Keep of Weld.

Slowly he turned to look behind him.

There were the three magic Doors, side by side.
Magnificent gold, elegant silver, sturdy wood bound with brass.

Only a dead leaf on the floor showed that the golden Door had opened to let them in. No sound penetrated from the world outside.

Rye stared at the images carved into the Door's gleaming surface. On his first visit to the Chamber he had thought they were just elaborate decorations. Now he could see that they were pictures of things that actually existed in the land beyond the Wall. Bloodhogs. Fell dragons. Sea serpents …

He quickly turned away before his eyes could stray to the silver Door. He did not have to think about that yet. Not yet.

‘Rye!' Sonia was kneeling by the fireplace. He went to her, aware that Dirk and Faene were slowly following him.

Sonia pointed into the shadows at the back of the fireplace and, crouching, Rye saw the dangling end of a rope.

‘The Keep chimneys are a maze, but if you keep hold of the rope you will not get lost,' Sonia said briskly. ‘It will be a tight squeeze for Dirk, but I daresay he can manage it, and Faene too, if you use the feather to help them.'

‘You do not need help yourself, of course, Sonia?' Dirk enquired, trying but completely failing to hide his irritation.

‘Oh, no.' Sonia laughed. ‘I am used to travelling
by chimney, and I can climb like a clink.' Pulling the red scarf over her mouth and nose to protect them from soot, she began recklessly tearing strips from the bottom of her already ragged skirt to make masks for her companions.

‘But where will you take us, Sonia?' Faene asked anxiously. ‘If no one is to know—'

‘One person must know,' Sonia said, her voice muffled by the scarf.

‘What?' Dirk frowned. ‘Who must know?'

‘Let us just say that I have friends in high places,' Sonia replied. ‘One friend, at least. Do not worry. She can be trusted.'

Even with the feather making them weightless, the climb up the dark chimney was not easy for Rye, Faene and Dirk. Their elbows and knees scraped painfully against the stones as they half scrambled, half floated upward in an awkward chain.

Amid all his discomfort Rye found himself feeling glad that Sonia, moving nimbly ahead of them in the gloom, was showing that she really could climb like a clink. He had never doubted it, but he was sure Dirk had suspected it was an idle boast. Now perhaps Dirk would see that idle boasting was not Sonia's way.

As they climbed higher, it became clear why Sonia had called the Keep chimneys a maze. The chimney they were using was obviously the oldest and largest, but it had many offshoots leading to fireplaces
on other floors. By leaning into these offshoots the climber could hear what was happening in the rooms beyond the fireplaces.

And so it was that, reaching the place where the Keep kitchen chimney joined the main stack, Rye suddenly heard, over the clatter of dishes, his mother's voice.

‘I do not mind the task,' Lisbeth was saying. ‘She always thanks me very politely.'

‘By the Wall, and so she should!' another woman retorted. ‘After you have toiled up all those stairs with a heavy tray!'

Bracing his back against the chimney wall, hissing a warning to Faene that he had stopped, Rye fumbled for the light crystal, and pressed it against the blackened stones. A window appeared, and through it he saw his mother in the room below.

Lisbeth was standing at a table chopping vegetables. An elderly woman was working with her, and a third woman was washing dishes on the other side of the room.

Like the other kitchen workers, Lisbeth was wearing a white apron and a white cap that covered her hair completely. She had deep shadows under her eyes and looked so pale that at first Rye feared she was ill. Then he saw that the old woman was just as pale, and realised that he had grown used to seeing faces browned by a stronger sun than Weld's.

‘Well, I am very grateful you have taken over
carrying the trays, my dear, and you are good to make light of it,' the old woman said to Lisbeth. ‘I did it for years, but my poor knees would not have taken much more of it.'

The third woman turned from the washing up. ‘It is a wicked waste of time and effort, I say,' she said sharply. ‘Trays in her room three times a day indeed! If it is good enough for the Warden to eat in the dining room, why is it not good enough for his daughter?'

The old woman snorted. ‘If you had been here as long as I have, Bettina, you would know that the Warden likes his daughter to stay out of the way. The very sight of her makes him uncomfortable, they say, and he prefers other people not to see her either.'

‘What?' cried Lisbeth. ‘But why—?'

‘Well, she should have been a boy, shouldn't she?' the old woman said, frowning over her chopping board. ‘The Warden wanted a son who could take his place as leader of Weld. He has no use for a daughter.'

‘Poor child,' Lisbeth said in a low voice. And Rye, remembering the proud, closed face of the finely dressed young woman he had seen by chance on his first visit to the Keep, suddenly found that he was sharing his mother's pity for the Warden's daughter.

Bettina sniffed and went back to her washing up.

‘The girl's mother, rest her sweet soul, died when the child was only toddling,' Lisbeth's companion went on. ‘And the Warden could never make up his mind to
marry again, so there have been no more children.'

‘The Warden can never make up his mind to do anything,' grumbled the woman at the sink.

‘My sons used to say that,' Lisbeth murmured. ‘The two … who went beyond the Wall.'

She raised her hand to the bib of her apron. Rye guessed that the two flower badges she had been sent when Dirk and Sholto were officially declared lost were pinned to her dress beneath the crisp white cloth.

‘Do not grieve, my dear,' the old woman muttered to her. ‘At least you know that your youngest is safe in the Centre.'

‘Yes.' Lisbeth nodded, trying to smile. ‘We may not be together, but Rye at least is safe.'

Rye's heart seemed to twist in his chest.

‘Rye!' Dirk called from below. ‘Move on, I beg you! I am stifling!'

And Rye, realising that his brother had not heard their mother's voice, and knowing there was nothing to be done, pulled the crystal from the chimney wall and let the magic feather draw him on.

The next time he heard voices floating up through a chimney offshoot, he almost did not stop. Then a familiar name came to his ears and he halted abruptly.

‘Tallus, Warden,' a gruff voice repeated. ‘The Southwall healer. An elderly man, with a limp.'

‘Oh, yes. Tallus. And what does the old nuisance want this time?'

Rye would have known the Warden's thin, irritable tones anywhere. Quickly he felt for the light crystal again.

‘He says he must see you, sir,' the gruff voice said. ‘He claims to have made an important discovery about the skimmers.'

Rye pressed the crystal to the chimney wall. Again, it was as if a window had opened in the sooty stone.

He found himself looking down into a room he recognised. It was the waiting room where just a few days ago he had signed the statement all volunteers had to sign before going through the Wall.

He could see the tops of two heads by the polished table he so well remembered. One head was almost bald. It belonged, Rye was sure, to the officer who dealt with the volunteers. The other head, the Warden's, was engulfed in a large three-cornered red hat from which sprang a forest of nodding white plumes.

‘I cannot see anyone now, Jordan,' the Warden said fretfully. ‘I have two sympathy scrolls to sign, and must review the changing of the guard very soon. Then there are the evening protection spells to be seen to. And then it will be time for dinner. Tell the old busybody to go away. I will meet with him another day. Possibly. If I have the time.'

The bald man shook his head. ‘He says he will not leave the Keep until he has seen you, sir. He is sitting on the ground outside my office, telling his tale
to anyone who will listen. And people
are
listening to him, sir, unfortunately. Is it your wish that I have him removed by force?'

‘Force?
Ah … well, now, yes, perhaps …'

‘Only, he will not go quietly, sir, for sure,' Jordan went on. ‘And he being so old, and limping as well, it might not look good to the crowd.'

‘No indeed! By the Wall, what a dilemma!' The Warden wrung his pudgy little hands, then raised them to his hat as if to ensure that it was still securely in place. ‘Perhaps … ah …'

‘Perhaps I should offer him a meal and a bed for the night, and say you will see him in the morning, sir,' Jordan suggested smoothly.

‘Yes!' The Warden's plumes swayed madly as he nodded with obvious relief. ‘That will get him out of the public view for now, at least. See to it, Jordan. At once!'

Rye tucked away the crystal and moved on up the chimney, burning to tell Dirk and Sonia what he had seen.

What had brought Tallus to the Keep? Surely he was not going to try yet again to persuade the Warden to put Sholto's skimmer repellent into use throughout the city? That idea had been rejected several times already. The Warden flatly refused to admit that a repellent might work where his spells of protection did not.

No, thought Rye. It must be something else—
something Tallus has discovered since I saw him, too, for he said nothing of it to me.

At that moment he realised that he could no longer hear the faint sounds of Sonia climbing ahead. No doubt she had grown tired of waiting for him and had hurried on to warn her mysterious ‘friend in high places' that she was bringing visitors.

Rye raised the red feather above his head, thought of flying, and heard Faene and Dirk gasp as he shot upward, faster than ever before.

In no time at all he heard Sonia's voice calling him. There she was, a dark figure beckoning in the pale light that leaked into the chimney from yet another fireplace.

‘Here, Rye!' she called. ‘I have told her. She is waiting to meet you.'

Rye reached her and felt her hand touch his. With a low call of warning to Faene and Dirk he twisted, crouched, and followed Sonia through the fireplace, crawling clumsily into the room beyond.

He fell onto a soft hearthrug, and jumped to his feet, blinking in the sudden brightness. Paintings, tapestries and bookshelves lined the curved walls of the room. A huge, diamond-shaped window with hundreds of shining panes looked out on the pale Weld sky.

Rye realised with a shock that he was in the Keep tower. As his eyes adjusted to the light, as Faene and Dirk clambered out of the fireplace after him, filthy and
gasping, he saw a table on which lay an open drawing book, several fine brushes, and pots of coloured ink. He saw curtained doorways that no doubt led into other rooms. He saw a golden harp and a book of music on a stand.

And he saw, standing beside the harp, rigid with disapproval, a dark-haired, finely dressed young woman.

Rye's jaw dropped as he recognised her.

It was the Warden's daughter.