The Golden Door

There was only one thing to do. Rye and Sonia flung themselves into the darkness of the hut, dragging the door shut behind them.

Crawling on his hands and knees, Rye fumbled for the iron bar, found it, and thrust it across the door with all his strength. A split second later, there was a thunderous crash as the charging beast slammed into the wood. The door shuddered, but held.

The beast outside bellowed its rage. Again it attacked the door. And again.

“We are safe here,” Rye shouted, reaching out for Sonia in the dark. “We are safe. The door must have been made for this. It will not break.”

“No,” she agreed through chattering teeth. “It will not break.”

But as crash after frightful crash shook the door, it seemed impossible that it would not give way. Rye and Sonia clung together, listening to the squealing bellows of the beast. Both of them kept repeating that the door was strong, that the door would hold. Both of them secretly waited in terror for the sounds of splintering wood and tearing metal that would signal the end.

And then, suddenly, the attacks on the door ceased. Rye held his breath, his ears ringing in the silence. Then, through the walls, he heard scrabbling, scraping, and scuffling as the beast went slowly around the hut, nudging at the stones, looking for a weakness.

It circled the shelter once, twice, snorting and grumbling. Then, at last, he could hear it no more.

“It has gone,” Sonia breathed. With a sigh of relief, she slumped against the wall.

“It may not have gone far,” Rye said grimly. “We can only hope it finds other prey soon so it will forget about us. I do not like the idea of being trapped for more than a night in this smelly goat house.”

“Do not call it names,” Sonia joked feebly. “This shelter saved us. Finding it was a great piece of good fortune.”

It seemed more like a great piece of bad fortune to Rye. He was fairly sure that the horned beast kept watch on the hut because the hut often housed the goats it liked to eat. If he and Sonia had never come near the place, they might never have been attacked.

“It was the Fellan charm that brought us luck, no doubt,” Sonia went on. “The nine-powers charm.”

Rye had forgotten all about the charm. He put his hand up to the little bag hanging around his neck. His fingers tingled, and he snatched them away again.

It suddenly came to him that perhaps the charm had brought him bad luck because it was not rightfully his.

He seemed to see his mother and Dirk nodding seriously. He seemed to hear Sholto scoffing at the very idea.

He lifted the cord over his head. He slipped his thumb and two first fingers into the little bag and began to feel the objects jumbled inside it.

Something soft — a feather, he was sure of it. Something twisted in paper, like a pill or a sweet. Something hard and knobbly …

And suddenly, the tiny bag lit up like a lantern.

Rye yelled in shock and pulled his fingers out of the bag. The light went out.

“Oh!” Sonia cried in excitement. “A light! A magic light! Make it shine again!”

Not sure he was doing the wisest thing but far too curious not to try, Rye pushed his fingers back into the bag. Cautiously he groped for the knobbly object he had been holding when the light went on.

The moment he found it and grasped it between finger and thumb, the light appeared once more. Carefully, Rye drew the object out and held it up.

It was a crystal, no bigger than a honey bush berry, but shining more brightly than a lantern a hundred times its size. Now that it was out of the bag, the light that beamed from it was strong enough to flood every corner of the hut.

It was strong enough to show Rye that he had been right. He and Sonia were not the first people to have taken shelter in the goat house.

Words had been scratched on many of the stones of the back wall. The scratches were new, sharp and clear, and every message was the same.

“Wonderful!” Rye heard Sonia sigh. He looked around and saw that she was gazing at the shining crystal in awe.

“Is it hot, Rye?” she asked eagerly.

Rye shook his head. He did not know what to think or how to feel. He could not share Sonia’s uncomplicated delight. The crystal was wonderful, but it was frightening, too. No thing so small should be so powerful. No ordinary boy of Weld should own it.

He looked down at the little bag.

Nine powers, the Fellan Edelle had said. Nine powers to aid you in your quest.

All the guilt that had plagued Rye in the pool clearing came rushing back. He glanced again at the despairing words scratched on the back wall of the shed. Sonia had not noticed them, and he was glad of it. He wished he had never seen them himself.

Something was going to happen on Midsummer Eve. Something terrible, of which the barbarians themselves were afraid.

Edelle had known of it. That was why she had whispered to him, urging him to make haste.

The light crystal and whatever other wonders the little bag contained had been intended for someone who was going to try to stop the dread happening.

And here they were with him.

“I should not have taken this,” he muttered, gingerly prodding the bag with a fingertip. “I might just as well have stolen it.”

“What in Weld do you mean?” Sonia exclaimed. “The Fellan wanted you to have it.”

“They were wrong.” Rye shook his head. “I cannot keep it. It is too important. I must return it, and explain —”

“Return it?” Sonia exploded, sitting bolt upright. “Go back into the Fell Zone, when it has just taken us so long to get out?”

Rye set his lips stubbornly. He told himself that he had to do what was right, whatever the cost.

Sonia was eyeing him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “Rye, do you want to find your brother or not?” she demanded.

Rye glared at her.

“Then behave as if you do!” she snapped. “Thank the Wall that magic has fallen into your hands, because in the days to come, you will certainly need it!”

It was like being dashed with icy water, full in the face. Shocked and sobered, Rye stared at the blazing crystal in his hand. He looked down at the little bag on his lap and thought of all the other amazing powers it might contain. Things, perhaps, that would help him find Dirk — save Dirk, who was in danger.

Was the unknown barbarian who had scratched the pleas on the back wall of the shelter more important to him than Dirk? Was his own honor more important to him than Dirk?

Rye knew that they were not. A cold, hard determination slid like a shield between his conscience and his need.

“Hold this,” he said, thrusting the crystal at Sonia and picking up the little bag. “I will see what else is here.”

But the instant the crystal left his fingers, its light went out. It shone again only when Rye took it back. In the end, he was forced to keep hold of it in one hand and search the bag with the other.

He began with his heart beating fast, but gradually puzzled disappointment took the place of excitement. The things remaining in the bag seemed very ordinary compared to the light crystal. He had expected wonders, but nothing astonishing happened as he held each object up before placing it on his knee with the others.

When he had finished, he and Sonia gazed at the motley collection in silence.

A red feather, slightly ragged around the edges. A shabby ring made of tightly braided gray threads. A tiny gold key. A little brown ball that looked like some sort of nut. A curiously patterned snail shell. The twist of waxed paper, which by its smell seemed to contain a stale honey sweet.

To Rye, the items looked like nothing more than the sorts of interesting but rubbishy treasures he used to collect in his pockets when he was young.

Telling himself that this could not be true, that any objects packed in a bag with the light crystal could not possibly be ordinary, he picked up the ring and slid it on. He waited self-consciously for something to happen — for Sonia to cry out that he had become invisible, for example, or for a feeling of superhuman strength to flow through him.

But he could feel no difference in himself, and the ring did nothing at all.

“All these things are magic,” Sonia murmured beside him. “I am sure they are. But what do they do?”

“We may never know, if they only show their powers when they are needed, as the light crystal did,” Rye said lightly, trying to hide how crestfallen he felt. “That is the trouble with stolen magic, I daresay.”

Sonia put her head on one side.

“You have found only seven things so far, counting the crystal,” she pointed out. “Did the Fellan not tell you there were nine powers in all?”

Rye put his fingers back into the little bag and felt something small and flat wedged into one of the corners. He eased it out carefully.

It was a transparent disc, thin as paper and not much bigger than his thumbnail. As he held it up, it shone blue and green in the light.

“What is it?” Sonia leaned closer.

Rye shrugged uneasily. The strange disc had done nothing, but as he looked at its glimmering surface, a deep trembling began in the pit of his stomach.

“That still only makes eight,” Sonia said. “There must be something else. Look again!”

Rye shook his head. “There is nothing else.”

He pushed the disc back into the bag and instantly felt better.

“We will think about it again in the morning,” he said, scooping up all the other objects on his knee and returning them to the bag, too. “We should try to get some sleep. I only wish I still had that box of supplies I was given. I am starving.”

Sonia grinned. “I can do better than stale volunteers’ food.”

She untied the bag she carried at her waist and rummaged inside it.

“Here!” she said, pulling out some little bundles wrapped in red cloth. “I have dried bell tree fruit and hoji nuts. I have cheese and honey. I have rice pastries, rolls, and sweet cakes. And a flask of amber tea.”

She met Rye’s startled gaze defiantly. “Yes, I stole them from the Keep kitchens. But will you reject them for that?”

Rye laughed and shook his head.

Gratefully they ate and drank. Then, yawning, they settled themselves for sleep. Rye put the light crystal back into the little drawstring bag, and once again, they were plunged into darkness.

Rye lay back on the straw, finding that despite everything he felt strangely content. His stomach was full. There was silence outside. Cool air blew softly through the tiny gaps between the stones of the walls.

“Ah,” he heard Sonia sigh. “How good it is to feel fresh night air! In Weld now, we would be sweltering in our beds.”

Sweltering and listening in dread to the skimmers, Rye added silently. He thought of his mother in the Keep — sad and alone, but safe at least.

“Yet here it is warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough to sleep,” Sonia was going on drowsily. “Who would guess it was almost Midsummer Eve?”

Rye stared up into darkness. Words scratched on stone seemed to dance in front of his stinging eyes.