The Golden Door

Screams of terror burst from the line of prisoners. The seven Gifters turned and almost ran from the rock. Their boots clattered on the walkway as they made for the safety of the viewing platform.

So it is now or never, Rye thought grimly.

Sonia had made no sound, but her eyes had widened and darkened. She was staring at the sea, her face blank with dread.

“Sonia!” Rye hissed, clinging to the rock with one hand and unfastening the bag of grease from his belt with the other.

Sonia stiffened. She looked in the direction of Rye’s voice, and her shoulders sagged as she saw nothing. Clearly, she thought the voice had been in her own mind.

Rye slung the heavy bag onto the surface of the rock, pulled it wide open, and slid it over to the girl so that it pressed against her chained hands.

“Sonia, you cannot see me, but I am here!” he said rapidly. “There is no time to explain. Smear yourself well with this grease. Then pass the bag on. Keep it hidden. Tell the others!”

The moment he took his hand away, the bag became visible. With a muffled gasp, Sonia hunched forward, pushed her fingers into the foul-smelling grease, and began to smear her clothes wherever she could reach.

She disguised her actions well — very well. From behind, and even from the side, it must have looked merely as if the obstinate copper-head had at last given way to despair and was bowed and rocking in an agony of fear.

Rye hauled himself up onto the rock. It took all his strength to do it, with the heavy cutters dragging at his shoulders. If he had still been carrying the bag as well, he might not have managed it at all.

Lying facedown on the rock’s flooded surface, he tore the sling from his back and wrestled the cutters free. The ghostly shape of the cutters glimmered faintly in the weird sunset light, but the kneeling prisoners hid it from Olt and the Gifters. Rye could only hope that the people at the fence were too intent on watching the approaching serpents to notice it.

He hooked the blades of the cutters around the chain that fastened Sonia’s ankles to the iron ring. Using the rock to brace one of the cutter handles, he pressed down on the other handle with all his strength.

And the blades sliced through the iron like a knife slicing through butter. Elation thrilled through him.

“Sonia, the chain is cut,” he panted. “But do not move yet. Olt must have no warning. Stay till the last minute — till everyone is free, and it is too late for the Gifters to capture you again. I will give the signal.”

She gave a slight nod to show she had heard. Then she slumped toward the round-faced boy beside her, as if she were drawing close to him for comfort. She muttered in the boy’s ear, at the same time pushing the bag of grease toward him.

The boy started and turned to stare at her, his eyes glassy. Sonia muttered again, urgently. The boy plunged his hands into the grease and began clumsily to smear his knees, thighs, and chest.

Rye was already in front of him, cutting through his chain. As the freed length clanked onto the rock, the boy’s whole body jerked.

“Stay still!” Rye ordered. “Till I give the word.”

The boy made a strangled sound. He thrust the grease bag at the dark young woman who was next in line, making no effort to hide what he was doing.

“Spread this on your clothes!” he gabbled through chattering teeth. “Then pass it on. Keep it hidden. Don’t let them see. The copper-head says. The copper-head has conjured up a spirit to save us! But only if we do as she orders.”

“Serpent repellent!” the dark girl hissed. “I could smell it, but I thought I was dreaming!” She eagerly plunged her hands into the grease as Rye crawled past her, and the cutters did their work.

The powerful young man who was next in line was harder to free. Rye had to try twice before the chain fell away from the ring. And as he wrestled with the chain of the fifth prisoner, a thin, curly-haired boy, he realized with dismay that the cutters had been badly blunted. The curly-haired boy had smeared himself with repellent and fumbled the bag along to Faene D’Or long before the task was done.

“Stay where you are until I give the word,” Rye warned as at last the chain broke free.

The boy’s mouth opened, but he did not speak. He stared past Rye, blinking rapidly.

Rye glanced over his shoulder, and his blood ran cold. Close to shore, a wave was just breaking in a thunder of foam. The wave swelling behind that was a writhing mass of serpents.

A glittering silver head burst from the churning water, twisting into the air in an explosion of spray. Needle-sharp fangs glinted in the red light. A harsh, hooting sound rang out.

Rye looked back, straight into the terrified eyes of Faene. She was just turning from Dirk, plunging her hands back into the bag at her knees. She had smeared the repellent on Dirk before using it for herself.

Rye clamped the blades of the cutters around Faene’s chain, just above the iron ring, and pushed with all his might. The chain dented but did not break.

The crowd at the fence roared. The boy Rye had just freed was staggering to his feet.

“No!” Rye shouted, still struggling to cut through Faene’s chain. “Olt will see you! Stay where you are!”

The curly-haired boy took no notice. Wild with panic, he lurched from the rock and began to hobble up the walkway, the cut chain trailing behind him.

There was a cry from above. Olt staggered to his feet. He was tottering from his failing throne, his mouth a gaping black hole, his brow dark with dried blood.

“Stop him!” Olt shrieked, pointing to the boy on the walkway. “There must be seven of them! Seven more years of life! I must have them! I will have them! Stop him! Stun him!”

Bern darted to the top of the walkway, scorch in hand.

The scorch whined. A yellow beam hit the staggering boy full in the chest. He dropped like a stone and rolled back down the ramp, coming to a stop where it joined the rock.

“Why do you stand there, you fools?” cried Olt, gesturing wildly at the seven Gifters hovering uncertainly behind him. “Move the sacrifice back into place! See that the others are secure!”

The Gifters hesitated, their eyes on the heaving, writhing sea.

“Do it!” Olt shouted, his voice cracking. “Do as I say, or I will kill you all!”

“Jump!” Rye bellowed to Sonia and the others. “Down behind the rock! Use the walkway for cover! Get yourselves up beyond the waterline! Go! Go!”

There was a confusion of movement as the prisoners scrambled up. Struggling with the cutters, Rye could hear Olt’s screech of rage.

He could hear other things, too — a clashing, banging noise and voices bellowing defiance. The sounds seemed to be coming from the fence.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a riot at the section of fence that was nearest to the rock. The fence was rocking, and the metal net was bulging, as if it was being pushed by people determined to break through.

Rye caught his breath. Was that big, dark figure at the front of the crowd Hass?

He had no time to think about it. The next moment, a crash drowned all other sound, spray was thick in the air, and foaming water flooded the rock’s surface. Dimly, Rye realized that this was the last of the wave he had seen breaking. The serpents were in the next wave. The serpents were almost upon them.

“Leave me!” Faene screamed. “Whoever you are — leave me! Go to Dirk! Save Dirk!”

At that moment, Rye felt the chain give way.

“Jump down, Faene!” he gasped. “Behind the rock! Jump!”

When she hesitated, he pushed her, pushed her roughly. “For Dirk!” he shouted. “Do it for him! He would want it. You know he would! I beg you, go!”

With a sobbing cry, she obeyed him, crawling to the fortress side of the rock and disappearing over the edge.

And then, Olt’s frenzied commands and the crowd’s roars ringing in his ears, Rye turned to his brother. He hooked the blunted cutter blades around the chain that held Dirk captive. He hurled his whole weight onto the handles and pushed with all his might.

And again, the chain dented but did not break. Rye freed the cutters and tried for the second time.

“No, Faene!” Dirk mumbled, shaking his head and trying to push Rye away. “Save yourself!”

“Dirk, be still!” Rye shouted.

“Leave me, Faene!” Making a supreme effort, so heroic that it wrung Rye’s heart even as he yelled in frustration, Dirk knocked the cutters out of his brother’s grip.

Rye pushed back the hood of concealment. What did it matter if he was seen now? He seized Dirk’s bowed head between his hands and tilted it so that Dirk could see his face. The glazed eyes stared at him without understanding.

“Faene is not here!” Rye shouted. “Faene is safe! Dirk, look at me! It is Rye! Rye!”

Dirk’s brow wrinkled in bewilderment.

“Rye,” he said slowly. “Rye? But how —?”

Water thundered down upon the rock, beating on Rye’s back, sending him sprawling. In terror, he heard the clatter of the cutters as they were swept away.

And as the water began pouring back toward the sea, he found himself sliding with it.

His fingers scrabbled uselessly on the surface of the rock. The serpent scale could not help him now. The rushing water was not deep enough to swim in. It was nothing but a force too strong for him to resist. His feet, and then his legs, slithered over the rock’s edge.

Frantically he kicked the empty air. His ears were filled with the sound of rushing water, Olt’s squeals of fury, the roar of the crowd, and the hoots and hisses of serpents following the wave, eager to be the first to seize him.

Then, with a jerk, the terrible backward slide stopped. Someone had caught hold of one of his wrists. Someone was holding him fast as the water rushed past him. And as the torrent eased to a trickle, someone was pulling his arm, helping him to scramble back onto the rock’s surface.

His mind was full of Dirk. But it was not Dirk he saw when he shook the water from his eyes.

It was Sonia.

One foot thrust through the iron ring that had once secured Faene, chained hands still gripping Rye’s wrist, Sonia lay facedown and gasping on the rock. As Rye stared, trying to take in the fact that she had not jumped and run with the others, but had stayed to help him, Sonia raised her head.

Her nose was running. Water streamed from her hair, clothes, and face.

“Come away,” she shouted to Rye, scrambling up and pulling him up with her. “The Gifters are refusing to come near. The crowd is storming the fence. We have a chance!”

She saw him glance at Dirk, who was again slumped over, his head almost touching the rock.

“There is no more you can do!” she shrieked. “The cutters are gone! Rye, you must leave him!”

“I cannot leave him!” Rye cried in agony. “Sonia — he is Dirk! He is my brother! My brother!”

Sonia’s eyes widened. She glanced at the bowed figure of Dirk, her face twisted in dismay. Then, as she turned back to Rye, she screamed piercingly.

She was staring over Rye’s shoulder. He spun around.

The silver serpent loomed above them. Its jaws were gaping. Drops of pale gold venom dripped from its fangs and fell sizzling into the churning water. Its eyes were glittering like cold stars and fixed on Rye.

It was poised to strike, yet it did not strike.

The repellent is holding it back, Rye thought. It does not quite know what to make of me.

He knew this would not last, could not last. The serpent could see him plainly. The strong scent of kobb was making it wary, but the moment it decided Rye was merely prey, there would be no more hesitation. He had seconds to decide what to do.

It was not difficult. At that moment, it seemed to him that there was only one decision he could make.

Slowly, he pushed his foot through the iron ring that Sonia had just kicked off, bracing himself against the waves. At the same time, he slid the bell tree stick from his belt and raised it high. He lifted his other hand, too, fingers spread, making himself as large as he could.

The silver beast recoiled, very slightly. Yes, Rye thought with grim satisfaction. This is not how prey behaves, is it, serpent? Prey tries to escape you. It does not stand and stare. Be careful. Take your time….

“Sonia,” he said in a low voice. “Go now! Slowly — very slowly. While it is watching me.”

“But you —” Sonia gasped.

“I cannot escape,” Rye said, his lips barely moving. “It will strike at once if I try. But if I can just hold it like this till the sun has set — keep it from taking Dirk or that boy on the walkway just till then, the Gifting will fail. Olt will not be renewed, and Dorne will be free of him. That is something I can do, at least.”

And you will be safe, Sonia, he thought. You, and Faene. If you live and Olt dies, then Dirk’s death, and mine, will not have been in vain.

Briefly he thought of his mother, alone and grieving. He thought of his father, killed protecting Weld. He thought of Sholto, questing somewhere unknown, and Tallus the healer, solitary in his workroom. He sent them all a blessing. Then he straightened his shoulders and gripped the bell tree stick more firmly in his hand.

There was a rush in the water before the rock, and a blue-black serpent rose beside the silver one. The silver hissed warningly but did not take its eyes from Rye. Towering above him, it swayed slightly. The blue-black serpent drew back its head and seemed to freeze, its terrible jaws agape.

Behind them, other serpents were coming to the surface. The sea heaved with writhing bodies. Water showered from a dozen spiked heads of green, yellow, blue, and black as they rose against the scarlet sky and hung there, motionless as masks in some nightmarish puppet show.

It was as if they were in a trance. It was more — far more — than Rye had expected.

Is the repellent so very powerful? he thought hazily. Is it because I am refusing to run?

And as he stood there wondering, the sun, like a ball of liquid fire, began to melt into the blazing horizon.