The Third Door

20 - The Pool

Farr did not turn, but neither did he make an angry reply. He remained silent, waiting. Rye felt his mouth grow dry. What he had to say was so important, and time was so short, that he hardly knew how to begin. If only he could speak as persuasively as Dirk—or as Farr himself!

Well, there is no point in crying after things I cannot have, he thought. All I can do is to keep the story as simple as possible and trust Farr to recognise the truth when he hears it.

‘Attacking the Fellan will not help your people—or our people either, Chieftain Farr,’ he began. ‘The Fellan are not acting alone. Olt is dead. His death has allowed his brother, the evil sorcerer they call the Lord of Shadows, to invade the east of Dorne and take control of the exiles’ settlement there. The Lord of Shadows is using jell to breed skimmers—slays—that can attack by day as well as by night.’

The muscles in the back of Farr’s neck twitched as if he was about to speak, but he seemed to think better of it, and remained silent.

Wishing he could see the man’s face, Rye made himself go on.

‘You will never defeat the Lord of Shadows by force of arms. You need powerful magic on your side. You need the Fellan! They are our only chance, but if you attack them tomorrow, you yourself will have broken the treaty, and the chance will be lost forever.’

As he spoke, the thought of the pipeline flitted across his mind. He knew now that the pipe and the tubing attached to it were not to be used to deliver skimmers to Weld. What, then, was their purpose? He longed to ask, but did not dare. The question might well convince Farr that he was a Fellan spy after all.

‘I see,’ Farr said tonelessly. ‘You advise me to cancel the attack, Keelin, defying my council and acting against the will of my people. And then what?’

‘Then you come back into the Fell Zone with me, we meet the Fellan face to face, and we confront them with this!’ Rye pointed to the disc. ‘When it is before their eyes, they will be forced to accept that they are still bound by their pledge. They will have no choice but to join with us and help us to defeat the enemy.’

For a long moment Farr did not move, and as the silence lengthened, Rye became aware that the forest, too, had become very still. There was not a sound except the rushing of the stream. His skin prickled.

Why have you returned, Rye of Weld? You are not wanted here!

Leave him be! He is the one! He will do what he must.

The Fellan voices hissed in Rye’s mind. They were coming from somewhere upstream, he was sure of it. He glanced at Sonia, but she had felt nothing, it seemed. She was watching Farr’s rigid back, her eyes very grave.

Then, abruptly, Farr turned to face them.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll do as you ask, with one small change in the order of things. We’ve the whole night ahead of us. Take me to the Fellan now! We’ll show them the charm and see what they make of it. If they convince me they’ll move to my side, I’ll cancel the attack. Not before.’

We have nothing to say to the human who wishes to make war on us, just as we had nothing to say to the six who came before him only to die in the nets of Fell dragons. Remove him from our place, Rye of Weld!

Leave him be! Trust! He carries the Sign.

We have trusted too long!

This time the whispers pierced Rye’s mind like arrows. Tears of pain sprang into his eyes. He bowed his head, fighting not to let Farr see what he was feeling.

You will speak to the chieftain! he told the Fellan furiously. By this token, you must! He wiped his eyes, snatched the disc from the casket and held it high. The charm flashed in the light of the crystal and the words on the rippling surface seemed to writhe. The whispering voices fell silent.

‘Well?’ Farr demanded.

‘I will lead you to them,’ Rye replied. ‘Take hold of my shoulder, and you will be safe from harm.’

Rye, beware! Sonia’s message was sharp with fear and warning.

There is nothing else to be done, Rye answered briefly.

He cast the gold casket aside and slid the disc into his pocket. Then he drew the bell tree stick from his belt, and with it and the light crystal held in front of him, led the way upstream.

They walked in silence, the stream rushing away beside them. Once before, Rye and Sonia had followed a Fell Zone stream, but this time the experience was very different. This time the water was no babbling companion, travelling in the same direction they were. This time they were walking upstream instead of down, and though they were on dry land their steps dragged as if they were wading against a strong, invisible tide.

And this time there were no stealthy rustlings in the undergrowth that lined the stream banks, and no unseen creatures howled and screeched. The stillness was unearthly. It was as if the whole of the forbidden forest was waiting—and waiting in dread.

It was like walking in a dream. The light of the crystal was like a bubble that enclosed them. The rushing of the stream filled Rye’s mind, drowning thought, drowning even fear.

And suddenly the sense of being in a dream was overwhelming. For without warning the stream vanished under a shelf of rock, and Rye found himself entering a mossy clearing with a small, dark pool in its centre.

How can this be?

Rye felt Sonia’s shock echo his own. He stood stock still, gazing around in confusion and fear. How could it be that they had arrived at the same place where they had first met the Fellan, beyond the golden Door?

Then, very slowly, Rye saw that there were differences between this clearing and the one where he had received the bag of powers. This clearing was a little smaller. The towering ferns that surrounded it were taller, their shaggy brown trunks were thicker, and their lacy fronds masked more of the starry sky. The moss underfoot was richer and greener—more like a velvet cushion than a carpet.

And the feeling … the feeling was very different. The Fellan beyond the golden Door had been wary, certainly, but they had wanted him to find them. The hidden beings who were watching him now resented his presence and wished him gone.

‘What is it?’ Farr muttered behind him, pressing forward. ‘Why have you—?’ He broke off so abruptly that Rye glanced quickly back at him. The chieftain’s strong face was beaded with sweat. He was bent forward, as if bracing himself against a gale.

‘They will not let him in,’ Sonia said.

Rye gritted his teeth in frustration. ‘Wait here at the edge, Chieftain Farr,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We will try to make them see reason.’

Farr nodded sullenly and stumbled a few steps back till he was no longer standing on the moss.

Reflecting grimly that the peace meeting had not begun well, Rye made himself walk with Sonia to the edge of the pool. The light of the crystal flooded the gleaming surface of the water.

And suddenly he knew, with a surge of exaltation, that he was exactly where he should be—where he should have been long ago. Here, in this clearing beyond the wooden Door, were the answers he had been seeking. The watching Fellan might not want him here, but something more ancient did.

He knelt by the pool, drew the disc from his pocket and held it high. As the disc’s surface rippled, the water rippled too.

‘What must I do?’ he asked quietly.

Instantly, the ripples in the pool formed themselves into words.

‘What does it mean?’ Sonia whispered. ‘Whose heart must we guard?’

Rye swallowed. ‘I think … this is the heart,’ he said. ‘The heart of Dorne. The Fell Zone.’

He looked over his shoulder. Farr was a dark shadow at the edge of the clearing. The chieftain was watching, no doubt, but he would not be able to see the words in the pool from where he stood.

And even if Farr could see them, they would not change his mind. To Farr, they would be nothing but an attempt by the Fellan to avoid attack without making any promises.

And perhaps that was all they were. Perhaps the feeling of rightness Rye had felt as he looked down into the pool was just another Fellan trick.

Rye turned back to the pool, disappointment sour in his stomach. The words had faded away. The water was mirror smooth again, and all he could see in it was the dim, mysterious reflection of his own face.

The floating image seemed to mock him. He could not bear it. On impulse he swept the bell tree stick through it, and with fierce satisfaction saw it vanish as the surface of the pool shivered into a thousand broken ripples.

The Sign. At last …

The words of the Fellan hissed in his mind like a gust of cool, tingling breath.

Then his heart gave a great thud. Pictures were forming in the broken water—the ghostly, moving images of three young men with flaming red hair.

The first man was tall, handsome and broad-shouldered. The second was slighter, with secretive eyes and a proud tilt to his head. The third, clearly the youngest, looked eager and loving.

Rye knew who they were. He knew it without a doubt. They were the three sorcerer brothers whose tale was told in the ancient book he carried beneath his shirt. Why had their images come here, to him?

The pictures in the water grew sharper. And now Rye could see every fold of the men’s rich cloaks, and every line on the three faces that were so alike and yet so different. He could see that the two older brothers were arguing violently, while the youngest stood silently by. And then, as he watched, the youngest slowly turned, raised a hand beseechingly and looked directly at him.

In panic Rye snatched the stick from the water. Instantly the pictures vanished.

Rye, what is happening?

Rye glanced at Sonia, met her frightened eyes. He realised that she had glimpsed the images in his mind but had seen nothing in the pool—nothing but ripples.

‘Pictures—in the water,’ he managed to say. ‘The three brothers.’

As he spoke, he shivered, remembering the gaze of the youngest brother. And yet … why was he afraid? There had been nothing unfriendly in those steady eyes, nothing threatening in that raised hand. There had only been appeal—mute, urgent appeal.

Plainly something was wanted of him. There was something he had to see—something he had to know.

He looked at the stick hanging, dripping, in his hand. Between the finger and thumb of the same hand he held the disc, the charm he had hoped would save them all.

But the charm had not called the images into the water. The stick had done that—the bell tree stick, so smooth, fitting his hand so well. He had carried it from home, carried it all this way. It had not been much of a weapon. But he had kept it with him anyway, and now he knew why.

We were given three signs by which we would know the one we awaited, the Fellan Edelle had said, when she had given him the bag of powers.

Three signs. The third and last had been that Rye could drink from the pool called Dann’s Mirror. But what of the other two? Rye had been so sure Edelle was mistaken, and the magic she was giving him was intended for someone else, that he had not bothered to think about what they might have been.

Now he did. And now, remembering some of the other things the Fellan beyond the golden Door had said, he felt he knew.

The first sign had been that he had brought magic with him—Sonia, in whose veins the blood of the Fellan ran so strongly. And the second had been that he carried a stick from a bell tree—the rare little tree that the Sorcerer Dann had loved and used as his emblem.

The stick was a symbol, and by it the Fellan had known him. The serpents of Oltan had known him by it, too, when he had held it high on the rock of sacrifice, the magic scale glimmering in the palm of his other hand. The beast at Fell End had recoiled from it. The gold and silver Doors had known it, and at its touch had opened to let him back into Weld.

‘Here,’ Rye said, thrusting the disc at Sonia. She took it in surprise but very gladly, her eyes lighting up as if reflecting the charm’s magic gleam. In her hand it shone more brilliantly than ever, its surface changing rapidly from blue to green, green to blue, and if it was burning her fingers she made no sign of it.

And Rye took a firmer grip on the bell tree stick and plunged it again into the pool.