Picking up the skirts of his robe, he whisked huffily from the room without a backward glance.
Tallus dashed his hat to the floor and stamped on it.
‘So now you know, spies!’ he raged. ‘Now you know what a buffoon your Warden is! Well, if he will not listen to me, others will! Tell him that or not, as you like!’
He snatched up his crumpled hat, grabbed the paper from the polished table and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
‘Well!’ Rye said shakily.
‘Make haste!’ Sonia urged, hurrying towards the fireplace. ‘Before anyone else comes!’
In moments they had wriggled up the chimney branch to the wider main stack, where Sonia’s knotted rope still dangled from the blackness above. Rye pushed back the magic hood and tucked it beneath his collar to protect it from the soot.
‘Was the old man right, do you think?’ Sonia asked, her voice muffled by the scarf she had pulled over her mouth and nose. ‘Would bright light scare off the skimmers?’
‘It makes sense,’ Dirk said.
‘If only the Warden had agreed to try it,’ Rye sighed. ‘Just in a small part of Weld at first, perhaps, and then—’
Sonia snorted. ‘He was never going to agree. For one thing, it would mean admitting he has been wrong for all these years.’
‘And for another, he is terrified of anything new,’ Dirk added bitterly.
Rye shook his head in the gloom. He knew that Tallus was not going to abandon his idea just because the Warden would not cooperate with him. Tallus would try to act alone. And the Warden, angry and frightened, would see that as rebellion.
‘There is going to be trouble,’ Dirk said, echoing his thoughts.
‘Perhaps there is,’ Sonia answered grimly. ‘But we cannot be worried about that now. Come on.’
Gripping the rope firmly, they began their downward journey.
Sonia moved quickly, with the ease of long practice. Dirk did almost as well. Rye gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the ache in his hands. When he heard dim clattering he realised he was moving past the kitchen, but this time he did not even think of stopping to catch a glimpse of his mother. And as he sank lower, a sense of ancient mystery enfolded him, making it hard to breathe or even to think.
Sonia and Dirk were waiting impatiently when at last he crawled out of the fireplace into the dim, echoing space that was the Chamber of the Doors. Sonia’s face was taut with excitement as she grabbed his hand and turned him to face the three Doors.
On the left, the golden Door glowed against the rough stone of the wall. On the right stood the wooden Door, solid and strong. Between them, the silver Door gleamed coldly.
Rye made himself look at the strange patterns flowing across the silver surface. The longer he looked, the more he began to see, among the mysterious lines, the shapes of monstrous birds with long necks, cruel, curved beaks and vast, outspread wings.
His skin crawled. A cold tide of dread swept through him. Shuddering, he quickly raised his eyes to the rhyme carved in the stone above the Doors.
The final lines whispered in Rye’s mind like the soft, secret voices of the Fellan. He turned towards the wooden Door like a flower turning to face the sun. Barely conscious of what he was doing, he took a step forward, raising his hand.
‘No, Rye!’
Rye stopped, very startled, as Sonia’s voice cut through the feeling of longing that had almost overwhelmed him. He turned to look at her. There was an odd, strained expression on her face. Behind her, Dirk was looking aghast.
‘You cannot choose for yourself, Rye,’ Sonia said. ‘Remember your dream. If we are to find the skimmers we must follow Sholto through the silver Door.’
Rye glared at her. She returned his gaze with a steady stare of her own and abruptly his anger died, leaving confusion in its place.
‘I-I am sorry,’ he stammered. ‘The wooden Door seemed to draw me. I felt the lure the first day I was here, but this time it was much stronger. I cannot explain …’
Dirk looked confused, but Sonia’s face softened. ‘There is no need to explain,’ she said. ‘I felt it too.’
As Rye stared at her she smiled ruefully. ‘Perhaps one day you and I will be able to choose a Door for ourselves, Rye. When all this is over.’
‘Perhaps,’ Rye agreed, though he did not believe it. The skimmers and their evil master were at the end of this journey. Whether it ended in triumph or disaster for Rye, Dirk and Sonia, it was unlikely that any of them would face the Doors a third time.
‘You should use the hood, Rye,’ Sonia said, with a sudden return to briskness. ‘We have no idea what might be waiting for us outside.’
Rye pulled up the hood. Sonia took his arm, and he took Dirk’s. They moved to stand before the silver Door.
Rye reached out for the slender handle. The moment his fingers touched it, the Door began to open.
Again he saw a widening strip of blinding light. Again he felt an invisible power drawing him forward.
And again he was pulled off his feet, as the world of the silver Door dragged him in.
7 - The Pyramid
Rye felt something tickling his closed eyelid. Just for a moment he thought he was lying in the shade of the bell tree at home, and a falling leaf had drifted onto his face. Half smiling he put up his hand to brush the leaf off, and felt movement beneath his fingers.
He yelled and sat up, slapping at his eye. Wings whirred frantically, and he caught a brief glimpse of something streaking away into the air.
He felt for his hood and found that it was still in place. So the flying creature, whatever it was, could not have seen him. It must have sensed him—felt his warmth, perhaps.
Sonia was crawling to her knees beside him. She was staring around blankly. A tangle of sticks was caught in her scarf, just below her ear, but she seemed unaware of it.
Then the tangle moved. Rye’s stomach heaved as he realised that the sticks were legs, and at the same moment saw stiff, transparent wings, a head filled with glittering eyes, a needle-like stinger poised to strike …
Sonia screamed as he shouted and lunged at her. Again there was the whir of wings, but this time Rye saw the creature clearly as it sped away. It was shaped like the small, blood-sucking insects called whines that plagued the people of Weld in warm, damp weather. But it was huge—as big as his fist!
Pushing back his hood, he scrambled to his feet, pulling Sonia up with him. She was deathly pale. With one hand she clung to Rye, with the other she brushed feverishly at her neck as if to make absolutely sure that the monstrous insect was no longer there.
‘By the Wall, where are we?’ Dirk grunted, crawling to his feet behind them.
‘Wherever it is,’ Sonia said bleakly, ‘it is not Dorne.’
Very startled, Rye tore his eyes from her stricken face and for the first time registered his surroundings.
He saw a barren wasteland of rounded, weirdly patterned stones and gaping holes from which oozed a sickly yellow mist. Thick grey cloud hung low overhead like a brooding ceiling, and walls of fog rose on every side, obscuring whatever was beyond.
The place was utterly desolate. There was not a single green, growing thing. There was not a breath of wind. And there was no sound at all.
Instinctively Rye looked over his shoulder for the silver Door, but there was no sign of it—and no sign of the Wall of Weld either. He was not surprised, but still an iron hand seemed to clutch at his heart.
‘Of course this is Dorne!’ he retorted, more sharply than he had meant.
Sonia shook her head helplessly.
‘We must be on the eastern side of the island,’ said Dirk, bending to examine something at his feet. ‘We were told that the east was wild and barren. People fled here to escape from Olt, Faene says, but before that it was deserted. If this place is an example of one of its beauty spots, I can see why.’