Emily Rodda - The Golden Door

Before Rye could move, she sprang at him and seized his arm.

“Take me with you, Rye!” she hissed in his ear.

Astounded, Rye tried to push her away, but she clung to him like an attacking skimmer, her nails biting through the sleeve of his jacket.

“I will not hinder you, I swear!” she whispered. “Once we are on the other side of the Wall, I will go my way and you can go yours. Just take me through a Door — any Door you choose. I cannot do it alone. The Doors will open only for those who have touched the Sign of Dann, and I cannot get to the Sign. It is too well guarded.”

“But why do you want to go through the Wall?” Rye cried.

“That is my affair!” the girl panted. “Just make up your mind that I am going to do it. All the other volunteers refused me, but I will not let you do so. You may be my last chance!”

“No!” Rye gasped. “Get away!”

The girl gritted her teeth. “You must do as I say,” she insisted. “You will do as I say, or I will report you for signing a false Statement!”

“ What? ” Furious, Rye again tried to shake his attacker off. She merely tightened her grip and hung on. She was very much stronger than she looked.

“You swore that you were of age, but you are not!” she hissed. “I heard your mother talking to another worker in the kitchens. She said her son, Rye, was only sixteen, and had been sent to the Center. Then I saw you with the Warden, signing the Volunteer Statement. You have lied your way into the Chamber of the Doors!”

Rye remembered the fallen ash in the fireplace of the waiting room. He remembered the feeling of being watched.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted, struggling to free himself.

“I will tell!” the girl threatened. “You deceived the Warden. You signed a false oath. Your name will be disgraced! Your mother’s name will be disgraced! She will never be able to hold up her head again. She may even be turned out of the Keep to starve!”

“The Warden would not do that!” panted Rye.

“How do you know?” the girl spat. “Will you risk it?”

Rye knew he could not. Abruptly, he stopped struggling. Anger still raged within him, but now it was ice-cold instead of hot.

“You are mad,” he muttered.

The girl’s lip curled. “And you are a liar. A boy pretending to be a man. A boy armed with a stick, who dreams of becoming Warden of Weld!”

“I do not —” Rye began hotly, then broke off, biting his tongue. What did this odious girl’s taunts matter to him? If he was leaving Weld only to find his brothers, that was his concern, and his alone. He was not going to explain himself to her.

He turned quickly to face the Doors, dragging the girl with him. With satisfaction, he heard her catch her breath. So, now that she had what she thought she wanted, she was afraid. He was glad — very glad.

“I advise you to let me go,” he said coldly. “This is your last chance to save yourself.”

The girl said nothing but still gripped his arm as if afraid he would try to shake her off at the last moment. He put her out of his mind, only vaguely aware that she was keeping pace with him as he approached the Doors and surveyed them one by one.

Gold. Silver. Wood. Again, Rye’s gaze lingered on the last Door. He looked up at the words written above it in stone.

But I am not here to choose for myself, Rye thought, and felt a pang of regret as he turned away from the wooden Door.

He knew that Dirk and Sholto would not have felt the same as he did.

He knew without a doubt that Dirk would have chosen the golden Door — the Door fit for kings and heroes. And, almost certainly, Sholto would have chosen the silver Door — the elegant door of knowledge, puzzles, and secrets.

So if Rye was to do what he had set out to do, it was a choice between those two. And in fact, if his family was ever to be united again, there was no choice at all.

Dirk was the eldest brother. Dirk was a hero and a leader. Dirk had become the family’s protector and strength after his father’s death. If Dirk could be found and brought home, he would be able to save them all.

Rye stepped forward. As he stretched out his left hand toward the golden Door, he heard the orphan girl sigh.

He had almost forgotten she was there. And there was no time to think of her now. The next instant, his hand had closed on the vast gold doorknob, the door was creaking open to reveal a shining, colorless space, and he was being jerked forward, sucked off his feet, into emptiness.

When Rye came to himself, he at first thought he was dreaming. He was lying on his back, his bell tree stick still gripped in his hand. There was a strange, sharp smell in the air, and a whispering voice somewhere very near.

The first sign … do you see?

Rye’s eyes flew open. High above him, huge tree branches thick with rustling leaves were swaying like the flailing limbs of some great, shaggy beast. The sight was so unnatural, so terrifying, that at first Rye could not move a finger. Then a word Sholto had taught him came into his mind.

Wind.

Wind was a thing that existed beyond the Wall and in the skies above it. It was like the evening breezes that sometimes stirred the still air of Weld but much, much stronger. It was wind that sometimes blew dark rain clouds over Weld, then whisked them away again after the rain had fallen. The same wind beat on the unprotected coast of Dorne and drove the ships that sailed the Sea of Serpents.

It was wind that was making the treetops move.

And the trees were giants because their roots were not confined in clay pots like Weld trees, and their branches were not pruned to the proper size each year. They were wild trees, which had been allowed to grow and spread till they became monsters.

I am beyond the Wall , Rye thought. Cautiously he sat up, and the stick fell from his hand as he instinctively crossed his fingers and his wrists.

He could see great rocks that in Weld would be priceless treasure. He could see untidy drifts of overgrown bushes and the countless trunks of untamed trees. Fallen branches lay everywhere, the precious wood tangled with rampant vines, and covered in fungus, left to rot.

Dead leaves blanketed the ground. No one had raked them up to make compost that would help crops to grow. They just lay there, decaying where they had fallen, going to waste like the wood, feeding the monstrous trees.

There were no roads or paths. There were no signs giving directions or warning of dangers. Except for the rustling of the swaying treetops, there was no sound.

No sound of digging or hammering. No sound of cart wheels rumbling. No voices calling, singing, or chattering. No bells.

No human sounds at all. But Rye had a growing sense of hostile life silently watching, waiting….

Abruptly he twisted to look behind him. His stomach turned over.

The golden Door was not there. The Wall of Weld was not there.

Nothing was there but more towering rocks, more straggling bushes, more trees.

Sweat broke out on Rye’s forehead. His legs tingled with the urge to leap up and run, run wildly, searching for the Door.

Panic kills , he seemed to hear Dirk whispering in his ear. I have seen it so often, on the Wall. When disaster strikes, workers who keep their heads have a far better chance of survival than those who do not.