Emily Rodda - The Golden Door

“There!” she whispered. “Look there, Rye! There, in the field, just beyond that grove of trees! A house!”

Rye narrowed his eyes, peering down through the shadows. Slowly he made out a small, humped shape not too far from the road’s edge.

“If we knock, the owners will surely give us beds for the night,” Sonia said happily. “And in the morning, we can ask them the way to Oltan!”

Rye shook his head, marveling that she could allow her hopes to deceive her eyes and her mind so thoroughly.

“That is not a house, Sonia,” he said. “It is far too small and low, even for barbarians. At best, it is a shed for animals.”

“Oh,” the girl said in a small voice and gave a forced little laugh.

“But it is very lucky you spied it,” Rye hurried on, seeing that she felt foolish as well as disappointed, and wanting to make her feel better. “It is shelter — and better shelter for us than a house. In the land of the barbarians, it would be unwise to trust in the kindness of strangers.”

“Perhaps,” Sonia murmured, but looked a little happier.

They left the bridge and walked together down the road toward the rounded building. The field in which it stood had once been separated from the road by a wooden fence, but now a whole section of the fence lay flat and trampled on the ground.

In Weld, it would have been unforgivable to enter another citizen’s property with no intention of asking permission. But Rye felt only a tiny twinge of unease as he stepped across the ruined fence and made for the shelter.

Tired to his bones, all he could think of was his need for rest, and it seemed that Sonia felt the same, for she followed him into the field without hesitation.

As they approached the shelter, Rye smelled the faint, familiar scent of goat droppings. There was another odor, too, stronger and sharper, which he did not recognize.

“This is a place for animals.” Sonia wrinkled her nose. “I hope there are none in there now.”

“If there were, they would be calling to us by this time,” said Rye. “Come on!”

With the girl trailing after him, he prowled around the shelter, looking for the entrance.

He found himself surprised and impressed. The shed was very sturdy — not at all like the ramshackle building he would have expected barbarians to throw together. It was neatly built of stone, like the bridge. The low roof was flat, made of hard gray sheets that shone like some sort of metal. At a distance, the roof had looked rounded because of the rocks that had been piled on top of the metal sheets to hold them in place.

“Perhaps they have skimmers here, after all,” he muttered. He glanced quickly at the sky but could see no movement there.

On the side of the shed farthest from the road, he found a strong wooden door bound with metal bands and fastened with an iron rod. Rye pulled the rod back, opened the door a little, and peered cautiously into the shelter. It was very dark and smelled strongly of goat, but as far as he could see, it was completely empty except for the layer of straw that covered the floor.

He pulled the door wider and noted a second metal bar fixed to the inside frame. “You can bar this door from the inside as well as from the outside,” he said in surprise. “It looks as if people do use this shelter sometimes. I wonder why —?”

“Rye …” Sonia said in a tense, level voice more chilling than any scream. “Behind you!”

Rye spun around. And there, lumbering toward them from the shadows of the nearby knot of trees, was a shaggy beast with tiny, hungry red eyes and a single white horn that jutted up from its muzzle like a curved sword.

It was big — bigger than a goat by far — bigger than six goats put together! As Rye stared, aghast, the creature grunted and pawed the ground. Its slavering jaws parted, showing blunt, yellow teeth in what looked horribly like a mocking grin. Then it lowered its head and charged.

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.