Emily Rodda - The Golden Door

Faene’s face was a picture of wondering joy.

“FAENE!” she read. “GO TO FITZFEE.”

After that, Faene was as keen as everyone else to hurry on. But it was not because she wanted to reach the Fell Zone. It was because the FitzFee goat farm lay in the same direction.

“Why did I not think of FitzFee before?” she called to Dirk as they sped through the range of low hills beyond Fleet. “He was Nanion’s good friend. And he was the one who brought you to us, Dirk, barely alive after the bloodhog attack. If it had not been for him, we would never have met!”

She seemed to have no doubt that they would go to the farm — even stay there for a day or two. And plainly Dirk thought there would be no harm in the delay, if it pleased Faene.

Rye felt very differently. Sorry as he was for Faene and happy as he would be to see Magnus FitzFee again, a feeling of urgency was growing within him. With every step, the feeling became stronger. He had the sense that time was running out, and that every moment’s delay was dangerous.

Dangerous for Sholto. Dangerous for Weld itself.

Rye was sure that Sonia felt the same way. She kept shooting frowning looks in his direction as if she was willing him to speak. But how could he ask Faene to ignore the message that had meant so much to her?

So he just ran on, past green fields and tiny villages, trying not to think, refusing to meet Sonia’s eyes.

By the time the giant trees of the Fell Zone were looming ahead, however, his feeling of urgency had become almost unbearable. And as the companions turned to the left, where the Oltan road met the rutted track that ran beside the forest fringe, Sonia took matters into her own hands.

“The bridge that crosses the stream is ahead,” she shouted over the sound of the wind. “That is where we left the Fell Zone. So that is where we should enter it, to return to Weld. Do you agree, Dirk?”

“Oh yes,” Dirk answered stiffly, tightening his grip on Faene’s hand. “When the time comes.”

Sonia drew breath to reply. Rye slowed, pushed back the hood, and braced himself for an argument. And at that moment, a green cart drawn by an old brown horse rattled across the bridge and began trundling toward them.

“FitzFee!” Faene cried.

A stocky, child-sized figure stood up, waved wildly, and pulled on the horse’s reins.

In moments, the four companions were gathered around FitzFee, who had jumped from the cart and was laughing and hugging each of them in turn.

“Bless my heart, how good it is to see you!” the small man bellowed. “I can’t believe it! You saw the message, then, Faene? ‘Just in case,’ Nanion said to me. ‘In case by some miracle she is safe.’ And by all that’s wonderful, here you are! Now! What’s the meaning of all that smoke beyond the hills?”

So they told him. And it was pure joy to see light spread over his face as he realized Olt was gone for good.

“Alda always said it would happen one day!” he chortled. “Well — you hurry on to the farm and tell her how right she was. Ah, if only I could come with you! But I’ve got these dratted deliveries to make.”

He waved his hand at his load, which was covered with wet sacking to keep it cool. “It’s a pity, but butter, milk, and cheese won’t keep in this heat, and that’s all there is to it. I’ll join you as soon as I can, and then we’ll have a real celebration.”

“FitzFee, I am not sure —” Rye began.

“Wait till you see what Nanion left in our care for you, Faene!” FitzFee chattered on, climbing nimbly back into the cart. “ Four fine Fleet horses!”

Faene gasped and clasped her hands.

“Yes!” FitzFee beamed. “And you have a home with us, dear girl, for as long as you like — though I daresay you’ll be wanting a place of your own soon enough.” He chuckled and looked meaningfully at Dirk.

Faene hesitated, warm color rising in her cheeks. “Dirk has to go away again, very soon,” she murmured. “He and Rye — and Sonia, too — have something they have to do.”

“Oh, I daresay, I daresay,” said FitzFee, winking and tapping the side of his nose. “They want to carry the great news to El — ah, pardon — to the east, let’s say, themselves. Well, you have horses to lend now, Faene, my dear! That will make their journey much faster. Safer, too.”

His face grew serious. “And no more shortcuts through places no one in their senses would go, eh?” he muttered to Rye and Sonia, crossing his fingers and his wrists and jerking his head toward the Fell Zone.

Pretending not to notice the awkward silence that followed his warning, he picked up the horse’s reins again.

“We’ll be off, then,” he said. “See you back at the farm!”

He clicked his tongue to the old mare, and the wagon rattled away, leaving the four travelers alone.

Rye and Sonia looked at each other. Dirk looked at Faene. Her head was bowed. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

“Perhaps this makes a difference, Faene,” Dirk murmured. “You would have a safe home with FitzFee. And there are the horses. Perhaps you would rather stay….”

“And if I did, Dirk, would you come back for me?” Faene asked, without raising her head.

“I would try,” Dirk said in a level voice. “But there is a chance I may be … prevented.”

Indeed , Rye thought grimly. If the Warden has anything to say about it, you will.

Faene dipped into a pocket of her skirt and drew out a pencil and a water-stained notebook. She wrote for a moment, then tore out the page and handed it to Dirk.

Rye could see the note from where he stood. He read it, and a lump rose in his throat.

“Are you sure, Faene?” Dirk said huskily.

“I am sure.” Faene smiled at him, though tears were standing in her eyes. “I cannot risk losing you a second time, Dirk. And it is best this way — best not to go to the farm, I mean. They would ask too many questions we cannot answer.”

She and Dirk went to place the note, weighed down by a stone, in the middle of the bridge where FitzFee would be sure to see it on his return journey.

While their backs were turned, Rye felt in the bag of powers and drew out the little red feather. There would never be a better time to test his idea.

Up! he thought. And to his delighted relief, he felt his feet rise from the dusty road.

“Rye!” gasped Sonia, gaping up at him.

“I thought — if the horsehair ring helps me run, and the serpent scale helps me swim, why should the feather not help me fly?” Rye laughed uncertainly. He still could not quite believe it.

And later, when he, Sonia, Dirk, and Faene were all linked together and floating over the forbidden forest like leaves blown in the wind, he still had his doubts.

The feather made them lighter than air, certainly, but being weightless was not the same as flying like a bird. It was very hard to move in any particular direction.

Rye quickly found that the only way was to trail awkwardly through the treetops, catching hold of each tree as he reached it and using it to propel him on to the next.

Twigs kept brushing the concealing hood from his head, and after a while, he stopped trying to keep it on. He had to keep his mind focused on what he was doing. He had discovered that the moment his thoughts wandered, he would start to drift off course.

Clumsy as it was, their progress was swift. At first, Rye used the stream, glinting below him, as a guide. Then Sonia called out, pointing down, and through a gap in the leaves, he made out the narrow, winding path that he knew led up to the place where their journey had begun.