The Golden Door

Rye crept to the table, took the pen the Warden was holding out to him, and looked down at the paper.

Wondering if this document was what had made Crell discover that his ankle was injured, Rye set his lips and signed.

The Warden sighed, picked up the paper, blew on it to dry the ink, and put it carefully into the carved box, which seemed to contain many other signed papers exactly like it.

No doubt Dirk’s statement is in there, Rye thought. And Sholto’s.

“Very well, Rye,” the Warden said, closing the lid of the box. “Collect your belongings and follow me.”

He led the way to the curtain covering the padlocked door, pulled the red velvet aside, and drew out a small key.

“Is this the secret way?” Rye asked.

The Warden frowned and shook his head. He removed the padlock and opened the door to reveal a steep, narrow stone stairway that spiraled down into darkness.

As he ushered Rye through the doorway, torches fixed to the stone walls sprang into life, flooding the stairs with dancing light.

Dann’s magic, Rye thought, his skin prickling.

Clever tricks, he seemed to hear Sholto jeering in his mind. But if this was a trick, it was impossible to see how it had been done. He was sure the Warden had touched nothing.

“Hold tightly to the safety rail, Volunteer,” the Warden advised, shutting the door behind them. “These steps are old and very dangerous.”

Despite himself, Rye had to smile. Steep steps were surely the least of his problems, considering the peril he was about to face.

The Warden must have noticed the smile, because he drew himself up and looked stern.

“While you are still in Weld, you are still under my care,” he said stiffly. “Down you go, then. Right to the bottom, if you please.”

Gripping the rail, Rye began to go down the steps. The Warden followed, his soft shoes making faint brushing sounds on the stone.

Down they went, and down. The air grew heavy with the odors of damp and mold. Rye seemed to feel the whole weight of the Keep pressing down upon him.

His skin prickled more and more. He grew increasingly uneasy and his steps slowed.

“Keep moving, Volunteer,” said the Warden behind him.

“What is this place, Warden?” Rye could not help asking. “Where are we?”

“Below the ground,” the Warden said. “We are moving into the base of the Keep — the oldest place in Weld. Keep moving. There is not much farther to go.”

He sounded quite placid. The atmosphere of the stairway had not affected him at all, it seemed.

Rye forced himself to move on. With every step, it seemed harder to breathe. Then, just when he felt he was going to have to stop, he saw a flash from below.

“There,” said the Warden.

Just moments later, Rye was stumbling over the last step into a small, glittering, circular room. He blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden, brilliant light. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not this.

The ceiling of the little room was bright, dreamlike blue, shining like glass lit from within. Thousands of tiny tiles, vivid as precious gems, made swirling patterns of red, yellow, green, and white on the floor and walls.

It was like being inside a jewel box buried deep within the rock. Rye stood staring, awed by the beauty and the strangeness.

Straight ahead of him, two soldiers holding tall spears stood on either side of a carved gold medallion fixed to the wall. On seeing Rye, they tilted their spears so that the shafts of the weapons crossed protectively over the golden disc.

“I bring a volunteer,” said the Warden formally. “He has signed the Statement and may enter the chamber.”

Without changing expression, the soldiers uncrossed their spears and stood back in their places.

“Approach the wall, Volunteer,” the Warden said to Rye. “Place the palm of your left hand upon the Sign of Dann, and you will gain entrance to the chamber from which you can leave the city. Once inside the chamber, use the same hand to make your choice.”

“Choice?” Rye repeated in confusion.

“You will see,” said the Warden, and stepped back.

Slowly, Rye approached the medallion. He felt as if he were in a waking dream.

I am about to leave Weld, he thought, trying to make himself believe it.

He looked for the outline of a door around the medallion but could see nothing. The glittering tiles swept in unbroken lines around the room, lines that had no beginning and no end. Rye’s eyes dazzled.

Blinking, he turned his attention to the soldiers flanking the medallion. He wondered if they had been on duty the day Dirk stood in this spot, or the day Sholto came down those dark, winding steps with the Warden of Weld padding behind.

He would have liked to ask. But the soldiers stood at attention, staring straight over his head. He knew they would not speak.

He peered at the medallion’s carved surface. He saw that what he had taken to be simple decoration was actually a large letter D entwined with leaves and flowers. The flowers looked exactly like the badges his mother had received in honor of Dirk and Sholto, and suddenly, Rye realized that they were bell tree blooms. Dimly, he wondered why he had not noticed this before.

He raised his left hand. He saw that it was trembling, and struggled to hold it still.

How would Dirk have felt at this moment? Excited, of course — full of energy and fire. And Sholto? Sholto would have been all fascinated curiosity. Having come this far, neither of them would have hesitated.

Rye pressed his palm against the medallion.

A hot, tingling sensation ran up his arm all the way to the shoulder. Pinpoints of light exploded before his eyes. He heard himself yell with shock.

And then, somehow, he was no longer in the little tiled room. He was in a much larger space — somewhere bare and dim, still faintly echoing with the last traces of his cry.

His head spinning, Rye swung around to look behind him. There was only a plain stone wall. Hardly able to believe it was real, he stretched out his hand to touch it. It was cold and solid under his fingertips. He looked down and saw dusty rock under his feet.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he slipped the bell tree stick from his bundle. Gripping the stick tightly, he turned around again.

He was in a large stone chamber. A huge old fireplace gaped on the wall to his right. The wall to his left was entirely bare. In the wall directly in front of him were three Doors.

The Doors stood side by side. One was gold, one was silver, and one was plain, heavy wood bound with brass.

The golden Door was magnificent — richly carved with the likenesses of fantastic beasts. The silver Door was elegant, smoothly patterned with mysterious pictures, signs, and symbols. The wooden Door, made of planks far broader than any Rye had ever seen, bore no decoration at all except the brass studs and bands that made it strong.

Words had been engraved on the stone above the Doors. Rye moved closer so he could read them.

Rye glanced from one Door to another. He knew at once that the wooden Door appealed to him the most. Unlike the other two Doors, it did not seem out of place against the rough stone in which it was set. It was plain and without ornament, yet to him it was beautiful, because it was so ancient and so well crafted.

He jumped violently as he heard a scrabbling sound behind him. He whirled around.

A cloud of ash was billowing from the fireplace. As Rye gaped in amazement, a scrawny girl, covered in soot from head to foot, crawled out of the cloud and slid onto the stone floor of the chamber.

Pulling down the scarf that had covered her mouth and nose, the girl jumped to her feet. Her garments, the red trousers and tunic of a Keep orphan, were tattered and much too big for her. A bulging cloth bag hung at her waist, suspended by a belt of plaited rope. She was wearing what looked like filthy bedroom slippers, and a helmet-shaped red cap covered her head completely.

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.