The Third Door

18 - The Head of the Serpent

Rye heard Councillor Barron bellow and Janna give a piercing scream. He saw Farr’s head jerk round, Farr’s eyes blaze at the sight of two copperheads standing shoulder to shoulder on the barge, only paces away. He saw Farr thrust his wife behind him, into Barron’s arms, and raise his sword.

Then Farr looked into Rye’s face, and knew him.

‘Keelin!’ The rage in that one word seared Rye like a gale of flame. He stood firm. He made himself smile mockingly.

It was enough. Farr leaped onto the barge, snarling, a huge, terrifying figure. The sword slashed down with enormous force, hitting the shield thrown up by the armour shell, rebounding with a shuddering clang. And the big man was off balance, staggering …

Now!

Sonia’s cord whipped out like a snake and tangled around Farr’s ankles. He yelled and crashed onto the deck. The next instant Rye and Sonia were both upon him. As they thrust their arms through his heavy belt, Rye heard Janna screaming. He heard the crowd roar in dismay, and Barron squeal like a hog. And over all he heard Petronelle’s despairing cry, harsh as the screech of a stalker bird.

‘You swore to me, Keelin! Ah, you swore you would not harm …’

Up! Up! Up!

A blast of air sealed Rye’s eyes and snatched the breath from his lungs. And the next moment, the shouts and screams had faded, and wind was blowing around him, tossing his hair and cooling his face.

He forced his eyes open. He, Sonia and Farr were high above the ground. They were on the topmost point of the pipeline—perched on the head of the serpent. The giant trees of the Fell Zone rose in front of them, and directly below them were the great coils of clear tube piled against the barrier fence. They were where Rye had intended, but he had no idea how it had happened so fast.

‘Well, that was all very satisfactory,’ Sonia murmured. ‘So now we beg Chieftain Farr’s pardon and make him listen to us, is that it?’

‘Yes,’ said Rye. ‘And we stay here for as long as it takes. Nothing will happen while Farr is thought to be in danger, and no one will dare approach us up here, for fear we will let him fall.’

He turned to their silent captive. ‘We have done this only because we had to, Chieftain Farr,’ he began. ‘We had to talk to you. Our people are not your enemies—our people do not even know that you exist! You have been deceived! Your enemy is not who you think …’

His voice trailed off. It had suddenly become plain to him that Farr was not listening. The man was utterly still, staring straight ahead. Not a muscle in his face or body moved. The wind was ruffling his hair, but otherwise he might have been carved out of stone.

‘Something is the matter!’ Rye exclaimed. ‘He cannot hear me.’

‘He is pretending,’ Sonia retorted. ‘Or else—’ She peered into Farr’s motionless face and bit her lip. ‘Or else he is more closely linked to the Master than we thought. Remember what happened to Brand when he failed the Master at the Harbour!’

Rye nodded, his stomach heaving. But Brand had been killed. Farr was not dead, or even unconscious. He was simply—frozen.

‘What now?’ Sonia demanded.

Rye heard a change in the sound floating from below, and looked down quickly. The pursuing soldiers from Riverside were pounding towards the jetty, their horses’ sides gleaming with sweat. People were scattering before them, shouting to them, pointing up at Rye, Sonia and Farr.

As the soldiers reined in their horses, Rye saw with a jolt that Jett was among them. Jett’s tale had been believed. He had been released from the watchtower and allowed to join the pursuit.

Well, if he came here planning to kill Farr after all, he knows now that he cannot, Rye thought grimly. Farr is out of his reach. And then, in disbelief, he saw Jett free his feet from the stirrups, stand upright on his saddle, and jump for the pipeline, his arms held high.

Jett caught hold of the pipe and swung himself up onto its curved silver surface. For an instant he crouched motionless. Then he scrambled to his feet and, balancing like an acrobat, began walking towards the place where the pipe began to slope upwards.

Jett is a master Wall worker, Rye reminded himself numbly. Dirk could have done the same, before his arms were hurt.

And Jett had no fear of causing Farr’s death. Jett wanted Farr to die. The people below did not know that. No doubt they thought Jett was being foolishly heroic—bravely trying to save their chieftain without thinking of the danger.

Rye tore his eyes from the rapidly advancing figure and looked down at the sea of faces below. He saw Janna and Petronelle, clinging together. He saw Barron wringing his hands …

Then he glimpsed Dirk and Sholto on the fringes of the crowd. Sholto was gripping Dirk’s shoulder for support. Dirk was holding something loosely in his good hand. It looked like a skimmer hook.

I am dreaming, Rye thought dazedly. He blinked, and when he looked again the crowd had shifted and his brothers were no longer in sight.

Rye, Jett is still coming!

Rye turned his eyes back to the pipeline. Jett was on his stomach, creeping up the steep slope like a caterpillar crawling up a branch. He looked up, saw Rye watching him, and grinned, showing his bloody gums and broken teeth.

‘Go back, Jett,’ Rye heard himself call. He glanced at Farr, but Farr was still rigid, staring straight ahead, apparently seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

Jett paused, clinging to the pipe, the wind whipping his tangled hair. Sweat was streaming down his face, making runnels in the dirt and dried blood.

‘Back?’ he snarled. ‘Oh, no, Keelin! I have worked too hard for this, planned too long, suffered too much. I am going to kill the enemy of Weld!’

He began climbing again.

‘He is mad,’ Sonia hissed. ‘He knows he cannot touch us!’

‘He may not know he cannot touch Farr,’ Rye muttered back. ‘Or he may not want to believe it.’

But I have to make him believe it, he thought. If he tries to attack us, he will surely overbalance and fall to his death. And Jett is a man of Weld. He is a Wall worker, like Dirk, Joliffe and Crell. He is someone’s brother, someone’s son.

‘You felt our power in the watchtower, Jett!’ he roared. ‘You cannot kill Farr while we protect him.’ As he spoke, he suddenly realised that he could not see Jett as clearly as he had before. He glanced up. The sky was orange, streaked with grey clouds. The sun was going down.

‘The light is going!’ he shouted. ‘Go back, Jett, before you fall!’

‘I will not fall.’ Again Jett looked up and grinned. ‘And you cannot make me fear sunset either, so do not try! I know as well as you do that there will be no skimmers abroad tonight. Tonight they were to be sent through the pipeline, and all that has been stopped. Ha! How Farr must be cursing you for losing your nerve and trying to escape!’

He had almost reached the head of the serpent, now. The only sounds were his labouring breaths, the scraping of his boots on the pipe, and the moaning of the wind. The shouts and cries from below had ceased. When Rye glanced down all he could see was a mass of upturned, spellbound faces.

‘We must get away from here, Rye,’ he heard Sonia say urgently. ‘We must take Farr into the Fell Zone, where Jett cannot follow.’

It was the last thing Rye wanted. If Farr woke from his strange trance and found himself in the forbidden forest, he would be certain that his captors were enemies. So would Janna, Petronelle, the three councillors and every other soul in Fell End except Dirk and Sholto.

‘So, it ends at last, Chieftain Farr!’

Jett’s voice was suddenly much louder. Rye’s heart gave a great thud and his head jerked up. More quickly than he had thought possible, Jett had finished his climb. Jett had hauled himself onto the flat section of pipe and was crouching there, panting, right in front of them.

The man was glaring at Farr, his eyes glittering, and at that moment Rye saw that Sonia had been right. Jett had lost touch with reality. His mind was fixed on one, simple idea—the idea that had obsessed him for so long. Kill Farr.

‘Why do you stare like a dolt, Farr?’ Jett sneered. ‘Have these traitors bewitched you? Or is it that you are shocked, great Farr, at being way up here, trussed up like a duck ready for the pot? Why, the cord is not even tied! You could kick it away easily, if you had the courage to move!’

The cord! For the first time, Rye noticed that Sonia’s cord belt was still tangled around Farr’s ankles.

See if you can distract Jett while I get the cord! he called to Sonia in his mind. I will try to throw it around him — take him by surprise—and pull him close without the danger of a struggle. Then he can share the power of the feather and will be safe, whatever happens.

Rye, you are dreaming! The cord will never hold him. He is mad, and he is very strong. We must leave him and flee into the Fell Zone. Now!

Sonia’s voice had an edge to it that Rye could not quite understand. It seemed almost like fear, yet why should Sonia be fearful?

If we fly he will leap after us, Sonia. He will fall! He will die!

The answer came instantly.

Then that will be his choice. We must go. We are not safe here. I feel it!

And now Rye could feel it too—or perhaps Sonia was at last letting fear flow from her mind into his.

Yet still he hesitated, while Jett jeered and Farr stared. He turned his head to look at the darkening trees of the Fell Zone. And so it was that he saw, rising above the distant treetops, a vast cloud of ragged, flapping wings hideously silhouetted against the grey sky.

‘But—’ Stupidly Rye looked down at the pipeline. It was the same as ever. Nothing about it had changed. The clear tubing still hung slack beneath it, coiling beside the barrier fence.

Jett screamed. It was a shrill, cracked sound, as if something within him had broken.

‘No!’ he shrieked, staring wildly at the swelling stain in the sky. ‘The skimmers were to come through the pipeline tonight, from the coast into Weld. That was the plan—I worked it all out! That must have been the plan! Farr is the enemy of Weld! I have always known it was Farr! It must be Farr!’

‘Plainly it is not,’ Rye said through stiff lips. ‘The skimmers are coming out of the Fell Zone, Jett! The nest is there. For Farr, the Fellan are the enemy. He has been planning to attack the Fellan, not the people of Weld. Almost certainly, he has no idea there is a city inside the Fell Zone peak.’

He wondered to hear his voice sounding so calm, so level. His mind was a seething confusion of shock, horror and a sudden, sour understanding of how ruthlessly he had been deceived and betrayed.

If skimmers roosted in the Fell Zone shade, it was because the guardians of the forest had permitted it. And that could mean only one thing: Farr was not in league with the Master, but the Fellan were.

Words Rye had read in the book now lying soaked and ruined inside his shirt flashed into his mind.

It came to pass, however, as the years went by, that pioneer farmers began pushing inland, cutting trees to make open fields for crops and herds. If the Fellan resented what was happening no one knew it, for they withdrew into the depths of their shrinking forests …

Of course the Fellan had resented the carving away of their forest home, little by little! Of course they had come to hate the impudent newcomers who had put fields and houses where trees had been before. And the city built by the Sorcerer Dann in the very centre of what remained must have been—must still be—an irritation beyond bearing. To the Fellan, Weld must seem like an ugly sore in the heart of their shrunken domain. But the hollow mountaintop had become human territory as surely as the coast had, and they could not touch it.

Rye looked down at the red bundle hanging from his belt. As he thought of the shining disc, the sign of the treaty that had at last been made, more lines from the book swam before his eyes.

The chieftain swore that the forests of the centre would remain Fellan territory, forbidden to outsiders. The Fellan, in their turn, swore that they would not trouble the newcomers, or interfere in the wider affairs of Dorne. And so the agreement was forged, for good or ill …

How the Fellan must have regretted that treaty as time went on! But they were bound to it. So they had found a way around it.

You must make haste … it is almost Midsummer Eve.

‘It took the Fellan a thousand years to find a way to be rid of us,’ Rye said aloud. ‘But at last a plan was made. And they used me to carry it out. They wanted Olt to die so that the Lord of Shadows could invade and clear their territory for them.’

‘That cannot be true,’ Sonia said faintly. ‘The Master is evil. He is destroying the land. The Fellan would never allow—’

‘The Fellan care only for the centre—the book says so.’ Rye clenched his fists as the words came back to him. How could he have read them and not realised how important they were?

Fellan have no use for the coast. The sea is their enemy. The salt in the water weakens their magic, as metal does …

Rye’s head felt as if it might burst. He could feel the bag of powers warm and pulsing against his skin like a live thing with a heart.

Nine powers to aid you in your quest …

Powers to help the dupe of the Fellan do what the Fellan themselves could not—end Olt’s life and open the way to the Lord of Shadows.

Shuddering with revulsion, Rye tore the bag from his neck so violently that the knotted drawstring snapped and pulled completely out of its casing. Its neck ragged and gaping, the bag lay in his hand like flabby skin shed by some loathsome, creeping animal. More than anything in the world he wanted to cast it away from him, see the charms scatter in the wind and be lost.

No, Rye!

Sonia’s cry shrilled in Rye’s mind, cutting through his rage and pain, recalling him to himself. However he felt about the powers it would be madness to discard them now. Hastily he wound the broken string around the neck of the bag and thrust the whole untidy mess at Sonia.

‘You take it then,’ he muttered. ‘I cannot bear it near me any longer.’

Sonia took the bag in silence and slid it into her pocket. Her eyes were fixed on the rising skimmers.

Like a swarm of monstrous bees the skimmers soared upwards. They wheeled as one creature. Then they dived, and even from this distance it seemed to Rye that he could see their needle teeth bared and glinting. His heart ached for Weld.

And then, directly below the diving swarm, the sky seemed to blaze. Abruptly the swarm broke into thousands of separate twisting, flapping parts as the skimmers faltered, scattered, frantic to escape the blinding flare of light.

The people defied the Warden!

‘Tallus’s theory was right!’ Rye yelled, as Sonia’s astonished cry filled his mind, for an instant banishing the bitter shadows. ‘The light—’

But that was all he could say. His next words caught in his throat. For as he watched, the skimmer swarm was reforming. For a moment it swirled and eddied in the sky like a great puddle of oily water. Then it wheeled and came hurtling towards Fell End.