He watched her take a deep breath, and then another. She shivered all over. Then she glanced around.
Rye waited for her to see there was no sign of the Door. He waited for her to show terror and cross her fingers and wrists. But she merely frowned and began fumbling with the knot of the scarf that still hung around her neck.
“I might have known the golden Door would send us straight into the Fell Zone,” she muttered, pulling off the scarf and tying it to the nearest bush. “Any fool could see that it was a lure for those who fancy themselves as heroes. Most of the volunteers chose it. No doubt they are all dead by now.”
Fear and rage shot through Rye like flame. “Hold your tongue!” he snapped.
The girl jerked back, blinking as if she had been slapped. Recovering herself, she tossed her head and set off through the trees, plowing through the dead leaves. In moments, she had disappeared into the undergrowth.
Rye told himself he was glad to see the end of her. Then, as his anger cooled, he began to change his mind.
Whatever he felt, his reason was telling him that for the present any companion, however disagreeable, must be better than none. The Fell Zone was a place of monsters. Sholto had been sure the skimmers bred there. Whether they did or not, it was clearly a fearsome place. If even the bloodthirsty barbarians of the coast would not enter it, its dangers must be many, and terrible.
And perhaps one of those dangers was watching Rye now — one or several. For he was sure he was being watched. He could feel it. His nerves were jumping under his skin.
But did it make sense to follow the girl, just for the sake of company? She had plunged into the wilderness without thought. Clearly she had no idea of where she was going.
The next moment, a piercing scream settled the matter. Rye did not hesitate. He snatched up his bundle and ran, following the scuffed trail in the fallen leaves.
Just past a monstrous vine thicket, he found the girl in red lying facedown on the ground.
“I tripped,” she babbled, scrambling up and shaking off his hand as he tried to help her. “It was not my fault. There was something hard, hidden under the leaves, and I …”
Her voice trailed off as she saw Rye staring down, his face frozen.
The leaves that had covered the hidden object had been brushed away by her fall. A stone had been revealed — a smooth stone with words crudely scratched upon it.
“Joliffe,” Rye whispered, falling to his knees.
His heart seemed to twist in his chest. Rough as the scratchings were, he knew without doubt that it was Dirk who had laid Joliffe to rest.
Had Dirk simply come upon his friend lying dead? Or had they been together when …?
“Did you know him?” The girl’s voice seemed very faint. “Did you know this Joliffe? Was he a volunteer?”
Rye swallowed and nodded.
“I must have met him, then,” the girl said huskily. “I tried to persuade every volunteer who entered the Chamber of the Doors to take me through the Wall.”
Rye made no answer.
“I apologize….” His companion cleared her throat. “I am sorry for what I said — about the volunteers who chose the golden Door. I meant … no disrespect.”
“Yes you did,” said Rye. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and got to his feet again.
The girl hesitated, as if she was about to say something more, then seemed to decide there was no point. She turned and moved on, making no comment as Rye followed her, a few steps behind.
“Have you any idea where you are going?” Rye asked coldly.
The girl glanced at him over her shoulder. “I am just following the path,” she said. “I could not think of a better plan.”
Rye shook his head. There was no path that he could see. The girl was mad.
But still he followed her. Anything was better than being alone in this place.
After only a few moments, however, he knew that something was wrong. The walking was far too easy. Sweat broke out on his brow as he realized it was harder to slow down than to keep moving. An invisible force was drawing him on.
“Wait!” he shouted.
The girl stopped, skidding a little on the leaves. And it was only as she looked back in alarm, as she looked up at Rye, and he looked down at her, that he saw his mistake.
Sorcery had not been speeding their progress. Walking was rapid and easy because the ground on which they trod sloped downward!
Rye seemed to hear Sholto jeering in his ear.
Ignorant people often call things magic when they do not understand them.
Rye cursed himself for being so stupid. It was no excuse that Weld was perfectly flat, and he had never walked down a hill in his life before. He was not in Weld now — he knew that! And the girl in red had not been deceived.
“What is it?” she called softly, looking nervously from side to side, then back at Rye.
“I …” He could not bring himself to explain. “I want to know your name,” he finally burst out, snatching at the first question he could think of.
The girl folded her arms and pressed her lips together. It occurred to Rye that perhaps she clung to the old Weld belief that to know a person’s name gave you power over that person. She was strange enough to believe anything.
“You know my name,” he pointed out. “It is only fair that you should tell me yours.”
“Sonia,” she said at last. “My name is Sonia, if you must know.”
She turned and hurried on.
The slope was becoming steeper. With every step, the rocks grew less, but the trees grew larger, and the bushes and vines more luxuriant. Ferns massed on the ground, splashing the fallen leaves with bright, tender green. Rye kept thinking he caught glimpses of movement from the corners of his eyes, but whenever he turned to look, he could see nothing.
Sonia wound her way quickly through the trees, occasionally hesitating before choosing one direction or another. At first, Rye could only trail after her blindly, but after a time, he found that he was able to guess which way she would go.
There was a path. The marks of it were very faint, but they were there. Once he had seen them, Rye could not understand why he had not noticed them before.
At least, he thought, Sonia is not as mad as I thought, and we are not just wandering aimlessly. The path must lead somewhere.
But where?
Rye forced that disturbing question out of his mind. For good or ill, he and Sonia really had no choice but to follow the path if they were to have any chance of living through the night. The rustling treetops hid the sky, but he knew that by now it must be dimming. Soon the sun would go down, and the skimmers would take flight. He and Sonia had to find shelter by then.
“We had better —” he began, then found himself crowding into Sonia as she stopped abruptly.
He saw what had halted her, and his blood ran cold.
Right across their path, strung between two trees, a slimy net sagged like a vast, crude spiderweb. And hanging in the web was the skeleton of a man, the bones picked clean.
Rye felt a roaring in his ears. His mind flew to Dirk, but almost at once, he realized that his fears were foolish. These pitiful remains were not Dirk’s. The bones showed that in life the dead man would not have been much taller than Crell. And instead of a skimmer hook, a small hatchet lay half buried in leaves at the foot of the net.
“What has done this?” Rye whispered.
Sonia shuddered. She looked pale and sick.
“Who knows?” she muttered. “Some creature of the Fell Zone — one of the creatures stalking us now, no doubt. They are all around us. Can you not feel them?”
Rye nodded, his heart thudding. He felt breathless. Again he thought he caught a flicker of movement by the side of the path. He swung around with a gasp, his hand tightening on his stick, but still he saw nothing.